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My jaw clenched tightly under the strain. Unable to reply, I jerked my head. No way in hell was I letting him see any more weakness than he’d already seen. With shaky arms, I lowered the bar, racking it at my chest.
A genuine smile curved his lips, not the cocky smirk he usually wore, but an actual smile and damn if it wasn’t beautiful.
“That’s the hard part. Now just lower it to the floor. These aren’t bumper plates, so don’t fucking drop them.” His voice, rich as dark velvet, smoothed away the rough edges of his abrasive wit.
I nodded, pushing out a steady breath as I lowered the weight to the floor.
Black spots danced before my eyes, Ahren’s face darkening with concern as it blurred in my field of vision. I dropped to the mat, pressing my forehead to my knees, focusing on my breathing.
“Here, drink this,” he said, offering me water. “You’re doing great.”
“Eighty-five pounds is nothing.” I scoffed. “I feel like a fucking child.”
His head shook back and forth, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. His expression sobered, mirroring my own. "You're still healing. You shouldn't push yourself too hard. You don't want to set your progressback. Besides, eighty-five pounds is every bit three quarters of your body weight. "
I pushed out a long breath and took another long pull on the water bottle. His words made sense. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling he was just placating me. Finally, after a long pause, I nodded.
"I'm serious," he said, moving, so he was directly in front of me. "Lifting will help you get stronger. I don't bullshit. I promised to help you get back what you lost—what they took from you. Believe me or don't; not my job to convince you."
He stood, easily lifting the bar I just struggled with, carrying it to the rack, removing the plates and putting everything back in its place.
"I think I'm done for the day." I murmured, my voice soft, but still carried in the gym. "My muscles are fried. I'm exhausted and I stink."
A deep chuckle answered me. "Yeah. I need to hit the shower, too."
Quickly gaining my feet, I crossed to the doorway where he waited. With every step, desire and envy flared in equal measures, taking in his body all hard lines and firm muscles. Not a trace of softness or weakness to be found. I longed for strength like his, to wrap myself in it, to feel strong again—even just a taste—
Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached up and pressed my lips to his, snaking my arms around his neck. He froze for only a breath before melting against me, pulling me closer with a growl.
His tongue darted out, swiping across the seam of my lips, and I eagerly opened for him. I didn't have much experience kissing, mainly because I didn't have much experience with people—I hoped he couldn't tell.
We clung to each other; the heat ratcheting up bit by bit with every slide of our tongues against each other.
His hands roamed my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He was the fire that burned me and the balm who soothed the ache all at once.
He pulled away, and a needy moan escaped me.
"Hold that thought," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to my lips.
His fingers brushed along my arms until only our fingers were linked.
I followed along as he descended the stairs. Only now did I register the sound of Zeus and Apollo barking in the distance.
We reached the door, and he pulled his pistol from the back of his pants. Fuck! Did he just work out with a gun strapped to him? That was fucking hot.
He brought his finger to his lips, his eyes silently begging me to stay put.
I nodded, my breath sawing in and out of me in short pants. This was it. We had been waiting for weeks and not one hitter had come for us. Sure, Ahren paid off Henri, but there were dozens of lower-level assassins looking to make a name for themselves. Still, I couldn’t help but think that it had been eerily quiet.
He cracked the door open, taking a peek before pushing it all the way. The sight of him sweeping the pistol searching for intruders, lethal grace, deadly and beautiful, only stoked the fire he ignited earlier.
"Ahren. Look." I whispered, pointing to the exact spot on his doorstep I always left my roses.
A rock about the size of Ahren's fist sat atop a picture of Larissa, her face bloodied but defiant.
"There's a note," I murmured, bending down to pick up the small scrap of paper.
"It's play-time. If you want your lady doc back, you have to follow the clues. Oh—and tick-tock Rossdale. You have twelve hours to get to the first clue." He read out the words over my shoulder.