Page 6 of Fit for Love

My savior is built like a Greek statue but with more muscles.His sun-kissed hair is a couple of inches too long, a surfer’s look.Only instead of the ocean, he smells like lime zest, clean skin, and toe-curling sex.

Speaking of sex, his blue-gray eyes are hooded, and I can feel something big and hard against my belly.Something that is definitely not a flashlight.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, albeit a bit breathlessly.I’m really hoping Mr.McScrumptious can’t feel my drumming heartbeat or my pebbled nipples.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs in a deep, soft voice that reminds me of melted things—like caramel, hearts, and panties.

With effort, I pull myself together—not an easy task since he’s still holding me.Since he didn’t get the hint from my thank-you, I say, “Seriously, you can let go of me now.”

I guess I could also push him away, but I’m not sure I can bring myself to do it—not with all the jolts of sensual energy zapping through my body, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Sadly, he listens to me and lets me go.

Grr.Why did I insist on that?I could’ve enjoyed his embrace for a few more minutes before it would’ve seemed too weird… right?

He even steps away—and the idiot that I am, I immediately miss his proximity.

As he stands there, his gorgeously carved face goes through a series of expressions, settling on something dark, which, for some reason, only makes me want to jump back into his arms—or into his bed.

Crap.Focus, Kendall.You’ve sworn off men, remember?

I swallow and pull myself together, again.“Aren’t you going to say something?”

Between the silence and his dark expression, I’m starting to feel all kinds of uncomfortable, and not all of it down south.

“Yes,” he growls.“Don’t you ever, ever, do something like that again.Is that understood?”

My hackles—which I thought I’d lasered off a long time ago—rise.“Ex-fucking-cuse me?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks.“How could you have been so careless?You could’ve hit your head.”

What the fuck?Who the hell does he think he is?

“If I had, I’d still be smarter than you,” I retort caustically.

He blows out a breath.“Is it that hard to attach the safety key?”

So that’s what the thingy is called?“I didn’t realize I had to.I usually run on the street.”

His eyes narrow dangerously.“The street?”

Is he picturing me running through Manhattan traffic?What kind of an idiot does he take me for?

“I run in the park,” I clarify.“‘On the street’ is just a turn of phrase.”

“Which park?”he demands.“Some are worse than the street.”

“East River.Not that it’s any of your business.”

Seriously, what is up with this guy?

He cocks his head.“I’m your fitness trainer, so anything to do with you running is my business.”

“Wait.You’re Ash?”

For some reason, I expected someone more boring-looking.Not to mention dressed in the gym’s uniform instead of short shorts that expose his powerful legs and a tank top that shows enough lickable skin to make one salivate.

He grimaces.“You can call me Ash if you insist, but I prefer to go by?—”

---