Page 26 of Tangled Vows

“This is perfect. Now we have three and three.” He waved his hand around the group to signal an even split between us.

“Where’s Claire?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t too late to join her group. Maybe she was using the restroom and would reappear at any moment.

No such luck.

“She's already in a room,” Weiss replied, “but you’re welcome to go in with us,” he added, motioning between himself and Easton. That was exactly what Ididn’twant to happen. But I couldn’t turn down his offer without raising questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.

A woman wearing a shirt with the Raging Richmond logo appeared from a long hallway and called out, “Follow me.” Slater, Quinn, and Kent turned and fell into line behind her before any of us could protest. Kent, Weiss, and Easton were usually thick as thieves. They should’ve been going together. Now I was stuck with Easton. At least I had Weiss as a buffer.

“Your room will be ready momentarily,” the man at the desk assured us. Minutes later, the same woman returned to take us back. Just then, Weiss’s phone rang, and he pulled it from his back pocket.

“I have to take this,” he announced, pointing to his phone. “You guys go on without me.” Before I could form a rebuttal, he answered, pressing the phone to his ear as he walked away.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Hellcat,” Easton mused, and I quirked a brow.

“Hellcat?” His eyes widened as though he hadn’t meant to use the nickname out loud.

“Yeah, you’re feisty, and your claws come out when you’re challenged. It suits you.” I shot him an unimpressed glare, and he chuckled.

“Let’s get this over with,” I groused, breezing past him to follow the woman to our room. Once we were geared up and had been through the safety instructions, we stepped into the room. A rack of weapons lined one wall with baseball bats, crow bars, sledgehammers, and lead pipes hanging from a peg board.

Easton let out a low whistle. “I’m not sure I want to be in here with you and all these potential murder weapons.

“Guess you’d better be nice to me then,” I said with a syrupy sweet tone and big, wide smile before walking to the wall and selecting my weapon of choice.

“Whoa,” I groaned, heaving the sledgehammer over my shoulder. “This thing is heavy!”

“Sure you can handle something that big?”

“Don’t worry.” I smirked, gripping the handle. “I’m used to handling big tools. Are you?” I challenged, letting my gaze flick skeptically down his body. His very hard, carved-from-stone body.

Arousal flashed in his eyes momentarily, but it was gone in an instant. Did I imagine that? He stepped up to me, and I lifted my chin defiantly, refusing to cower in his presence.

“If you want to handle my tool, all you have to do is ask, but you’re going to need both hands.”

I sucked in a breath, my eyes widening briefly at his bold statement. It was crass and presumptuous, but still, my belly did a little flip. I’d thought about handling his, ahem, tool several times after he had it pressed against my stomach that night we'd met. Judging by the feel of it, he was right. Iwouldneed both hands. It had been so thick and long, and even without seeing it, I knew it was bigger than any I’d had before.

A rush of dampness settled between my thighs, and I pressed them together, willing away the hollow need. It begged to be filled, but I wouldn’t let my libido take control, despite my lack of recent action. It had simply been too long. It didn’t haveanything to do with the insufferable six-foot-five hockey god standing before me. Turning away so he couldn’t see the flush spreading over my cheeks, I surveyed the room.

“Where do we start?” I asked.

“Wherever we want,” he replied, and I tried to ignore the huskiness in his voice.

I tentatively crossed the room to a table lined with old Coke bottles and glass jars. Lifting the sledgehammer just past my shoulder, I brought it down in a pathetic attempt to smash the bottles. Instead of shattering, they skittered across the tabletop, one falling to the floor and breaking apart. I frowned and tightened my grip on the handle.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“You’re holding it too close to the head,” Easton announced, the statement dripping with innuendo. I whipped around, pinning him with a glare. Fighting back a grin, he sauntered toward me and grabbed ahold of the handle, curling his hands around mine. I nearly jumped at the contact as electric heat sparked between us. He paused, then cleared his throat as though he felt it too.

“Here, slide your hand down lower,” he instructed. My breath hitched as his other arm came around me, cocooning my body as he gripped the wood. He guided my hands to what I assumed was the proper position, and I ignored the way his chest brushed against my back with every breath he took. “You’re not trying to tap it on the glass. You want toswingit,” he said, going through the motion with me. More of his front molded against my backside with the movement, and I had to bite back a groan. This was all too reminiscent of the weight room. There was no way he enjoyed the contact as much as I did, and I wasn’t about to embarrass myself.

Stepping back, he gave me space to take a swing. I did so tentatively, missing the bottle on my first try and denting theworn wood of the table. It was distressed from where it had probably taken hundreds of beating. I took another swing, this time with more force and precision, connecting with the glass and shattering it to pieces.

“There you go,” Easton offered in encouragement. I did it again, this time with a little more confidence. Now that I was getting the hang of it, Easton moved to the table next to me, preparing to smash an old printer.

“Wow, this is actually kind of relaxing,” I mused, moving back to the wall and grabbing a baseball bat. Although hitting something with a sledgehammer came with a thrilling sort of satisfaction, my arms were already starting to get tired.

Satisfied with my newly mastered technique, Easton took a swing at the printer, and a loud crack echoed throughout the room. I rounded on an old VCR, bringing the bat above my head and smashing down into the hard plastic. It gave way, breaking completely in half after a few more strikes.

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