When He's Sinful (The Olympus Pride 3)

“Don’t be so sure you know what he really wants.”

“Right back atcha.”

“God, you’re so obstinate. Fine, don’t take my advice. Believe whatever makes you feel better. But don’t be surprised when you find yourself in bed with him again. The chemistry between you two is now like a live wire. Battling a force like that day-in day-out will be no easy thing. Especially when you don’t truly want to fight it.”

“So you came here just to annoy me. I see that now.”

Havana set her hands on her hips. “You know I’m right, Aspen.”

“What I know is that you’re a pain in my—”

“Floater!” a little boy bellowed, and then there was screeching and splashing.

Aspen hissed. “Goddammit, I knew that kid was taking a shit.” She exchanged a pained look with the other lifeguard as they directed swimmers out of the pool.

“Uh-oh,” muttered Havana. “This won’t go well.”

“What won’t?” Aspen tracked her friend’s gaze and saw a familiar male fast approaching. “Oh.” No, this definitely wouldn’t go well. Her bearcat snarled, not in the mood for this crap at all.

His body tight as a drum, Grant glared at Aspen’s neck, his eyes flaring. “So it’s true,” he gritted out.

She held in a sigh. Given how fast gossip traveled among the pride, she’d known he’d hear of the brands sooner or later. She’d also known he’d be pissed, since he stubbornly refused to face the truth. She hadn’t expected him to turn up at the center, though.

He barked a humorless laugh. “Let me guess. Camden, right? It was him, wasn’t it?” His voice was like a whip, and her bearcat did not like his tone.

The animal also didn’t like that Aspen had so far handled him with kid gloves. But Aspen felt sorry for the guy, and she didn’t get off on hurting good people. Still, being “nice” hadn’t worked. Being patient hadn’t worked. Maybe it was time to take the kid gloves off.

Aspen lifted her chin. “I can’t keep doing this with you, Grant. I won’t. You need to back off. You need to accept that you’re wrong about me.”

“Did you let him fuck you too?”

Oh, his selective hearing was on fire. “That’s not your business.”

Grant advanced on her, his face like thunder. “It is absolutely my fucking business. Christ, Aspen, how could you let him mark you?” he demanded, every word so loud they fairly bounced off the walls.

Havana slid between them, her palm up. “Okay, you need to get your shit together, Grant. And then you need to leave.”

His nostrils flared. “If another woman marked Tate, would you be fine with it?”

“No, but he’s my mate,” replied Havana. “Aspen isn’t yours.”

His expression darkened. “Do you really think I’d push this so hard if I wasn’t sure?”

“Yes, I do. Because you can’t be sure—not unless you feel the pull of a true-mate bond, which you don’t. And yet, you are pushing hard.”

Grant’s eyes flew to Aspen’s marks once again. His hands balled into fists. “I cannot believe that fucking bastard.”

Aspen tensed. “Don’t do anything stupid.” If he went after Camden, it wouldn’t end well for him. Which was why her bearcat was totally hoping he’d confront the tiger.

Grant sneered. “I’m not afraid of your precious Camden.”

“You should be,” Havana warned, cold and somber. “You’re trying to lay claim to the only thing that matters to him. If she shared your belief, he’d accept you—not easily, but he’d do it. Probably. After about a decade. She doesn’t think as you do, though. So in his mind, you’re trespassing, not to mention ignoring her wishes. Don’t push him harder than you already have.

“Do the smart thing, Grant. Walk away. Head home. Have a good, long think about everything. Drop your beliefs long enough to ask yourself some difficult questions.”

Grant licked the front of his teeth. “Or … I could beat the crap out of Camden. That scenario is more my thing.”

“So … you had hot, monkey sex with Aspen?”

Leaning against the ropes of the gym’s sparring circle, Camden flicked Bailey a brief look. She’d been looking very pleased with herself all day, and he had no idea why. But then, he struggled to understand why she did many things. “What’s monkey sex?”

The mamba joined her hands together, as if in prayer. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

“I think it isn’t your business.”

She fist pumped.

He felt his brow crease. “What are you doing?”

“I’m happy that you think you guys will have sex again.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s what I heard.”

He inwardly sighed and slid his gaze back to the males who were sparring in the ring. Here, loners were taught many combat moves—some were simple defensive maneuvers; others were complicated martial arts techniques. Loners were vulnerable to attack, so such training was good for them.

People worked out, skipped, hit the pads, practiced moves, shadow-boxed, or beat on heavy punch bags. Coaches barked instructions. People panted and grunted. Fists pounded leather. Skipping ropes whirred.