“Yes, but I have to regain standing with you somehow. How better than by torturing you?”
“Why do you need—?”
“Catch!”
He threw the ball to my left, forcing me to lunge to catch it and throw it back. “I thought you said after another run!”
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.” He threw it again, and for the next half hour, got his exercise by making me suffer. From catches to resistance bands to drilling my reaction time, the whole session became an arm wrestle, Miles increasing the speed and intensity over and over like he was testing what I could do. And every time I met the challenge, his eyes brightened and he pushed me harder. Part of me screamed that I ought to slow down, but it was drowned out by the thundering of my pulse as I rose to that fucking challenge because I would not back down.
By the time he called a halt, I was hot and sweaty and breathing hard, and hadn’t felt so alive in a long time. High on theadrenaline, I was sure I could have kept going, so when he shrugged and said, “I guess that was passable,” I’d taken half a dozen steps toward him before I could stop myself.
Miles didn’t retreat, just grinned as his gaze slid down my body and back. “You look like you want to fight me,” he said and ran his tongue along his teeth, all dare.
I sure wanted to do something, but it was less throwing punches than throwing him against a wall and fucking him, and I needed to step away before I did something I would excessively regret. After years of being careful never to get riled up in a tennis setting, of course it would be Miles Callahan who ruined it. Miles Callahan who stood his ground with that wicked smile.
“You like training because you like a challenge,” he said, slightly breathless himself. “Whereas I like someone who can keep up with me.”
Come-fuck-me eyes. I could see it now, the dare in his expression having a dark, glittering edge.
What the fuck are you doing?the sane, sensible part of me screamed.This is Miles Callahan, not some cute piece of arse trying to pick you up in a laundromat. Get a grip!
I forced out a laugh. “Well, I keep up with youpassably,apparently.”
“Ooh, nice to know I can hit a nerve too.”
He was temptation manifest, all loose damp hair and heavy-lidded eyes, that maroon shirt slicked to his skin. I wanted to slip my fingers into his waistband, wanted to slide my tongue between his teeth, wanted to drag a moan from that bared throat. Standing close was far too dangerous, so I spun away to snatch up my towel.
As I ran it through my hair, Miles’s phone rang. He groaned. “I have to take this.”
To show it was none of my business, I lifted a dismissive hand and moved away to walk off the adrenaline.
“Hey, Tee, what’s up?” Miles said, phone to his ear. “I’m at the gym. Time difference, remember?” Pause. “But you’re always interrupting, it’s your job,” he laughed, setting his free hand on his hip. “Don’t let a few thousand miles stop you.”
Again he paused to listen, and absently started moving one of our tennis balls around with the toe of his shoe. “Yes, of course I remember. Afternoon tea at three, dinner at seven and they want me an hour before both for the stylist.” Another pause, but this time he looked up, meeting my gaze across the room. “No. I told you, I’m attending this one on my own. Don’t. It’s been ages since Miami, Tee, I’m good. No one will think it strange when I’m out of the country.”
He fixed his gaze on me as he spoke, and though it was in the absent way people tended to stare when they were concentrating on something else, it felt it like it had weight.
“Of course it would be easier if you were here,” Miles said, turning away with a sigh. “But I’m doing this swing on my own, yeah?”
Whatever was said on the other end made Miles look back at me, a hint of that wicked smile returning. “You can talk to him now if you like. He’s right here.”
“What?” I said as Miles approached across the gym mats.
“We were training,” he said. “But I’m sure he can spare you a few minutes.”
“A few minutes for what?” I cried, panic spiking as he halted before me.
“Yeah, here, I’ll hand you over.”
He held out his phone. I didn’t take it, frozen like a deer in headlights. “I don’t—I—”
“It’s my sister, Tina. Be nice. Say hi.” His grin spread. “She wants to talk to the man who dared me into this ridiculous stunt. Her words, not mine.”
“Uh . . .” He gave the phone an impatient shake, and realising this was just another of his damn challenges, I took it and set it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Why hello!” a cheery voice replied. “So, you’re the man I have to blame for not getting my trip to England this year?”
“Um, I guess so?”
