Rhys looked at me, his gaze dragging down my body and back up again. His eyes lingered on my mouth for a second too long.

“Why?” I blurted out, referring to the second explosive kiss he’d given me.

He shrugged. “No one will question our relationship now, Tinker Bell.”

Disappointment filled me as I realized the kiss had not been a spontaneous response to me shooting him, but a calculated move. A strategic play.

Rhys wanted to earn that money I was paying him, I reminded myself.

Right there and then, I decided for my well-being not to let Rhys Morgan’s mouth anywhere near mine ever again.

I left the field with only Pete’s yellow paint splatter on my shoulder and a whole bunch of pent-up indignation and sexual frustration in my gut.

Eleven

Rhys

My fist slammed into the bag. Jab. Jab. Cross. Jab. Hook. Cross. Jab.

Calm settled into my bones even as they felt each impact. Hitting something didn’t exactly hurt. Not anymore. But I definitely felt it. Working the bag drew my awareness inward. It clarified things.

I needed clarity. Because I was in very real danger of losing it around Parker. Freaking disturbing. Control wasn’t something I lost. Never. I’d spent my life honing it.

I had excellent control.

God, she tasted sweet. Felt even better. Her mouth should be listed as a national treasure. Freaking perfect. And when she wrapped those tight thighs around my waist…

My glove glanced off the edge of the bag. The bag swung back into me, knocking my ribs.

“Shit.” Disgusted at myself, I ripped off the gloves and tossed them aside.

“Losing your touch?” Dean lounged at the far side of the sparring room.

Grabbing my bottled water, I took a long drink before answering. “Get in the ring with me for a couple rounds and find out.”

“I’m a smart-ass,” he said, walking farther into the room. “Not a dumb-ass.”

That made me laugh. I set the bottle down and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off my face. “What’s up, little brother? Bored already?”

“Of course, I am.” He shrugged. “Aren’t you? Or do you like hanging out in empty gyms on a Friday night?”

Dean might not have been able to box at a pro level but he was an expert at verbal hits. I kept my eyes on the tape I’d started unwinding from my fingers, not wanting to look at the forlorn gym that should have been full of members on this rainy evening. Fact was I often closed early because the bulk of our members used the gym during the day.

Failure never sat well with me, and this place reeked of it. Sometimes, I imagined I stank of it too, that it followed me around like a fug, keeping everyone away.