Declan had informed me via Conal that I needed self-defense lessons. I'd pointed out to Conal the estate was well-guarded. But it wasn't enough. He'd reminded me I wouldn't be here indefinitely.
No doubt they all wanted to get rid of me asap.
The door opened while I stared into space. I spun around and flushed at the sight of Conal wearing black shorts and a tight technical tee.Sweet baby Jesus.
I instantly regretted not choosing a loose tee. Despite the moderate temperature in here, my nipples had perked up at the sight of him and were currently saluting the delicious male a few feet away.
"Good morning, sweetheart." He tapped his phone and BTS blasted out from hidden speakers. A surprised smile touched my lips. I hadn't pegged Conal as a K-Pop fan.
"Let's warm you up a bit before we start." My mind immediately sank into the gutter, provoking another blush that likely clashed horribly with my green bruises.
"Treadmill?" I squeaked, caught between horror and disbelief. I didn’t run. Like, ever.
"Yeah. Start slow for 10 minutes, then try some short sprints."
He hopped onto an adjacent treadmill while I stared at the control panel on my futuristic machine. There were so many buttons. I had no clue.
"Need a hand?" An amused voice cut through my confusion. I saw he'd stepped off his treadmill.
My heart raced. I didn't need to run. Surely having him this close, thus pushing my heart rate into the stratosphere, counted as a cardio workout, right?
"I've not used a treadmill before," I admitted.
"They're easy. Here, clip this onto your top, so if you lose your footing and fall, the treadmill stops." He reached over my shoulder and plucked a small plastic clip off the in-built shelf. His fingers brushed the overheated skin on my belly as he lifted the waistband of my yoga pants and fastened the clip to it.
Butterflies swarmed in my gut. Conal said something about speed and incline, but I heard nothing over the blood rushingthrough my veins. Why did he have this effect on me? I really needed to get over my stupid crush.
The belt beneath my feet lurched backward, catching me by surprise. I stumbled, knocked off balance, but his arm shot out, bracing me against his solid chest.
"Relax. Walk for now, then when you're comfortable, press these buttons to speed up and down." He pointed to two large red buttons, which even my nephew would have figured out meant faster and slower.
Had Anton killed my last remaining brain cells? It sure felt like it. Perhaps he'd given me a traumatic brain injury when he smacked me around the head.
Once I found my walking rhythm, Conan hopped off and left me to it. I kept my gaze focused on the TV screen ahead. The latest news stories played on mute while more K-Pop filled the room. To my right, Conal sped up, running at a pace that would legitimately kill me.
If I tried to keep up with him, I'd have a heart attack for sure.
After five minutes, I increased the speed slowly until I reached a slow jog. Sweat trickled down between my breasts, soaking into the pink sports bra that barely held my tits in check. Not picking up an over-sized tee had been a mistake. A rookie error. It simply hadn't occurred to me I'd be running.
I also regretted not eating something to fill the empty pit of nothingness in my stomach. A slice of toast might have helped quell the nausea. None of us needed another puking episode. I still had PTSD from the last one.
After ten agonizing minutes, I prayed for death to save me. My heart pounded inside my chest as it struggled to cope with the demands of my lungs while my legs burned with lactic acid. Meanwhile, Conal sprinted like Usain Bolt on the adjacent treadmill, having barely broken a sweat. How was that fair?
Just as I was about to collapse, the door swung open a second time and Ronan strolled in. Like Conal, he also wore a pair of shorts, but unlike his brother, he'd forgotten to throw a tee on. So not only was I treated to the vision of another hot guy in shorts, but I also had to deal with acres of tatted muscle. The man had abs to die for.
My concentration slipped, my feet stumbled, and I cursed loudly.
Death from ogling abs would at least be a fine way to go. Better than death by fire or a gunshot wound to the gut.
Thankfully for my long-term health, the plastic safety clip detached from the treadmill and the belt stopped. I bent over and sucked in air like a drowning woman, fully aware my face had turned puce.
A small part of my brain wondered what the glamorous Bridget looked like when she hit the gym. Because of course that woman was a gym bunny. With her toned figure, she had to be.Bitch.
"Looking good, Pixie Girl," Ronan chuckled as he sauntered over and helped me climb off the stupid murder machine. My legs wobbled like a newborn foal's, but he steadied me with his corded forearm.
A hint of citrus wafted under my nose, softer than the lemon disinfectant clinging to the equipment. Citrus and musk. His signature scent. A scent that made my thighs clench and my nipples perk up again.
"Pink suits you, Pixie Girl." He handed me a bottle of water, still smirking. I noticed his gaze drifting down my chest. Thankfully, the new blush blended nicely with my beetroot red face.
