Page 65 of Deadly Secrets
Chapter Twelve
Twenty minutes later, Brooke was sweating. Hard.
But God, did she feel alive!
Roman had wrapped her hands before putting them inside boxing gloves, then he’d taught her how to position her feet and punch the hell out of the Everest bag in his gym.
It had made her forget about the bad man. About her parents. About her conflicting feelings for Roman and the weird vibes he’d given off upstairs. Whatever had happened with Percy and Melinda had shut down the playful banter and flirting he’d been doing with her. She’d seen the pain behind his eyes. Felt the tension in his body.
His body was loose again now, a somewhat predatory look in his eye as he stalked around her in the ring. He wore protective guards on his hands, holding them up for her to punch. “Left, right, left,” he demanded, and Brooke gave him what he wanted, the sound of leather on leather echoing in the room.
It was a much bigger version of what was in his office. Weights, mirrors, the giant punching bag, a small boxing ring. Framed photos of him at competitions accepting his winner’s belt and trophies lined the south wall. Some showed him in the ring with various opponents. He looked young, rebellious, defiant.
“Light on your feet, Heaton.” He switched direction and started walking her in an opposite circle. “Let’s see that left uppercut.”
The sleeveless tank he’d loaned her was too big, hanging down past her butt, but was soft and smelled like his laundry detergent.
“I can barely hold my arms up.” The tone of her voice was entirely too chipper for the complaint. She couldn’t help it. Her legs shook and her arms were exhausted, but she’d never felt more exhilarated. “I won’t even be able to lift my phone tomorrow.”
“Cry baby.”
She swung, just like he’d taught her, using her core and her hips to power the punch.
“Lightweight,” he taunted, but he was grinning.
And smoldering.
Boxing turned him on.
Works for me!
She grinned back. “Don’t kid yourself. I can do this all night.”
“All night, huh?”
She lowered her fists and took a step back, breathing hard. “Not really. I suck at bluffing as well as the art of seduction, in case you haven’t noticed.”
The grin stayed in place, his own hands lowering as he stopped his predatory pace. He shucked off his guard mitts. “You did good for your first time.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Between shooting practice and this? You’ll definitely be sore tomorrow. I’ll help you with your gloves.”
She stepped forward and playfully punched his rock-hard abs. His tank top’s open sides showed her all of them, making her mouth water. “Why did you quit boxing? You’re so good at it.”
He helped her out of the ring and over to the bench where he made her sit. He kneeled in front of her, bringing them almost face-to-face. “Shoulder injury.”
“That sucks.”
He untied her right glove and gently guided it off her hand. “I was good at boxing, but it was never going to be a long-term career. The injury, and the rehab for it, forced me to look at different avenues for my future. It all worked out for the best.”
The release of the weight from her hand was glorious, even though her fingers were still taped to protect her knuckles. She raised her other hand and let him work on the ties. “Do you miss it?”
“Every day.”
He was alone, his brother was dead, his fiancee had left him. He’d given up a career in a sport he loved, no matter how casual he was about quitting it.
The second glove came off and she rolled her wrists this way and that. “I’d like more lessons.”
