Page 24 of Beauty and the Daddy

Oh, hello there.

I hang back in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt.

He's sparring with a guy twice my size, moving like the guy's got no bones.

Each punch snaps from shoulder to knuckle with a control that pulls the eye like a magnet.

His muscles ripple like beasts of their own, his back the kind that could bring cities to the ground with sheer force.

He is violence made beautiful, and terrifying to watch.

Sweat traces the geography of his chest like holy water on church marble—sacred and profane at once.

The serpent tattoo wraps his ribs, seeming to move with each breath, alive and hungry.

I squeeze my thighs together like that'll make me decent.

It does not.

I cross my arms and pretend I'm immune while he pivots, slams his opponent to the mat with a move so fast I can barely follow it.

The guy taps out, and Luca helps him up with a nod.

His gaze flashes up once, quick, like a spark sees dry tinder. That's when he sees me.

Our eyes lock for a heartbeat. My heart staggers and trips.

It's like yesterday in his office all over again—that instant, electric connection that defies logic or reason.

His gaze sweeps over me, taking in the clothes he provided, lingering on the places his hands had explored just hours ago.

His lips curve into a small, satisfied smile that tells me he sees too much.

I arch a brow at him.

I'm fine. Totally fine.

Someone laughs behind me. I don't turn, but I can feel the look sliding over me slow and sticky.

"Boss's new pet wants to see the big boys fight, huh?" the man says. "Bet she purrs real good."

The gym goes dead silent. Every face turns toward me, then to Luca, like they're watching a bomb about to detonate.

And detonate he does.

Luca moves so fast it's almost inhuman.

One second he's across the room, the next he's in the guy's face, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall so hard the whole room seems to shake.

"What did you say?" Luca's voice is deathly quiet. Scarier than if he'd shouted.

The guy's eyes bulge like a stepped-on stress ball.

I watch the exact moment he realizes his mistake—when Luca's grip shifts from warning to promise. "I—I didn't mean?—"

"You didn't mean to disrespect what's mine?" Luca cuts with each word. "You didn't mean to talk about her like she's a thing?"

"Boss, I?—"