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Chapter Seven

The man Darcy had been sparring with—Sam,she had called him—was at the reception desk when Matt pushed through the door into Butler’s gym nearly two hours later. He suspected Elinor had kept him waiting on purpose. She hated to be in the wrong. He’d dated her for a while a couple of years back, but she’d ended up wanting more than he was willing to give. Maybe he should ask her out again. She’d been on Angie and Gary’s list of suitable wives. Someone who would help look after Lulu, and at the same time, be an asset to his career. But somehow, he couldn’t see Elinor as the maternal type. He had a brief image of Elinor in her immaculate suit, feeding breakfast to Lulu. Though he had no doubt she would be a great boost for his career. Everything an up and coming officer needed in a wife. Smart, beautiful…

Sam had a welcoming smile on his face, which disappeared when he recognized Matt. “What do you want?”

“To see Darcy. She’s expecting me,” he added, though he had no idea whether that was true. She’d said she wanted as little contact between them as possible, but she must know that wasn’t going to happen if she was serious about getting to know Lulu. And he was beginning to believe she was serious.

Sam’s expression was mutinous. Maybe he wasn’t going to get through to her.

“Your family has hurt her enough,” Sam growled.

It was odd, but she seemed too hard to be hurt. Then he remembered her expression as she’d left the meeting. Yes, she’d been pissed off, but beneath that had been a hint of vulnerability. She’d spent nearly three years in prison, when she’d been guilty of nothing more than protecting her pregnant sister. She was bound to be bitter. She’d also lost her only sister just a few years after her parents. She’d taken a lot of knocks in her young life; it was no surprise she’d developed a hard veneer.

“I have no plans to hurt her. She wants to see Lulu, I’m trying to arrange that.”

“What the hell is there to arrange? Just let her see the goddamn baby. She’s her aunt.”

He had no intention of talking about his private business with a stranger. At the same time, he didn’t know how he’d get past him without a fight. While he was sure he could take the man, he was also sure that fighting would not improve his relations with Darcy. And going forward, they had to find some way to co-exist. So he took a deep breath and forced a conciliatory smile. Sam didn’t seem impressed.

“I’m not going to hurt her. This”—he waved the envelope with the documents inside—“protects Darcy as much as it does me. I don’t know her, but I suspect we’re opposites and it’s not going to be easy. I’m signing this as well. It means I can’t turn around in a couple of weeks and deny her access.”

Sam stared a moment longer then gave a grudging nod. “She’s in her office, along the corridor, last door on the left.”

He nodded back and headed off. It was early evening and the place was buzzing. Mainly men, but through a window he passed, he saw some sort of aerobics class with about twenty women. The gym was clearly doing well. The last door on the left was closed, and he paused for a moment then knocked sharply.

“I’m not in. Go away.”

He recognized Darcy’s voice.

He tried the door. The handle turned and he pushed it open. The room was big, empty but for a desk, a couple of chairs, and in the corner, a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

Darcy had changed into black sweats and stripped off her long-sleeved T-shirt to leave her in a sports bra that bared her midriff and arms. He’d told himself that the attraction from the other night had been nothing but an aberration. Now he stood transfixed as fire shot along his nerves, settling in his groin. Her breasts were small but full, and he could see the shape clearly, her nipples hard little points against the black bra. The sweats hung low on her hips, and her belly button was pierced, a silver hoop with a little black jewel. He’d have sworn that body piercing did nothing for him, but his dick twitched in his pants, and he was glad he was wearing a jacket that at least covered him.

Christ, this was inconvenient.

Darcy was facing him, her eyes narrowed, a fierce scowl on her face as she punched the bag, a series of rapid hits with her bare fists. She glanced up as he entered, whirled round, sending the punching bag swaying with a kick to its center.

She grabbed it between her arms to stop the movement, then rested her forehead against it for a moment. Was she getting her thoughts together, ready to face him? Fight him? He had an instant image of them grappling on the floor, rolling, until she was under him, arms pinned above her head, their lower bodies melded together. And he got even harder.

This had the potential to be seriously embarrassing.

But she didn’t look at him as she turned away. After picking up her T-shirt from where it lay on the desk, she wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead and tossed it back.

She stood with her back to him, and he could see the rise and fall of her shoulders gradually decreasing. It seemed like an age, but was probably less than a minute, until she turned around. “I thought we were done for the day?”

He translated that to mean she’d seen quite enough of him. He held up the file. “You said to bring the papers to you.”

“I didn’t mean now, now.”

He shrugged and held out the envelope. “I like to get things organized.”

A grimace crossed her face. “I noticed.”

He guessed she wasn’t impressed by his organizational skills. She wiped her hands down her thighs then held one hand out. He handed her the envelope. He glanced around and took a seat in front of the desk, expecting her to take the one opposite, but she just pulled the papers free, dropped the envelope on the desk, and read them while pacing the room.

He stared out the window as she paced his way, then stared at her ass as she walked in the opposite direction. He couldn’t help himself. She had a great ass. She was long and lean, but there was a beautiful curve from her waist to her hips, and her ass was small and tight. He was tempted to slip his hand down her sweats to feel just how hard she was. He stretched out his legs to ease the pressure in his pants. His dick was almost painful now. He wanted to bend her over the desk, strip those pants down her hips, cup her ass with his hands, slide them lower—

“Captain Peterson?”