Page 34 of Regret

Hunter walked closer. “That’s some arm you’ve got there.”

She threw another punch…and another. By her form, the way she moved when she punched the bag, it was obvious that she had experience.

He sat on the back of the couch and crossed his arms as he continued to watch her. She was good. She was damn good. Not to mention she looked sexy as hell throwing all those punches and jumping around, taking aim at the bag wearing nothing but one of his shirts.

With every punch it seemed like she got stronger, more determined—like she was seeing the bag as an actual target. The concentration on her face was—from a fighter’s point of view—amazing. She never took her eyes off the bag or broke her concentration even once.

When she suddenly lifted her leg and kicked the bag hard, Hunter froze, staring at her all open mouthed. This woman had skill, serious ass kicking talent. Of course, he’d noticed that outside the club already when she dropped one of the guys to the ground. And then there was the whole head-butting Hunter in the face and trying to replace his kidneys with his balls thing. But this, seeing the tactic she was using with the bag, he knew she had training. Someone didn’t get to be this good out of pure talent alone.

More punching, more kicking, and her eyes started to become wild and cold as sweat started to slowly run down her face. It seemed like she was lost, lost in whatever nightmare she was fighting against—the bag being the nightmare.

“Scar?”

She just kept on punching, hammering and kicking the bag, not slowing down at all.

“Scarlet?”

He stood up straight and slowly walked toward her, but she never took her eyes off the bag. Patches of sweat started to appear on the shirt she was wearing. She was pushing her body to the limit. Every muscle in her arms was wound tight. The muscles in her calves and upper thighs were clearly cut and shaped, and the way her skin glistened from the sweat had him biting his bottom lip as he wondered what it would feel like to be buried between those strong, beautiful thighs.

With a light shake of his head, trying to focus on something that did not involve him or Scarlet’s thighs, he stepped behind the bag and caught it.

Scarlet stopped mid-swing and glowered his way. “What are you doing?”

He steadied the bag before letting it go. “I lost you there for a moment. Where’d you go?”

Scarlet wiped the sweat off her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Nowhere.” She shrugged. “Whenever I work out, I kinda zone out.”

“Zone out?”

“Yeah. Don’t you…you know,zone outwhen you work out?”

He knew all about zoning out. The only difference was that his zoning out took place on an entirely different level with something a little more…hardcore. “Yeah…I do.”

They stared at each other for a few more moments than would be considered normal, or polite. Their gazes remained locked, and if Hunter was one of those hearts, flowers, rainbows kind of guys who loved reciting poems, he would say they had a moment. A romantic,I want to fuck you, kind of moment where everything around them just faded to black, leaving nothing but them and the sexually laden tension between them.

Scarlet looked away first. “I need to go take another shower.”

“Sure.”

Hunter rubbed the back of his neck, trying to compose himself. Everything about Scarlet and that body of hers hitting and kicking the crap out of his punching bag had him wound up tight. There was something about her that just reined him in, making him want her more and more.

But this was serious. This entire situation with Brent Wolfe was bad and he needed to keep himself focused. Neither of them could afford any type of distraction, and Scarlet was becoming one hell of a distraction.

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