Page 30 of His Ruthless Match

As I pulled my hair into a messy bun, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My jaw was set, my eyes determined. Jareth didn’t know what he was in for.

When I walked into the kickboxing room, I immediately regretted every decision that had led me to this moment.

Jareth was still shirtless. God clearly had a twisted sense of humor. At least he’d put on his jeans. Small mercies. He’dalready strapped on a set of gloves and had his arms crossed over his chest.

“Nice outfit.” His gaze swept over me just long enough to make my blood boil. “Ready to lose?”

I tightened the Velcro on my gloves. “How do you plan on working out in those jeans? They’ll slow you down.”

The smug smile never left his face as he stepped into the center of the room. “When you’re as talented as I am, Delgado, it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. Or not wearing.” He flexed slightly, gesturing to his bare chest. “I’m deadly, regardless of my attire.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are.”

9

JARETH

Ileaned against the doorframe of Eva’s penthouse workout room, watching as she delivered another series of punches to the heavy bag. Each hit echoed in the quiet room, her controlled grunts underscoring the rhythm of her strikes.

She was dressed in a sports bra and tight black shorts, her body gleaming with a sheen of sweat. Every punch sent a ripple through her toned arms and legs, and I told myself to focus on the assignment. But my gaze kept slipping. The curve of her ass. The way her breasts bounced with each hit. The determination etched on her face.

This woman is going to kill me.

My cougar clawed at me from the inside, desperate for me to make a move on her, but he didn’t understand the nuances and complications of the human world—or the fact that this woman was off limits for about a hundred different reasons.

I stepped forward, letting my voice cut through the steady rhythm of her punches. “Your stance is sloppy. You’re leaving your left side open.”

She spun around, startled, fists instinctively coming up in defense. Her hair, pulled into a messy bun, swayed with the movement. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Just watching you embarrass yourself,” I said, a smirk curling my lips. “You want to land a punch or just flail around looking cute?”

Her glare was the kind of thing that could make lesser men drop dead. Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t most men.

“I’m fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Sure you are,” I drawled, but I didn’t leave. Instead, I closed the distance between us, stepping behind her. She froze as my hands came to rest on her shoulders, adjusting her stance. Her skin was warm under my palms, her scent—something soft and floral—making it hard to concentrate.

“Better,” I murmured, forcing myself to step back before I did something stupid. “Now try again.”

Her jaw tightened, a sure sign she was biting back a sharp retort, but instead of giving me the satisfaction, she turned back to the heavy bag. Her stance was better now—shoulders square, fists up—but there was still a stiffness to her movements, like she was doing it to prove a point rather than improve.

She threw another punch, her knuckles landing against the bag with a dull thud. I tilted my head, watching closely. It wasn’t bad. Not great, but not bad.

“Better,” I said, stepping closer. “But you’re still locking your elbow. Loosen up, or you’ll wreck your arm before you land a decent hit.”

Eva shot me a glare over her shoulder, her eyes sharp as broken glass. “I’m not locking my elbow.”

“You are,” I countered, my tone calm. “And you’ll thank me when your joints don’t snap like twigs.”

She muttered something under her breath, probably about what an asshole I was, but she adjusted anyway. She threw another punch, smoother this time, and I nodded. “There. See? You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you,” she snapped, landing another hit.

“You will when you’re not icing your elbow tonight.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she buried it with another punch. We fell into a rhythm—she threw punches, I critiqued. Her movements got cleaner, sharper, and despite her obvious irritation with me, she actually listened. It was... surprising, and more than a little satisfying.