Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Keep your left hand up!” I call out to Xander.
He raises his red glove for half a second, and then his arm droops again.
My expression hardens. Out of all the bad habits…this is one that makes me want to pull him out of the ring. Boxing is a contact sport.
If he doesn’t guard his face, he will be hit in the fucking face.
Maximoff stands rigid. On alert. He’s having trouble watching. I can tell more by Farrow constantly looking over at him and because Jane told me after the first training session.
I’m not the only one used to protecting Xander from heavy blows. His older brother acts like another bodyguard on-duty to his siblings.
Xander eyes his teenaged practice opponent, who’s a member of Akara’s gym. Garrett already signed an NDA with no problem.
Everyone else at Studio 9 right now is either a bodyguard or part of the famous families. Akara has started shutting down his gym early on Tuesdays. Half-days , he calls them. It allows the team to use the space for meetings and for some men to squeeze in gym time.
Farrow chews his gum more slowly. “Protect your face, Xander!”
He shields his cheek with his right glove and jabs at Garrett with his left. Catching the boy’s jaw.
“Nice job, kid.” I keep my arms crossed and narrow in on their movements.
Xander pants and barely slips out of a left hook.
“Hang in there,” Farrow calls out.
The bathroom door opens nearby. Splitting my focus. Jane rubs her hands on her leopard-print leggings. She catches me staring. “Out of paper towels,” she explains and kicks off her ballet flats, putting them in a wooden locker.
Not why I was staring, honey.
She smiles a little, cheeks flushed while I steal glances in her direction. She walks across the mats to me and tries to watch Xander too.
“How’s he doing?” Jane whispers.
“Good. He just needs to keep his hands up.” I glance back down at her, my muscles contracting.
Her fingers touch her freckled cheek. Jane radiates heat like she’s remembering last night.
Our world-class sex.
I’ve remembered it too. More than a dozen times. I was deep inside her for three earth-shattering hours to the point where she was gone in my arms. Shuddering, eyes in the back of her head. Guttural groans throttled my chest, and I couldn’t let any escape.
We have to fuck in near-silence to keep this massive secret, and the only bad part was that I had to leave.
Zero three hundred hours on the dot.
I respect her wishes, and I wouldn’t stay a minute longer. But walking out that door is like walking on a bed of fucking nails.
“He’ll learn,” she says optimistically. “He has good coaches.”
I’m just okay. The Oliveira brothers are better boxers, but they’re both on-duty. I’m about to mention that, but Xander suddenly ducks beneath an incoming right hook.
“Go Xander!” Jane cheers. She made pompoms the last session, but Xander was embarrassed, so she hid them in a locker.
This girl is heaven-sent, and I’m fucking an angel. And gripping a one-way ticket to hell.
Stay frosty. I focus on the ring.
And her.
When Xander and Garrett take a water break, I face Jane fully and grab a set of purple hand-wraps that I brought over for her.
“Hold out your hand flat.” I demonstrate palm-down with my fingers spread.
She copies me, and I start looping the soft fabric around her wrist and over her knuckles. With every brush of my skin to her skin, she takes a sharper inhale.
My veins pulse, and our eyes latch for a headier beat.
It feels different in this setting.
Studio 9.
Home to security. My work. The overseers of this fake dating op.
Rows of boxing bags line the other side of the gym, and in my peripheral, I sense bodyguards watching us. Wondering what it’s like for me to “fake date” my client.
I’m not a buddy-guard. I’ve gone from being strictly professional with Jane to trekking across landmine-riddled territory. Guys have pried, and I shut down most questions.
My client is none of your business.
Focus on your work.
This isn’t your objective.
But the heat of their gazes is different than camera flashes or ogling fans. Security can’t find out that I broke the golden rule.
I wrap the purple fabric between her fingers.
Jane peeks over her shoulder. “Is it just me…or are we being stared at? Not that I’m not used to the staring—it’s just that I know all the names of the people looking at us.”
I fasten the Velcro at her wrist and narrow my eyes onto a younger SFE bodyguard. He sits up on a weight bench, not hiding the fact that he’s observing us.
He catches sight of my glare and turns his head.
“They know better,” I say huskily, looking back at Jane. “But they’re still human.”
“They’re curious,” she realizes. “About our relationship as bodyguard and client.”
I nod. “About us.”