Page 32 of Devious Vows

Spinning, I cross my arms over my chest. His eyes drop to my exposed skin, over my sports bra and black shorts, leisurely dragging his gaze back up to my face, not caring a single bit that I watched him do it. A dimple winks at me from his left cheek, and I pretend I don’t feel the heat of it in my gut.

I haven’t seen or heard from Remy in just over two weeks, since he took my virginity.

Not a single call. Not a single text.

He fucked me and then left. To say I’m hurt is an understatement.

I scowl at his dimples. “This is a private gym.”

He raises his brow at me, inked arms crossing at his chest to mimic my posture as he smirks at me. “Are you trying to kick me out?”

I pull my shoulders back, standing a little straighter at his mocking tone. “Yes. So leave.”

He chuckles and I clench my teeth, bringing my hands up to fix my ponytail to distract myself from the shiver that’s wanting to crawl up my spine at his deep rumble.

“This is my gym, Bev. You can’t kick me out.”

Of course this is his gym.

Not knowing how to respond, I turn to grab the water bottle that was set aside earlier. “Fine. I’ll leave.” I take a drink from the bottle, drawing the action out longer than needed, so I don’t have to keep talking.

He steps closer and I side-eye him, dropping the empty bottle onto the floor without looking.

“What’s the matter, Bev?” He’s still smiling, much to my annoyance, honey browns warming me from the inside out.

“Nothing.” I hold my breath when he shifts even closer, the heat of his skin reaching out to caress mine. “If you’re not going to leave, I will.”

He hums and my toes practically curl in my sneakers at the sound. I don’t know why it feels like it’s been years instead of weeks since I’ve heard it, but it has my heart sputtering in my chest. “Fight me.”

My face snaps to look at him directly, that deep baritone of his tickling along my skin, dancing across my fingertips like a spark. “What?” It comes out breathier than I meant it to, but I pretend it didn’t, ignoring the dimple laughing at me from his cheek.

“You win, and I’ll leave.” He raises his hand, the ink of his fingers drawing all of my attention as he brushes some loose pieces of hair from my neck. “I win and you leave.”

My heart is pounding in my throat at his suggestion, my body hyperaware of the way he’s angled even closer, each puff of his breath fanning along my lips.

I hate that I want this man so badly.

I hate that he can work me up with nothing but the sound of his voice, the light kiss of his inked fingers.

I hate how he thinks it’s okay to desert me for two weeks and come back like it’s nothing.Like I’m nothing but one of his groupies.Swallowing hard, my gaze narrows on him. “Fine.”

He smiles at me, dimples blooming across his cheeks at my answer. “Three rounds. Ten minutes too long for you?”

Huffing at him, I push past his solid frame toward the ring. “No. But it will be for you.” I climb into the ring, shaking out my arms and shoulders, watching him move closer in my peripheral vision.

Remy hums in response, and I crack my neck, closing my eyes as I try to mentally banish the swirling in my gut. Hearing him step into the ring I open my eyes, his bare chest inches from my face, the dark ink of his tattoos painting every inch of his hard body. The soft vanilla on his skin licks at my lips, daring me to close the space between him and my mouth to taste the citrus of his skin.

I don’t wait for him to start the match, taking a quick step backward and kicking my leg out toward his face. He easily blocks me, a dimple showing off his amusement. He throws his own jab, whacking me soundly in my side with his wrapped knuckles. It hurts but I move through it, shifting away from his next punch and connecting two of my own to both his rib and abdomen. We throw several punches back and forth, both of us bouncing between the offense and defense.

I’m out of breath when he calls off the round, his eyes flicking from the clock on the wall to my face. His chest is rising and falling at pace with my own and satisfaction simmers over my skin.

I like that I’m not an easy opponent.

My body has a slight throb where he’s managed to hit me a few times, the skin tender when I shift in place. I also like that he doesn’t take it easy on me, that he treats me like an equal.

“Round two,cuore mio,” he taunts me, a brow raised in challenge.

I scowl back.