Page 42 of Rivals & Revenge

My hand twitched toward her, stopping short. I curled it into a fist, pretending it was just tension. But she wasn't sure about me—hell, she wasn't sure about herself, and I promised I would keep my hands to myself.

My objections tasted bitter like vinegar as I swallowed them down. Instead, I only nodded, offering her a reassuring smile, or at least what I hoped was reassuring. All this mushy shit wasn't my strong suit.

Maybe a little space would be a good thing, I thought to myself as she hurried from the room. I pushed out a heavy sigh and reached for one of the rags I kept on hand and began cleaning the weapons we used today as I thought over the blonde hellcat. I didn't quite understand it, but there was a sense of rightness that seemed to settle over the house since her arrival.

A nagging voice in the back of my head, one I learned long ago to listen to, told me I needed her to stay. That whatever this was, that had been slowly building from the first glimpse of blonde hair. Since I witnessed the masterpiece that earned me the first white rose. This was the piece I hadn’t known I was missing.

I had thought it nothing more than curiosity. But the way I longed to kiss her, to brush my skin against hers, called me a liar.

Chapter 24

TIERNEY

“Again!” I yelled. My body falling into the familiar stance Ahren had been drilling into me for the last week.

His deep laugh sent shivers through me. “Why don’t we take a break with the hand to hand? You haven’t had enough time on the bar in days.”

A petulant whine escaped me. Not that I had a problem lifting weights, but I preferred sparring. Well, one day it will be proper sparring. For now, it was just Ahren knocking me on my ass. But I found myself aching for his hands on me.

I was stupid for pushing him away. There’s no two ways about that. I wanted that kiss—hell; I wanted him. What I didn’t want was his pity. Turns out, I was wrong—spectacularly so.

Whatever this thing was simmering just beneath the surface. That magnetic pull I felt anytime he was near. That burst of fire and magicwhen we touched. We both felt it, but it seemed neither of us knew how to proceed—or maybe he did and I was just too broken to get it.

I tried talking to Ahren, not that I was good with words. I was more of a shoot now and don’t bother with questions, girlie. He was my opposite, smooth as that expensive whiskey he loved so much.

Every time I brought it up, he would insist we focus on getting me stronger—like that would fix everything.

“Six weeks and three days, Rossdale. I’m all better. We can step this up.” I taunted.

He shook his head slowly, that perfect smile breaking across his face.

Sweat beaded on his tanned skin, drops sliding hypnotically down the taut planes of his stomach. My fingers burned with jealousy, aching to trace along their path.

“Your form is good. We have to work on strength and speed, then we can put it all together.”

I scoffed. “Fine. How much on the bar today?”

He laughed. “Eighty-five today.”

I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

I kneeled beside Ahren, both of us working silently to add the plates on the bar and sliding the spring collars into place, securing the weight on the bar.

“Keep your back straight,” he murmured, placing his hand gently against the skin on my lower back.

I pulled the weight up, racking the bar in front of my collar bone before pushing out a breath, using the momentum to push the bar overhead.

“Beautiful. Good form.” Ahren said, clapping his hands together.

With my arms locked into position, I lowered myself into a deep squat, then pushed myself back up. By the time I made it to the fifth rep, my arms were trembling.

“Two more. You’ve got two more in you,” he commanded.

My energy was spent, yet something primal rose to meet his challenge, hungry for the chance to earn his praise.

I pressed up, raising the bar for the final time—straining under the combined weight of the bar and his heavy gaze.

“Do you need help?” he asked, his hands freezing mid-air as they reached for the bar.

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