Her mouth dropped and for once she had no snappy retort.

Satisfied, he took the cart from her and headed toward the checkout counter.

*   *   *

“See you tomorrow,” Tyson called to Walker as he left the gym a little past nine that evening, the last one, other than himself and Parker, to leave.

Parker guzzled a bottle of water and waved to him. Sitting on the mat inside the cage where Tyson had been showing her various jujitsu moves all day, she glanced up at him. “What’s next?”

“We call it a night,” he said, removing his training gloves.

“But I thought we were . . .”

“We’ve done enough for today,” he said, not looking at her.

Great. They were back to this again. After their awkward shopping trip that morning, the training had started off rough with his reluctance to touch her . . . then her failing attempts to steady her pounding heart and focus her thoughts when he finally did lie on top of her on the mat to show her the moves required by her script. But after a few hours, they’d gotten into a rhythm. They’d both seemed to put aside the persistent, unyielding tension that existed between them and she’d learned a lot. More from him that day than she had from Dane in almost two weeks. Tyson was a champion fighter for good reason. The surprise was his sudden willingness and dedication to making sure she learned everything she needed to.

Now. in the silence of the empty gym, the air around them was once again strained.

She stood, her legs feeling stiff. “Well, do you mind if I stick around for a bit and use the speed bag? My coordination is still way off and there’s a scene that requires me to do it,” she said, hoping he’d offer to teach her whatever technique he used on the bag. She’d been mesmerized more than once watching the lightning-speed unbreakable rhythm he achieved.

“I actually need to do my own training now and I prefer the gym quiet and empty.”

He’d been working with her all day. She would let him train in peace. Clearly, he didn’t want her sticking around.

“Okay.” She picked up her discarded training gloves and started toward the cage door.

She heard him sigh behind her. “Parker, it’s fine. The speed bag is all yours.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

A few minutes later, her annoyance rose as the stupid, odd-shaped bag continued to fly in all directions, except where she needed it. She’d hit it, it would come back toward her, but when she hit it again, it went to either side or bounced back a third time far too quickly for her to get it again.

Why was this so hard? The other guys had no problem with it. There had to be a trick to it. She refused to believe she was that incompetent. She took a deep breath and started again. Two hits, three hits . . . okay . . . she was getting it . . . then gone—bouncing everywhere again.

“Damn,” she muttered. She had to figure this out. It was the opening, iconic scene in the movie. If she couldn’t get this part right, she was screwed.

“Square off.” Tyson’s voice behind her made her jump. She hadn’t heard him come closer.

“What?” She looked at her feet in fighting stance—the right slightly ahead of the left.

“Your fighting stance won’t work with the speed bag. Fix your feet,” he said.

She did.

“Open your hands while you’re learning and use your fingers to hit the bag instead of your fists.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re hitting too hard and too fast before you get the rhythm figured out. Start slowly.”

Her pulse raced in her wrists at the words—too hard, too fast, start slowly. Oh my fucking God.

He moved toward the bag and demonstrated. “The rhythm is easy to figure out if you pay attention. The bag will rebound three times for every hit. When you hit it, it will go forward, back, forward again and that’s when you hit again when it comes back to you.”

She watched as he hit the bag . . . counted the rebounds, then hit the bag again.

So there was a trick. She offered him a grateful smile as he moved away from the bag. “Thank you. That helps.”

“Sorry you weren’t taught this before. Dane’s a great coach and awesome fighter, but he’s been doing this shit so long, he forgets that new fighters need to be shown the basics—things he takes for granted because he can do them in his sleep.”

She nodded.

“Go ahead and try,” he said, standing back and folding his arms.

He was going to watch? “You can go back to your training. I’ll keep working on what you taught me.”

“Go ahead.”

His simple, quiet authority made her knees weak. “Okay.” She did as he instructed, squared off with the bag, opened her hands, hit, counted, hit again, and repeated the motion several times . . . it worked. She knew it didn’t look graceful and effortless like when he did it, but she’d work on that. At least she knew what she was doing now. She stopped and beamed at him. “It works.”

He laughed and the sound caught her off guard—so rich and deep and smooth. “Of course it works. I’d never lead you astray.”

Their eyes met and held for too long. The silence of the empty gym was deafening as she struggled to figure out what was going on behind his.

He looked away and she released a breath. “I think I’ll head out now. I can work on this again tomorrow . . . thank you again.” She picked up her training gloves and water bottle and turned to leave.

But his hand caught her wrist and a second later he was swinging her around to face him, closing the gap between them. He released her wrist and grabbed her hips with both hands, pulling her roughly toward him. “Why is it that you’re the last thing I need right now, but the only fucking thing I want?” he growled.

Oh God.

His grip tightened and his thumbs bit into her flesh at her waist. Her breath caught under his intense stare and she swallowed hard. Suddenly, being this close to him, alone with him, wanting him, seemed like a terrible idea. He was right. She was the last thing he needed right now, and another broken heart was the last thing she wanted. “Tyson, I . . .”

Her words were lost as he lowered his head to the base of her neck, placing unexpectedly soft kisses along her collarbone. The gentleness of his lips were a stark contrast to the rough hold in which he pinned her against his body.

Oh shit. This was not good . . . not good at all.

But who was she kidding? This felt more than good. It was amazing. But this idea wasn’t good . . . noooo, this idea was terrible. Yet, she’d been the one to start it the night before in the club. She should tell him to stop before this went any further.

She didn’t.

His tongue slid the length of her neck, until he captured the tip of her ear between his teeth, biting gently. He swore under his breath and the warmness caused goose bumps to dance up and down her spine.

She gripped his forearms and closed her eyes, desperate to think clearly.

His mouth grazed her skin as it traveled across her cheek. His gaze locked with hers as his lips hovered just inches away from her mouth. “Parker, I’m not a good guy. I’m not the right man for you or anyone else. You need to know exactly what you’re getting into right now.”

What was he trying to say? That he wanted to fuck her and that was it? Her legs were trembling beneath her and her heart pounded so loud she could hear it echo off the gym walls. Did she care? Was she really concerned with being another hourglass-shaped notch in Tyson Reed’s bedpost?

She released a breath, moving in closer to him, eyes locked, impulsive decision made. “I don’t . . .”

“Whoa, sorry, didn’t know you were still with someone,” a voice at the back of the gym made them both jump.

Tyson’s hands immediately fell away from her body and she stumbled backward, flattening herself against the wall to steady her unbalanced legs. Her pulse raced even faster at the untimely interruption.