Page 29 of Convincing Alex (Stanislaskis #4)

“I can’t believe you want to spend the best part of a Saturday morning in a sweaty gym.” Alex was stalling, even as he walked

with Bess up the iron steps that led to Rocky’s.

“It’s your sweaty gym,” Bess said, and kissed him.

The past few days had been almost like a honeymoon, she thought. If she took out the hours they’d both been at work. But they’d

made the most of what time they’d had together, snuggling on the couch in her place, cooking a meal in his, wrestling in bed

in both.

She was starting to hope that he believed she loved him. And, once he did, she wanted nothing more than for them to take that

next step. The step that would lead to an authentic honeymoon, with all the trimmings.

“You picked me up at my gym yesterday,” she pointed out.

“That wasn’t a gym.” There was the faintest trace of a masculine sneer in his voice. “That was an exercise palace. Fancy lighting,

piped-in music. All those mirrors.”

“At least I’ll be able to see when my butt starts to drop.”

He gave it a friendly pat. “I’ll let you know.”

“Do, and die,” she said smartly, and pushed through the frosted glass doors.

She immediately thought of every bad boxing film she’d ever seen. The huge room echoed with grunts and slaps and thumps. It

smelled of mildew and sweat and... She took a testing sniff and decided she didn’t want to know what else. There were exposed

pipes along the ceilings and walls, and there was a hardwood floor that looked as though it had been gouged by spikes. The

boxing ring that was set up in one corner was already occupied by two compact, dancing men in tiny shorts who were trying

to pop each other in the eye.

A trio of punching bags hung at strategic points. A half-naked man with a body like a cement truck was currently trying to

whip the tar out of one of them.

Weights were being employed as well. She watched tendons bulge and muscles bunch.

They didn’t worry about mirrors and lighting here. Nor did she spot any of the high-tech equipment she was accustomed to.

This was down-and-dirty—squat, sweat and punch. She sincerely doubted there would be a juice bar in the vicinity, either.

“Had enough?” Alex asked. He was obviously amused at the thought of her stripping down to her leotard and having a go with

the boys.

Bess closed her mouth, then answered his grin with a cool stare. “I haven’t even started yet.”

It was his turn to drop his jaw when she peeled off her sweatshirt. Beneath she wore a snug, low-cut crop top in zigzagging

stripes of green and purple. As she shimmied out of her baggy street shorts, he shoved the discarded shirt in front of her.

“Come on, Bess, put your clothes on. Sweet Lord.” The bottom half was worse. Over formfitting tights she had on a teeny strip

of spandex that covered little more than a G-string. “You can’t wear that in here.”

“Is it illegal?” She bent over to stuff her sweats into her gym bag and heard the heavy thump of weights as they were dropped.

Maintaining position, she turned her head and smiled at the pop-eyed man staring at her.

The catcalls and whistles started immediately, the sound swelling and bouncing off the cinder-block walls. Alex was very much

afraid there would be a riot—one he was likely to incite himself. “Damn it, put something on before I have to kill somebody.”

“They look harmless.” She straightened again and lifted her arms to tie the short curls at the nape of her neck into a stubby

ponytail. “Anyway, I came to work out.” With a challenging grin, she flexed a muscle. “How much can you bench-press?”

“McNee, don’t you dare—” He broke off with an oath as she blithely strolled across the room to chat with the weightlifter.

The two hundred pounds of muscle began to babble like a teenager. Alex had no choice but to send out a warning snarl, much

as a guard dog might to a pack of encroaching wolves, before he went after her.

She pulled it off, of course. He should have known she would. The men started out drooling, kicked over into laughing and

finally wound up competing with each other to show her the proper way to perform squat lifts, chin-ups and leg curls.

Before an hour was over, she’d been shown pictures of wives and children, listened to sob stories over sweethearts and stopped

being ogled—unless it was at a discreet distance.

“You sure you want to do this?” Alex asked again, tapping his gloved hands together.

“Absolutely.” She smiled at Rocky as he himself laced up her gloves. “I couldn’t leave without one sparring match.”

“You watch out for his left—it’s a good one,” Rocky advised her. “Kid could’ve been a contender if he hadn’t wanted to be

a cop.”

She winked at Rocky. “I’ve got fast feet. He won’t lay a glove on me.”

Two of her new admirers held open the ropes for her so that she could step into the ring. Enjoying the sensation, she adjusted

her padded helmet. “Aren’t we supposed to wear those funny retainers?”

“The what—Oh, mouth guards?” He couldn’t resist, and he leaned over and kissed her to an accompaniment of hoots. “Baby, I’m

not going to hit you.” In a friendly gesture, he tapped his gloves to hers. “Okay, put your hands up.” When she did, lifting

them toward the ceiling, he rolled his eyes. “It’s not an arrest, McNee.” Patiently he adjusted her hands until they were

in a defensive position.

“Now, you want to guard, see? Keep your left up, keep it up. If I come in like this—” he did a slow-motion jab at her jaw

“—you block, jab back. That’s it.”

“And I fake with my left,” she said, and did so.

“If you want.” Lord, she was sweet. “Now try for here.” He tapped his own chin. “Go ahead, you don’t have to pull it.” When

she punched halfheartedly, he shook his head. “No, you punch like a girl. Put your body behind it. Pretend I’m Dawn Gallagher.”

Her eyes lit, and she swung full-out, only to come up solidly against his block. “Hey, that’s good.” Impressed, she swung

again. “But I’ve got to move around, right? Fake you out with my grace and fancy footwork.”

She did a quick boogie that had the onlookers clapping and Alex grinning at her. “You got style. Let’s work on it.”

He was enjoying himself, showing her the moves. And it certainly didn’t hurt for a woman living in the city to learn how to

defend herself with something more than an ammonia-filled water pistol.

“It’s fun.” She ducked her head as he’d shown her and tried two quick jabs with her left.

“Always room for another flyweight,” Rocky called out to her. “Come on, Bess, body blow.”

Chuckling, she aimed for Alex’s midsection and dodged his light tap toward her chin. “You look so cute in gym shorts,” she

murmured.

“Don’t try to distract me.”

“Well, you do.” She danced around him again, and, laughing, he turned toward her.

“Okay, that ought to—” He ended on a grunt when she connected hard with his jaw and set him down on his butt.

“Oh, God.” She crouched instantly, battering his face with her gloves as she tried to stroke it. “Oh, Alexi, I’m sorry. Did

I hurt you?”

He wiggled his jaw, sending her a dark look. “Right cross,” he muttered as men climbed through the ropes to cheer and hold

Bess’s arms in the air.

“I ’ m really sorry,” Bess said again as they started down the iron steps. But she was fingering the little bit of tarnished

metal Rocky had pinned—with some ceremony—to her sweatshirt. “You said not to pull my punches.”

“I know what I said.” He’d be lucky if he didn’t have a bruise, Alex thought. And how the hell would he explain that? “You

only got through because I was finished.”

She ran her tongue over her teeth and stepped outside. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t get smart with me, McNee.” He snatched her up and swung her around. “Or I’ll demand a rematch.”

Wildly in love, she tossed her arms around his neck. “Anytime.”

“Oh, yeah? How about...” He trailed off with a grimace as his beeper sounded. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” She only sighed a little as he tracked down a phone and called in. As she stood beside him, watching his

face, listening to his terse comments, she realized that their plans for a picnic in the park and some casual shopping were

about to go bust.

“You have your cop’s face on,” she said when he hung up. “Do you have to go in?”

“Yeah.” But he didn’t tell her they’d found another victim. It was bad enough that he was spoiling their plans for the day.

“It’s probably going to take a while. I’m really sorry, Bess.”

“Look.” She framed his face with her hands. “I understand. This is part of it.”

He brought those hands to his lips. “I...” But he didn’t tell her he loved her, because she would echo the words, and it

made him nervous to hear them. “I appreciate it,” he said instead. “And I’ll make it up to you.”

“Tell you what—why don’t I finish up what I have to do, then stop by the market? I’ll make dinner. Something that won’t spoil

if it has to be warmed up a couple of times.”

Though his mind was already drifting away from her, he managed a pained smile. “You’re going to cook.”

“I’m not that bad. I’m not,” she insisted with a bit of a huff when he grinned. “I only burned the potatoes the other night

because you kept distracting me.”

“I guess it’s the least I can do.” He kissed her lightly once, then again, longer. “I’ll try to call.”

“If you can.” She waved him off, then stood watching while he jogged down into the subway. With a quick laugh, she spun around,

hugging herself.

She felt just like a cop’s wife.

“I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”

“Of course not.” Rachel took a look at the bulging shopping bags in Bess’s hands. “Been busy?”

“Whenever I get started with that little plastic card, I can’t seem to stop.” She dumped her purchases inside the apartment

door. “You look wonderful. How can you look wonderful less than a week after going through childbirth?”

“Strong genes.” Pleased in general, and with Bess in particular, Rachel kissed her on both cheeks. “Come sit down.”

“Thanks. I—Oops.” She dipped into the bag and pulled out a gold-foiled candy box. “For Mom.”