Fairchild jolted and spun to face the intruder, fists raised instinctively, weight balanced on the balls of her feet.
Standing in the doorway, Nash raised both of his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. His lips were formed into their usual cocky smirk.
“Easy,” he said. “Not here to pick a fight. Just spectating.”
Fairchild dropped her hands and let her muscles relax a little. She let out another sigh that was half embarrassment, half annoyance.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
“Long enough to know that you’re a force to be reckoned with. I’m glad we’re on the same team.”
The Merc dropped his hands too and stepped into the room. He was dressed for a workout in a deep-cut sleeveless tee that showed off his broad shoulders and strong arms. He’d been allowed to keep most of his tats, since they weren’t Guild-related. His lower body was clad in a pair of shorts that showed off his muscular thighs and calves. It was all Fairchild could do to keep from staring.
Nash sauntered over to where she was standing, and he pressed his fist lightly against the bag she’d just been beating on. His face grew serious for a moment.
“Muay Thai,” he said admiringly. “Ancient but effective.” Then his smirk returned. “But you know… combat isn’t really what we’re supposed to be training for.”
Fairchild scowled.
“Are you worried about the mission?” she asked. “Or are you just trying to get into my pants?”
Nash chuckled, and Fairchild hated the way her pulse jumped at the sound, the same way she hated the deep, sexy dimples that appeared on either side of the man’s face.
“I get it,” he said. “You came down here to blow off some steam, right? I’m the same way. Nothing beats a good workout to get rid of some pent-up aggression. But you know…”
He hit the heavy bag with a quick flurry of punches, the blows landing so hard and fast it sounded like a machine gun.
“…a human opponent can give you a better workout than some old punching bag.”
“I thought you said you weren’t here to pick a fight.”
“Not a fight,” he said, grinning. “Just a friendly competition, that’s all. Let’s see what’s on the menu…”
He strolled over to the wall and began tapping on the control screen affixed there. After a moment, a light hum trembled through the air, and a sparring mat materialized in the center of the room, its edges coming into existence like blue embers. Nash glanced over his shoulder at the creation and frowned.
“A mat? How boring…”
He tapped some more, and the mat disappeared, replaced a second later by a raised boxing ring surrounded by ropes.
“An improvement,” Nash said, “but we can do better.”
More tapping. The boxing ring disappeared in a blue blaze, and a new structure took its place—an octagonal platform walled inon all eight sides by a high, black, chain-link cage. Nash smiled approvingly.
“Perfect,” he said.
Fairchild quirked an eyebrow. “You challenging me to a cage match?” she asked.
“Like I said, just a friendly competition.” Nash walked over to the cage and circled his fingers through the chain-link. “Here are the rules. Each time a combatant gets knocked down, they have to remove one article of clothing. First one without any clothes is the loser. The winner gets to tie them up and do whatever they want. Sound good?”
Fairchild just stared at him in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” said Nash, smirking. “Afraid you might lose?”
Fairchild could feel her blood heating with renewed rage. She had to hand it to the arrogant bastard, he knew how to push her buttons. She gestured toward the cubbies in the corner.
“Get yourself wrapped and gloved,” she said, flashing a smirk of her own. “I’m gonna make you regret this.”
