Page 59 of A Shot at Love
The noises she’d heard were coming from Ky. Her fear flew when she realized he was pummeling the punching bag suspended from the ceiling.
The moment she wished she had her camera in her hand, she bolted back to the house, ran up to her room and was back at her viewing spot within a few seconds, the lens pointed at the powerful image in front of her.
Ky was slathered in sweat, his hair stuck flat to his head. His hands were wrapped in gauze as they’d been in the safe house basement. Shirtless, the muscles in his neck and chest flexed with each roll and thrust of his arms as they connected with the bag. The St. Michael’s medallion bounced against his neck with each move he executed. Moisture poured down his torso, dipping and pooling in the curves and indentations of his abdominal muscles.
Gemma snapped dozens of pictures, alternating the settings on her camera with every shot. She wanted to capture each and every movement he made without worry of blurring or distorting the image.
He was simply magnificent to watch, even more so because he hadn’t a clue he was being observed. Free and unfiltered, every motion he made was pure and raw, true to form, and unadulterated. His breathing was coarse but controlled, heavy sounding but not labored. A few times she heard him suck in air then let it out in a natural, easy rhythm as his fist connected with its target.
The bag swung and shifted with every hit as if it weighed nothing more than a fistful of cotton balls. Gemma appreciated just how powerful and focused Ky’s punches were when he jabbed two fists in rapid succession and the bag swung away from his body with such a force, he had to sidestep it on the recoil.
It was at that moment he became aware of her.
Standing square with him now, Gemma saw his face fully for the first time and not in profile. Her heart actually missed a few beats, then made up for the deficit by rebounding to a skipping cadence.
Primal, savage fury encompassed his features. His eyes were so filled with heat she was astounded she didn’t burst into flames when they lit on her. His luscious full mouth was open, dragging in huge gasps of air; his massive shoulders rising almost to his ears with each inhalation. Visible steam floated from the heated sweat evaporating off him.
Ky dropped his hands to his sides as he watched her, silent.
“I’m sorry,” Gemma blurted, clutching her camera to her chest. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I woke up…I couldn’t find you and I got worried…I’m, I’m sorry.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
Ky shook his head and, like a dog shaking wet fur, his sweat fanned and danced around him. He pulled one of his wrapped hands to his mouth, saying first, “You don’t have to be sorry.”
Like she had once before, Gemma said, “Here, let me help.” She swung her camera from its strap to rest on her back. She crossed to him and felt the temperature in the air surrounding him shoot up a good twenty degrees. Taking his hand from his mouth, she pulled it down and began to unfurl the wrapping.
With her eyes trained on her task, she could feel his penetrating stare covering her. She wanted to look up at him but was fearful once she did, she wouldn’t be able to look away. Ever.
She was eye level with his chin and watched, mesmerized, as moisture pooled in the deep indented notch at his throat. She swiped her tongue across parched lips and, in one insane moment of mind-numbing lust, wished beyond everything she could lap the area dry.
And then proceed to lick the rest of him.
When she felt her own cheeks flame with heat, she cursed her fair skin.
Standing toe to toe with this man who defined the word male, Gemma felt every part of her body that made her a woman scream out with desire and want.
And she did want him—in the purest, most sensual, mating sense.
When the drenched gauze fell freely, unwound from his hand, Gemma rolled it into a ball and finally ventured a look up at his face.
If she wasn’t mistaken, that dark, graphic, just barely constrained force she saw mirrored back at her told her he felt the same way she did. Her detailed and creative imagination went into overdrive, giving her a full and erotic sense of what the two of them would be like if they ever fell together.
Oh my! Bad imagination.
Her nipples pulled into two tight, painful pebbles beneath her bra. Stomach muscles she didn’t even know she possessed cramped and clenched as her lower body tensed. When she pressed her thighs together in a purely involuntary move, she felt the area at the top of them throb and moisten with need.
