This girl is heaven-sent, and I’m fucking an angel. And gripping a one-way ticket to hell.
Stay frosty. I focus on the ring.
And her.
When Xander and Garrett take a water break, I face Jane fully and grab a set of purple hand-wraps that I brought over for her.
“Hold out your hand flat.” I demonstrate palm-down with my fingers spread.
She copies me, and I start looping the soft fabric around her wrist and over her knuckles. With every brush of my skin to her skin, she takes a sharper inhale.
My veins pulse, and our eyes latch for a headier beat.
It feels different in this setting.
Studio 9.
Home to security. My work. The overseers of this fake dating op.
Rows of boxing bags line the other side of the gym, and in my peripheral, I sense bodyguards watching us. Wondering what it’s like for me to “fake date” my client.
I’m not a buddy-guard. I’ve gone from being strictly professional with Jane to trekking across landmine-riddled territory. Guys have pried, and I shut down most questions.
My client is none of your business.
Focus on your work.
This isn’t your objective.
But the heat of their gazes is different than camera flashes or ogling fans. Security can’t find out that I broke the golden rule.
I wrap the purple fabric between her fingers.
Jane peeks over her shoulder. “Is it just me…or are we being stared at? Not that I’m not used to the staring—it’s just that I know all the names of the people looking at us.”
I fasten the Velcro at her wrist and narrow my eyes onto a younger SFE bodyguard. He sits up on a weight bench, not hiding the fact that he’s observing us.
He catches sight of my glare and turns his head.
“They know better,” I say huskily, looking back at Jane. “But they’re still human.”
“They’re curious,” she realizes. “About our relationship as bodyguard and client.”
I nod. “About us.”
She tenses. “But not in a dangerous way?”
“No.” I lower my voice. “We’re fine.” No one knows.
She exhales a little bit and nods. I wrap her other hand.
Jane isn’t here just for this training session. The team wants Maximoff to take a fabricated “candid” video of me doing pad work with Jane. He’ll upload it to his Instagram.
Showing the public that Jane is interested in me as more than just a friends-with-benefits is a top priority to the team. She doesn’t go to the gym often. So if she posts that she’s here for me, it means something more apparently.
Farrow ducks beneath the ropes and climbs into the ring. While he helps Xander with technique, he’s giving me time to spend with Jane.
For the op.
I lead her to the corner of the gym. Where a worn boxing bag hangs from the ceiling and a mirrored wall catches our reflections.
“I’ve taken self-defense classes before with my brothers,” Jane says, slipping on a white glove, “but Krav Maga is quite different from boxing, isn’t it?”
I nod.
All of the Cobalts, Meadows, and Hales took Krav Maga when they were kids.
I watch Jane struggle to undo the Velcro of her second glove. Biting the end, she tries to pry it open with her teeth.
“Here.” I take the glove from Jane.
“Thank you.” She holds out her arm.
I tug the glove onto her wrist, and my eyes fix on hers. “What you learned is based on instinct and defense,” I explain briefly. “If someone grabbed you from behind and you were alone and afraid—God fucking forbid.” I attach the Velcro at her wrist. “Krav Maga teaches you to react confidently and efficiently. To turn, knee them in the groin, and run.”
“Avoiding and preventing greater violence,” she concludes with a nod. “Beckett was particularly good at the knee-to-the-groin move when we were little.”
I stiffen at the mention of Beckett.
Banks recently told me something he saw while he was on-duty in New York. Something involving Beckett Cobalt, her twenty-one-year-old brother.
Something that’s not good.
I shouldn’t tell Jane. Ethically I should keep my mouth wired shut. It’s not information that’s pertinent to her life. So this should stay within the team.
It should stay buried.
But I’m looking at this glowing, freckle-cheeked angel with a honey-dripping, heart-exploding voice. A girl who loves her family like an extension of her fucking soul. And if our positions were reversed, I’d want to know about Banks.
Jane starts to frown. “Is something wrong?”
I make a choice.
While she leans a hip into the boxing bag, I edge close. Gripping the top of the bag, I dip my head towards her. Until it feels like we’re the only two in the gym.
I just say it. “Banks told me he saw Beckett doing key bumps behind a dumpster.”
She freezes. Her wide-eyed reaction is harder to read.
I drop my voice. “Do you know what key bumps are?”
“Oui.” She rests her gloved hands on my chest. Chin on top of them.
I drape my arm around her shoulders. I’m allowed. She’s safe here, and they all think this is for the video.
She further clarifies, “Your brother saw my brother snorting cocaine.”
“You knew about his drug use?” I ask. She seems more surprised that Banks found out. That I found out.
“It just came to my attention this summer.” In one breath, she quickly explains how Beckett has been using drugs because he believes he dances better on them. “Only Charlie, Moffy, Oscar, Donnelly, and Farrow know about this…now you and Banks do as well—you both can’t tell anyone else. We’re still trying to help Beckett, but it’s a…delicate process.”
I’m always thinking about the team too. And Beckett’s bodyguard has a family history of drug abuse. Their pairing is now an instant red flag.
Donnelly won’t supply drugs to his client. He passed his initial background check because he said he has no contact with suppliers. He said he hates hard drugs. He said he prefers not being
around them.
I assume he loves Beckett enough that he doesn’t want to leave his detail.
But for his well-being, he should be transferred. Akara is my good friend, and he’s in charge of these men. If he finds out about this, he’ll move Donnelly to a new client. He has to look out for everyone on SFO and make the hard calls that no one likes to make.
I hold her gaze tighter. “I planned to tell Akara.”
“You don’t need to,” she says quickly. “Donnelly will go to Akara if he’s having trouble. That’s what Farrow has said.”
I don’t think Donnelly ever would, but I also recognize that Farrow knows him better than I do. And bottom line, I’m not in charge anymore.
I have to worry about Jane first. So I nod. Settled with this decision. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll make sure Banks doesn’t either.”
Jane relaxes. “Thank you.” Her eyes soften. “I do…very much appreciate it…and you—both it and you…” She clears her throat, blushing, and she leans most of her weight back into the boxing bag.
My muscles flex, and I take my arm off her shoulders. Her eyes flit to the cut of my biceps in my gray shirt.
If we were alone at night, I’d already be knelt at her feet.
She tries to elbow a piece of hair off her cheek, since her fingers are sheathed in the gloves.
I push closer, my chest brushing against her body, and I tuck the strand behind her ear.
Jane blushes more and crosses her ankles.
How wet is she? I breathe harder through my nose. Arousal fisting my cock.
She motions to me, thunking my chest with her glove. “Oh, I…”
I almost smile. Christ, it’s a thousand degrees in here, and I glance back at Maximoff. He’s busy talking to his brother and Farrow.
Not filming.
So I can’t kiss her yet. I’ve already been pushing my luck with the practicing excuse.
Jane raises her chin. “Beckett…my brother, he should be more careful in public. With the you-know-what.” Key bumps.
I nod once, both of us ignoring the heat. “No one on the team wants to see your brother’s mug shot.” It’d be slapped on the front page of Celebrity Crush.
She smiles up at me. “It’s a good feeling knowing you all care about us so…deeply. Some deeper than…others.” She traps a breath as though I’m nine-inches deep inside of her. Thrusting hard. Right here. Right now.