Pushing Her Limits (Masters of Adrenaline 3)

“I’m sorry.”

“You will be,” he said, his tone teasing. A flurry of rough swats landed on her ass until he abruptly sighed and rolled her off his lap. He pulled her back into being his little spoon and cuddled her in a way that gave the impression he was completely into it. There was nothing worse than feeling as though a guy was obligatory cuddling. Atlas cuddled as if it was his life’s work—it was the same way he fucked.

“That’s it?” she teased. “I was expecting something serious.”

“Maybe later,” he grumbled, then kissed her neck, making her toes curl. “You’re exhausting, woman. I need a fucking nap.”

She laughed, and he pulled her tighter against him. This was the time to get him talking—to learn things about him. The problem was now she wanted to know things that wouldn’t help with her investigation, like whether he read books and what kind of music he listened to. Whether he was close to his parents. What his favorite food was. Hell, she knew next to nothing about him.

Exhaustion stole over her before she could strike up a conversation. She drifted.

If he fell asleep right away, she beat him to it.

***

Jab. Duck. Uppercut. Foot sweep. Duck. Jab—

Sharp pain erupted in her stomach and her breath went out in a whoosh.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

Joel grinned. “You’re getting slow, Palmer. Too many donuts?”

She shook off the setback and focused again, the urge to knock the fucker’s teeth out driving her. Bouncing from foot to foot, she watched for an opening. Sweat dripped down her forehead. This was exactly what she needed. A good, hard sparring session to clear her mind. Maybe Joel would unknowingly knock some sense into her.

After blocking a few advances, she made her move, aiming a knee at his crotch. But he caught her leg and wedged his foot behind hers then pushed her backward so she tripped and fell, hard, onto the gym mat.

“Ughhh,” she groaned, hoping it wasn’t loud enough for Joel to hear. The last thing she needed was him thinking he’d bested her. Luckily, the gym was nearly empty that morning. Only a few guys lifting weights in the next room.

One second she was looking at the ceiling, the next his smug face.

“You quitting?” he asked.

Anger surged in her chest and she jumped up from the floor. Damn pride.

He chuckled evilly then beckoned her to come at him. For an insane moment, he reminded her of Atlas. Only Joel couldn’t muster even half of the evil Atlas could in just one glance. A full shiver slid up her spine but she shook it off and focused on her target.

Jab, kick, foot sweep . . .

And then Joel made a mistake. Getting overconfident, he left his right side open. She rammed her shoulder into his, letting her pent-up frustration fuel her. He lost his balance and fell backward. She went down with him, pinning his body to the ground in a wrestling hold.

Panting, he laughed. “Uncle.”

It was her turn to smirk as she released the hold and stood up.

“Finally,” he said, gazing up at her. “A hint of the old Palmer. The bloodthirsty one.”

What did that mean? She hoped people didn’t think she was losing her edge. She didn’t stick around to find out. Turning toward the locker rooms, she left him lying on the ground. It wasn’t very sporting of her but she didn’t give a fuck. It was just Joel.

He rose then followed her. “You don’t think I’ve noticed you’ve been distracted lately?”

She ignored him, tension rising in her chest.

“What is it?” he persisted. “Too much stress?”

“Nothing.” She sounded pathetic to her own ears. “Mind your own business, Adams.” At the bench, she grabbed a towel from her gym bag and wiped her face and neck.

“It is my business,” he told her. “You’re my partner—”