Page 13 of Craving the Edge

My teeth sunk into my bottom lip, the sharp sting a useless distraction. The hoodie he wore was old, the fabric soft from a hundred washes, and it did bugger all to hide the dense muscle of his shoulders. I hated that I noticed. Hated the low, insistent pulse that started up again, a traitorous rhythm deep between my legs.

Billie’s gaze followed mine, sliding past me towards the archway. The teasing grin on her face dissolved. “Well, look at that.”

He was pretending to check the tension of the tape across his knuckles, peeling back an edge that didn’t need peeling. His stillness was a lie. He’d been standing there the whole time, like a silent predator. The air thickened, charged with our unspoken contest.

My own hands were suddenly clumsy. I pulled a stack of client intake forms towards me, shuffling them into a neat pile that was already neat enough.

Billie looked from me to Declan, then back again. A dangerous spark lit her hazel eyes. It was the same look she got right before convincing me a third round of tequila shots was a sound life choice.

“Right then,” she announced, her voice too bright in the quiet foyer. She slid her gym bag behind the counter. “Desk duty is officially covered. Go on. Take your break.”

I shot her a look that could curdle milk. She just smiled, a picture of false innocence, and waved a hand towards the door.

A surge of panicked hesitation froze me to my chair, but staying put felt like cowardice, like admitting he had power over me. With a breath that did absolutely zero to calm the frantic beat of my heart, I pushed my chair back. It scraped loudly across the worn flagstone floor.

The moment I rounded the desk, he stopped fiddling with his hand and pushed off the wall, starting towards me.

“Ah, we can go out to the office,” I said, blinking. I felt like a deer caught in the gaze of a mountain lion.

“Great.”

I led the way without a word and pushed open the door to the office. It was nothing more than a glorified storeroom crammed with a beaten-up couch, filing cabinets, and stacks of Gary’s old trade magazines.

The heavy door thudded shut behind us.

The sudden quiet was a roar in my ears. It swallowed the distant murmur of the gym, leaving us in a tight pocket of tension. For the first time all week, there was no barrier between us. No desk, no audience, no expectations. It was just the two of us and the scent of his sweat.

I moved to the far end of the worn leather couch and sat, folding my hands in my lap. He followed, sitting beside me. The cushion dipped with his weight, his thigh a solid wall of heat just inches from mine. The space felt dangerously tiny.

I cleared my throat, the sound rough. Work. Stick to work. “So, how long are we looking at?”

He turned his head to look at me, his green eyes intense in the low light. “How long for what?”

“For this. For you training here.” My voice was all business, a paper thin shield against his magnetic pull. “I have classes I need to reschedule. Personal trainers with contracts. I need a rough timeline.”

A small smile played on his mouth. “Another month.”

“A month?” I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice. I had figured another week, two at most.

“Yeah. The fight’s in Sydney. I need the lead-up time.”

My mind went blank. I hadn’t heard anything about a fight.

“Oh.” The word was small, inadequate.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through the couch. “Don’t worry, it’s not permanent.” His gaze fell to his taped hands, resting on his thighs. “Just until they get Ironbound sorted, or I find somewhere else that isn’t…exposed.”

“What happened at Ironbound?” I asked.

“It burned down.” He said it flatly.

“Oh…I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well…” He picked at a loose thread on his hoodie. “It was arson. The owners were into some dodgy business, apparently. Owed the wrong people.”

“I thought it was your gym?”

He shook his head, a humourless smile touching his lips. “Nah. It was just where I trained.” He shifted on the couch, the worn leather groaning under his weight. The movement brought him an inch closer, his knee almost brushing mine. “So… You live around here?”