Page 25 of A Shot at Love
When she opened the door to her bedroom, the hallway light was lit. She cocked her head and listened for any sounds of life in the house. Hearing none, she gingerly walked to the stairs, down to the first floor. The den was vacant, the security screens glowing in the dark room like an eerie montage, perpetually streaming. Gemma stopped to see the two other agents she’d met, LaRoux and Coble, each on a separate monitor, walking around the outside of the house.
They’re on patrol, she told herself, making sure no one breached the house and got to her.
With a shudder, Gemma tore her eyes from the screens and exited the room.
The kitchen was empty, the coffee machine on and the carafe half-full. Guessing the caffeine was for the outside agents, she moved to the basement door and opened it.
Muffled sounds drifted up the stairs from the lit room that ran the length of the house.
When Ky had shown her the area the night before with the invitation to use whatever she wanted to and at any time, Gemma had been impressed by the quality of the equipment. A top-notch elite treadmill, stair climber, and a full array of weights were displayed for her choosing, along with two boxing bags suspended from the ceiling and a life-sized Slam Man punching stand. But Gemma’s eyes had zeroed in on the nontraditional gear along one area of the concrete. Nunchakus, a series of different lengths of jo staffs, and several kamas of differing sizes were secured to the wall.
Gemma’s eyes had gone wide when she’d viewed the fighting weapons. As much as she valued a good run, keeping up with her weapons training was equally as important. She hadn’t been to class in several weeks due to her book deadline, and her fingers and arms had twitched with longing when she realized she had the weapons at her disposal.
With as little noise as possible, Gemma crept down the basement stairs, drawn to the sound of a fist connecting with something hard. It was an unmistakable sound, one she’d hoped to make herself this morning.
Dressed in similar sweats to what he’d worn the morning before, his body bathed in gleaming sweat, Ky pummeled one of the suspended bags. His hands were wrapped with white gauze, his arms toned and taunt as he executed each strike with perfect precision and technique.
Gemma stopped on the final riser and watched him batter the bag, fists moving with swift, defined actions, the jabs fast and hard, the recoils even faster.
Shoulders raised, elbows tight, hands balled and up blocking his cheeks and jaw line, he threw a right jab, left, then two rights, all aimed high, and a final forward thrust left, lower on the bag, his knees bending to give him balance.
Gemma wanted to race back to her room, grab her camera and capture the scene before her.
Kyros Pappandreos was the epitome, the very definition of a natural-born fighter. Distinctly male, uniquely the warrior, his body moved with the grace of a panther, the stealth of a tiger stalking its prey, and the accuracy of a cobra striking. There was something so sensual, so primal, so animalistic about him, she knew she had to photograph him just this way.
She’d capture him in slow motion first, his tight fist connecting with his target, the sweat of exertion flying from his forehead. Then, she’d move to rapid fire, the image blurring with the speed of his hits. A pugilist, enigmatic, tough, and hard bodied, the bulging muscles and corded sinew in his arms distended with his action, outlined and bathed in the shiny moisture pouring from him.
Ky repeated the moves in the same series of strikes three more times before dropping his hands to his thighs.
He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, his breathing hard, but not labored, and turned.
“I’m sorry,” Gemma said as soon as his widened gaze trained on her. “I didn’t know you were down here, and when I realized it, I didn’t want to interrupt you. You looked so…intense. So focused. I’m sorry.”
Good Lord, she never babbled like an idiot. Never. What the hell was it about a simple glance from this man that cranked up her nerves?
“No need to apologize,” Ky said. He began unwrapping one of his hands, tugging at the gauze with his teeth. “This room is as much at your disposal as it is for any of us.”
“I know, but…here, let me help.”
