Neither one of us spoke, but Isabel was breathing heavily. Since I’d seen her earlier, she’d pulled off her gym T-shirt and stood in front of me in a sweat-soaked purple bra and black leggings. I hated that I noticed, and because I did, I kept my eyes firmly on her face.
This was, without a doubt, the absolute last fucking thing I needed.
And it was the only thing I wanted from her.
No more tiptoeing. No more leaving her be.
Isabel broke the stare first, setting her hands on her hips and letting out a weighty exhale. “This just … figures, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“You!” she yelled, lifting her head, eyes blazing. “Of course you’d show up right now.”
I stepped around her, and she moved as I did, keeping her front foot centered toward me, just as she should have. “You got a problem with me showing up at my own gym?”
“At the moment? Yeah.”
I held up a glove. “Show me.”
Without hesitation, Isabel hit me with a jab.
“Why don’t you want me here?”
Each strike hit the mitts with a sharp snap. “You want a list?”
What was this? It was so immediate, so unfiltered, and the exact opposite of every interaction we’d ever had. My blood screamed with something hot and pulsing, something new and furious.
“The last thing I need,” she said, chin raised and chest heaving, “is you here to see this.”
“Again.” I held up the gloves.
Snap.
Snap.
“I almost punched you in the face.”
“You didn’t almost punch me in the face,” I said calmly, which made her eyes narrow even further. “More.”
She gave me more. Three more in quick succession. But she didn’t calm. There were words brewing, and I could see them flaring hot in her eyes. But I knew she wouldn’t give them to me. Not easily.
“What happened to your advice to Casey earlier? I thought the goal was to disengage, not attack.”
Isabel lifted her chin. “For her, that is the goal.”
“And you hold yourself to a different standard?”
She didn’t answer. But watching the flash behind her eyes, like someone dropped a match into a vat of gasoline, I knew I was right. This was Isabel Ward. And she was fucking glorious.
I wanted more of it. More of this. No matter how wrong she was for me, how badly this might go, or how much I might regret it. I wanted more.
That was why I leaned in and whispered, “Lock the fucking door next time.”
Her mouth fell open.
Satisfied that I’d made my point, I nodded, lifting the mitts. “Let’s go. Whatever your problem is, get it out right now.”
Isabel eyed me carefully. “Who says I have a problem?”
“Anyone with eyes, based on how you were treating that defenseless bag.” I hit the mitts together, the sharp snapping sound echoing around the gym. She didn’t so much as flinch. “Come on, Ward.”
For a moment, she just stared at me, and I found myself holding my breath at how she would respond.
And because it was the first moment of just the two of us, it was also the first time I saw how carefully she held herself. The sharp edge of wariness in her gaze. What, exactly, did Isabel Ward think I was going to do to her to make her look at me like that?
“No,” she said. “Not tonight.”
I nodded slowly, waiting until she’d turned away from me.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked.
Her frame, tall and strong and proud, went perfectly still. It was almost like watching her turn into a statue right in front of my eyes. If an artist somewhere had carved her out of marble, those gloves tucked under her arms, hands still wrapped, she would’ve been called something like, A Warrior in Repose.
But when she slowly pivoted back in my direction, the wariness was gone, completely replaced by blade-sharp resolve. Isabel jammed her hands back in her gloves, and I held up my mitts.
“I am not scared,” she snapped.
“Prove it.” I stepped closer, and she held her ground. “I am the only person in the building you hide from, and that ends now.”
“You think you’re going to earn it like this?” She raised an eyebrow. “By fighting it out of me.”
“Hell yes.” I held her gaze, and her eyes went wide at my honesty. “This is probably the only place you feel like you can be yourself, be honest about what you feel. I’d bet the whole fucking gym on that, and if you and I are going to move forward, we work your reservations out here.”
Isabel’s rib cage expanded, the light from overhead catching on the sheen of sweat coating the curves of her cleavage.
“I’ll do this under one condition,” she said, bouncing lightly on her toes, arms up to guard her face. “You don’t get to ask me what I’m angry about.”
Judging by the look in her eyes, like the slightest thing could set her off, it was an easy thing to agree to. I nodded. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We started simple. I kept just far enough away that she had to throw her weight behind each strike, and I called out what I wanted her to do, counting down until she could take a deep breath or a drink of water.
Isabel and I found a rhythm easily, and once we did, her movements became more precise, less wild. Her chest shone under the lights, sweat dotting her forehead until a few stray strands of her almost-black hair clung to the line of her neck.
After about fifteen minutes, I stepped back, and extended my arm out, tapping by my elbow with the focus mitt. “Watch your form right there, when you go in for the left cross. If I went to block, it would be really easy for you to adjust and hit me with a right elbow off your front leg.”
She nodded, breath sawing in and out of her mouth.
I jerked my chin up. “Show me.”
We started slow, almost like a dance. She came in with the left. I pushed her arm down, and when I barked the command, she pitched her right elbow up, stopping just shy of hitting me in the cheek.
“Excellent,” I told her. “Try again. Let’s move a bit faster.”
She got that down almost immediately, and I stepped back, swiping my arm over my forehead. I caught a quick flash of a grin on her face.
“I didn’t anticipate a workout tonight,” I told her.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have interrupted mine.”
I exhaled a laugh, gauging her facial expression as she said it. “You sorry I did?”
Instead of answering, Isabel tugged off one of her gloves to pull a long drink of water from her bottle. When she set it back down, she did a heavy exhale of her own.
“No,” she said. Then she put her glove back on.
I held up the mitts. “Let’s go again. After the elbow, use your right arm to push my blocking arm down, come up with a knee to my midsection while my momentum is in your favor.”
She nodded.
We practiced once. Twice. Then faster. And again. Her hair smelled like something citrus when her braid whipped past my face. The fourth time, she had her full strength behind pushing me down, and I grunted when her knee had a bit more oomph behind it than I was expecting.
“Easy,” I warned, as I stepped back.
But Isabel didn’t smile. She was watching me set up again.