Ignoring her jab, he crossed his arms and shot her a look that could’ve melted glass. “You’re canceling my practice without talking to me first?”
He rolled back his shoulders in a way that made his ridiculously sculpted muscles flex under his signature athletic tee. Long-sleeved today, covering up those delicious tattoos. Shame.
Why did he have to be sohot? Why did his body have to be soperfect? His face was a stunning mix of intimidating and austere, like something straight out of a romance novel, if the romance in question was a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers that came with a side of frustration and scowls.
He should look frightening, with a jagged scar across his eyebrow, another, fainter one, along the sharp cut of his jaw, and the permanent scowl that made him look like he was always in the middle of an existential crisis. But no. Somehow his appearance had the opposite effect on her.
Everyone else in the gym was appropriately intimidated by his deep baritone and commanding presence. But something about him hit her in all the right places, which were,in fact, the very wrong places when it came to this man. It annoyed the living hell out of her.
Matching his posture, she folded her arms. “We have a fashion show in three weeks. A show that, I might add, will earn a lot of money for this place.” There was no guarantee she could deliver on that, but she’d made a career out of faking it until she made it, so she was rolling with that mindset in this situation as well. “Money that might buy you a new gym one day.” She gestured to the exposed ceiling beams that she was pretty sure weren’t there for aesthetic purposes. “So if I were you, and I’m just saying—” She popped a hip for emphasis. “I’d let us have the space we need to make this the best show we can.” She ended by pouting her lips, the same pout that Esquire magazine had featured on its cover shortly before her modeling career imploded.
Jordan glared at her for so long that she almost squirmed under his scrutiny. He stepped up to her, so close she had to tip her head to maintain eye contact. His scent, warm and woodsy, enveloped her in an intoxicating cloud. She blinked to clear the cotton balls that had suddenly formed in her brain.
“Well, Vanessa,” he rumbled, his voice somewhere between a purr and a growl, which she found both soothing and dangerous. “If I were you, andI’m just saying—” He leaned in, his nose brushing an inch from hers, his gaze searing. “I’d find another space that isn’t my gym,” he finished, his voice low and intense. “Because there is no way on this good earth I’m risking my boys’ chance at the finals on your fashion show.”
She reared back with a gasp.He didn’t. The last time her hip pop and pout hadn’t worked was… never. She glared at him, though staring him down proved annoyingly difficult when he towered over her five feet eleven inches.
Movement behind Jordan’s shoulder drew her attention to Rory nervously shuffling from one foot to the other, and the wide-open gym doors beyond her.
An idea unfurled slowly in the back of her mind. Payback at its finest. The boys could have their gym, but that didn’t mean they’d get a quality practice.
“Fine. You can stay here. This time.” Straightening, she smiled brightly at Jordan, satisfied when she caught the flash of surprise at her easy acquiescence. “We’ll take today’s rehearsal elsewhere.”
Shouldering past him, she sashayed toward the girls, who were watching the confrontation with wide, cautious eyes. “Come on, ladies,” she hollered as she collected the shopping bags she’d dropped on her arrival. “Rehearsal will be this way today.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jordan had learned a lot in prison, but the one lesson coming in handy right now was how to tune out the noise. If Princess Pain-in-the-Ass thought her loud music and cacophony of clicking heels would annoy him into submission, she had another thing coming.
If only he could get his boys on board. Every time he glanced at the gym doors, he found one of them with their face glued to the window, giving a play-by-play of what was happening in the hall.
Each girl got a pair of those fancy high heels Vanessa seemed to prefer. That was the first distraction. The second was harder for his team to ignore—the girls strutting under Vanessa’s enthusiastic instruction.
Noticing his point guard peering out the window, Jordan threw the basketball his way. “Beck!” He released the ball as he shouted, giving the kid’s reflexes a chance to kick in. “Look alive, man.”
Beck caught the ball, his cheeks turning pink at being busted staring. “Sorry, Coach, they’re just so…” He glanced back to the window. “Distracting.”
Jordan sighed as he crossed to the kid. He got it. He really did. Few things were more distracting than beautiful women in heels.
The second he looked out the window, his eyes found her.
She had a high ponytail, a t-shirt half tucked under her bra exposing a slice of her toned stomach, and a pair of comfortable sweatpants rolled up to the knee. On her feet were a pair of mile-high stilettos with a thin strap around her slender ankles. Even in her casual outfit and restrained hair, she looked classy, expensive. A different league entirely.
Distracting didn’t even begin to cover it.
As if she sensed his presence, Vanessa’s gaze lifted and collided with his through the window, and maybe he should’ve been embarrassed, but to hell with it. He couldn’t be bothered. He ate her up, every inch, his mind wandering to the dark dreams that featured her. Soft skin, smooth legs wrapped around his waist, hoarse cries against his ear as he moved inside her?—
Fuck. This had to stop. How would he erase her from his mind if she was in his face all the damn time?
“Right?” Beck said from beside him, snapping him back to reality.
“Yeah, man.” He gave the kid a friendly clap on the shoulder as he drew him away from the door. “My best advice is, get used to it, and learn to ignore it.” God knew he had to.
Twenty minutes later, Vanessa’s angry shout raised the hairs on the back of his neck, breaking his focus. Before he could think, his instincts kicked in. He stopped dribbling and raced to the double doors.
When he threw them open, the cold rush of dread flooded his veins. Vanessa was squaring off with a scrawny shithead with bloodshot eyes and barely contained rage twisting his face.
“First of all,” she shouted, as she pushed the intruder square in the chest with both hands. “You need to fuck all the way off.”
