Page 67 of The Beta's Blind Date

“Pull-ups. Over there,” he orders, pointing at the bar without looking at it as I remove my top so I’m left in only my sports bra.

I wrinkle my face at him behind his back, squinting my eyes and sticking my tongue out before trudging over to the bar.

I hate pull-ups.

“Make that face again and see what happens, Cadet!”

I wince and glance at him. He’s looking down at the weights on the bench, but he’s smiling, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He moves his eyes to me while still keeping his head down and points again at the bar. “I said pull-ups, Cadet!”

I narrow my eyes at him but grab the bar, holding his eye contact as I do.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

I frown, and he raises one brow, crossing his arms and stalking over to me. The tension is back, stretching like a tightrope between us, so thick it’s almost visible. He stops in front of me, on the opposite side of the bar, hands gripping it on either side of mine as he leans closer, waiting.

“Cadet?” he repeats, his body a hairsbreadth from mine.

“Yes, Beta,” I say, realizing what he wants from me, what he was waiting for me to say.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t move, staying in that spot that is close but not close enough to me. All it would take for that distance to disappear is for one of us to take a step or for one of us to lift ourselves with the bar.

We stand like that, neither of us breaking or giving. He covers my hands with his, patting them and leaning his face in a touch more. “Three sets of eight reps with a ninety second break in between each.”

Then he’s gone from my space, leaning against the wall nearby with his arms crossed, waiting for me to begin.

I get through my first set of eight reps, gritting my teeth with each pull-up. Reid’s intense, searing gaze is on me the entire time, watching and assessing me. Pinpricks of heat move over my body where his eyes linger, a sample of what his touch might feel like.

I let out a sigh of relief when I drop to the floor for my break, grabbing my water and taking a long sip, taking deep breaths to prepare myself for the next set.

I grip the bar again, but before I can start, Reid’s hands are on me, stopping me.

“You need to keep your legs from swinging,” he says. “Cross them and engage your core instead of swinging them to give yourself the momentum. You have the strength already, so you don’t need it.”

His fingers splay across my stomach and my back, skin touching skin, his hands warm and strong. I swallow and stare straight ahead, avoiding him and his eyes. “Okay,” I squeak out.

I do my second set and he keeps hold of me throughout, his large hands gripping me and guiding me, showing me where to engage my core muscles. He’s close enough I almost brush against him several times, but he doesn’t step or scoot away from me. In fact, he moves closer, so when I finish the set and drop to the floor again, my shoulder brushes his chest.

“Did you feel the difference?” he asks.

He presses his hands into me, doing that tracing thing with his thumb that he can’t seem to stop doing when he touches me. It sends a thrill of delight through me, and I angle my head towards him, leaning into him, searching for more. His homey scent that reminds me of Christmas fills my nose. The memory of being wrapped in his arms and his blanket consumes me, tempting me to act on my desire to climb him like a tree, to let our obvious sparks of attraction for each other ignite into a full-fledged blaze.

But I step away, gulping down water to cool the embers of need in my soul.

He clears his throat, and I glance back at him. “Last set,” he says, beckoning me with his chin, his arms now crossed and his body tense again, his jaw tight and his pupils wide.

Oh. Oh, Goddess. My arousal. His proximity, his touch, and his scent have set me off, and in this small, enclosed weight room, there is no hiding what he’s doing to me. What he’s awakening in me.

I swallow and walk over to him, face and chest burning, and not just from my workout. But I will not let him know I’m embarrassed. Hell, I have nothing to be ashamed of. He knows he’s hot. He knows the effect he has on women. It’s how he’s gotten his reputation. He’s taken advantage of his looks and his physique to bed numerous females.

“Do you need my help again?”

I nod and grab the bar, and he puts his hands on me again, the same as before, except gentler. Not as forceful, not as much pressure behind his touch, and yet somehow it’s as though he’s touching more of me.

I complete the final set, eyes focusing on a spot on the ceiling, not trusting myself to look at him.

“Better,” he murmurs, dropping his hands once I hit the floor. I nod again and he points to the dumbbells. “Curls, Cadet.”

The training continues in much the same manner—him giving me an exercise, me attempting it, and him finding some reason to put his hands on me, on my skin. By the time we’re done with everything, the cord of tension between us is so tight it might snap at any moment. Every touch of his hand, every brush of his fingers against my skin provokes me, until I’m a tangled mess of want and lust.

---