His Saint (Forever Wilde 5)

My eyes snapped back up to his, and I felt my stomach drop as the reality set in. I’d hurt him. I’d hurt a man who could pound me into the ground with one fist.

“Saint,” I said. “Oh my god.” I raced back toward him and carefully reached out my hand for his arm. “Shit, shit. Saint, I’m so sorry. Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “That was a really good move. It worked, didn’t it?”

“No. I mean, yes it worked, but no, it wasn’t a good move to use when we were just practicing.” I lifted his forearm up to inspect it closely and run my fingers over it. The little hairs around it on his arm stood on end, and I felt another wave of embarrassment at doing something so childish. Had I really bit him?

“I’m sorry,” I said again—only this time it was a whisper.

“Augie,” he said, using his own fingers to tilt my chin up so he could see me. “I’m fine. You didn’t even break the skin. Do you remember me telling you to do whatever it takes?”

“Yes, but—”

“And don’t you think it would have been worse if you’d gotten me in the groin?” he said, a small quirk appearing on the side of his lip.

My face suffused with heat at the mention of Saint’s groin, and I looked away.

Warm fingers gently guided my face back to his. “Augie, don’t you think I’d be proud to know you could do that in a real-life situation? And seeing you do it here proves that to me.”

I had to find a way to ratchet down the intensity of the moment, or I was going to walk into this big man’s embrace seeking comfort and reassurance like a baby.

“I just know how bad it must make you feel to get bested by a little antiques dealer,” I said with a straight face.

He blinked at me before realizing I was teasing. “Well, I didn’t say my feelings weren’t hurt.”

I cracked a smile and stepped back, away from the long, warm fingers on my face. “What’s next?” I asked.

Almost two hours later we were dripping with sweat and limping out of the training room toward the locker room.

“I can’t believe you bit my leg, jackass,” I complained, leaning down to rub the sore spot on my calf through my pants.

“Dude, you started it,” Saint said. “Payback is hell.”

“Yeah, but I’m the client,” I whined. “And I can barely walk as it is without being reminded of this dog bite every time I move my muscle.”

“Are you calling me a dog?” He turned to grin at me as he held open the door to the locker room.

“If the collar fits,” I teased. Saint seemed more open and playful than he had the first night we’d met. I enjoyed seeing the lighter side of him and wondered if he’d just been in a serious mood the other night or if that was his norm. We’d spent the last part of our session teasing each other like old friends, and it felt comfortable and fun.

“We went twice as long as I’d planned tonight. I kind of lost track of time. You should alternate ice packs and hot baths for sore muscles. I’ll grab you a chocolate milk for some protein. You’ll need to hydrate and get some good sleep.”

“Seriously? I didn’t just run the Boston marathon.”

The man disappeared for a moment before coming back in with two small cartons of chocolate milk. “Here. Drink it.”

I did as he said, sitting down on a bench while I downed the cold sweetness. Saint sat down next to me and did the same. I could feel the heat radiating off his thigh next to mine on the narrow bench. We didn’t speak as we drank.

As my body cooled further, my sweaty skin began to chill in the tiled locker room and I shivered.

“Did everyone leave, do you think?” I asked. I guessed it was late, and the building seemed empty.

“Probably. The owner is off today because of some medical appointments. Leona gave me a set of keys to lock up if I was here later than everyone else.”

“Are you and Rex dating?” I asked before I could stop myself. My teeth clamped together after the words were out of my mouth, but it was too late to get them back.

“Who?” Saint asked.

“Never mind. None of my business. Forget I asked.”

He grinned. “No. Rex and I aren’t dating.”

“Just friends?” I asked, clearly unable to stop myself from being nosy.

“Just friends.”

“Oh.” I rested my forearms on my thighs and rolled the plastic bottle back and forth between my palms.

I felt Saint’s eyes on me. “Do you like to dance?”

My eyes flicked up to meet his. “Oh. Ah… yeah, I guess. Well, no. Not really.”

Saint laughed, exposing the twisted tooth in his smile that made me want to drop my pants and beg. “Well, which one is it? Yeah, I guess, or no, not really?”