Page 100 of The Pucking Wrong Man

The music changed to some rap song I faintly recognized, and it was enough to push me to move.

But then, just as I was about to turn and leave, our eyes locked in the mirror.

His gaze darkened, an unreadable expression settling onto his face.

“Anastasia,” he said, and somehow his deep, silky voice cut right through the noise of the music, settling into my veins and sending sparks pirouetting through my bloodstream.

I was tempted to run. Embarrassing or not, it was probably safest to turn and sprint down the hall. Showing my face in a couple of hours when I had time to process the masculine hotness in front of me.

“Anastasia,” Camden repeated, this time in a knowing voice, like he could see inside my brain and see all the dirty, dirty thoughts I was having right now as I gaped at him.

Speaking of gaping, I snapped my mouth shut realizing that my jaw had been hanging open like some kind of demented fish. Cheeks flushing, I finally opened the glass door and stepped inside the room.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you this early,” he murmured as he racked his weights and turned on the bench to stare at me appraisingly. His gaze dragged from my feet to my face, seeming to grace every curve—or lack of—on my body. My nipples hardened into tight points beneath my thin sports bra, and I swear his gaze burned when it brushed against my chest.

Stay cool, girl. Think of something cold. Ice. Ice...hockey...him doing stretches... No! Not cold. Think of something bad.

That was helpful, one thought of Michael, and my arousal went down like the air let out of a balloon.

“I thought I would get in an early workout,” I said belatedly, realizing that he was waiting for a reply. I was proud of myself when my words came out in English. That was tough around him.

I wiped at my forehead, feeling simultaneously like I was wearing too much and too little clothes at the moment. Camden’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes smoldering with a heat that set my skin ablaze. If he could just stop staring at me like he wanted to eat me, maybe I would be capable of forming rational thoughts.

“Have at it,” he said...but was that a hint of a growl in his voice?

Yes, Daddy, my inner voice purred.

Holy crap what is wrong with me?

“Okay,” I said, wincing at the nervous squeak in my voice. Did he hear that?

Judging by the slight smirk on his lips, I was betting he did. And could he see the way my legs were already shaking as I walked over to the mats?

This was a very bad idea.

I began some of my simpler stretches, figuring I would start slow—less chance of embarrassing myself even more. I tried to concentrate on what I was doing...tried to keep my gaze firmly on the floor.

But it was an impossible task.

He’d resumed his workout, his muscles flexing with each movement, and it was like he had some kind of tractor beam in his biceps because I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

And that would have been fine...

If he wasn’t staring right back.

Intensely. Like he couldn’t not look.

His gaze stoked a fire deep within my core, and I was worried about the state of my underwear. These leggings were thinnnn. Sure to show my arousal if I didn’t control myself.

My hands were trembling as I reached down for the floor, the music pulsing in the background like a heartbeat.

I twisted and turned, my body straining with the effort.

Was it hard to breathe in here...or was that just me? The air between us seemed to crackle with electricity, charged and tense in a way that was leaving me breathless and dizzy.

“When’s your next show?” he asked casually, and I almost swallowed my tongue trying to answer him.

Show. When was my show?

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