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I swallowed so hard, I was convinced he’d heard it. For a second, I wondered if I’d conjured some fantasy in my mind, but I hadn’t. This was real, and it was ... breathtaking.
Lucifer’s sculpted body was a thing of startling beauty. My eyes devoured him as though I had no sense of shame. His chiseled chest glistened with a sheen of sweat. The Flynn family crest—a shield with a cross—spanned his deltoid, surrounded by flowers. Apple blossoms. A bevy of Gaelic words—honor, family, loyalty, faith; I could read them all—littered the smooth planes of his chest and abs. With each flex of his muscles, the ink that covered his skin seemed to come alive.
And the scars—the scars.
I gulped again, and this time I knew he’d heard because he bumped my chin lightly just as he had that night in the church. There was a certain softness in his eyes that he’d reserved until this very moment. Lucifer Flynn was the most formidable man I’d ever been this close to, yet I only experienced trust and something I couldn’t label but that was quantifiably as rewarding when he looked at me like that.
My da once told me that if a minnow could swim among sharks like she belonged, she’d be the scariest fish in the sea. For the first time in my life, I believed I could be that little minnow if Lucifer were the shark at my side.
“You ready?” he asked, his Irish brogue thick and intoxicating.
I ran my tongue through the seal of my lips, and I swore I tasted his masculine scent—bay rum infused with something that was all his own.
I blinked myself into the present and nodded.
Lucifer’s half grin was genuine. “What else did your da teach you?”
I popped my mouth guard into place. “To never let down your guard,” I garbled.
Forgetting all about my poorly wrapped hands, I lunged forward, landing a solid punch in his solar plexus. I needed to distract myself before I turned into a sobbing mess of emotions and hormones.
A soft chuckle rumbled up from his chest, taking me by surprise. I should have been insulted by his reaction; instead, I was mesmerized by the sound.
I’d made the devil laugh.
So much for a distraction.
I bit back my own laughter as I tried for a repeat performance, only to be blocked. A move that hurt fucking worse than jabbing his abs of steel. I shook my hand, and his grin widened.
“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” I grunted through the plastic clenched between my teeth.
The gleam in Lucifer’s eye intensified as he batted away my raised fists. “Finish wrapping your hands; I’ll get the pads.”
For the next forty minutes, the devil was all business.
My final jab-cross-uppercut landed with flawless execution, and Lucifer dropped the pads and then swiped his arm across his forehead. “That’s enough for today.”
Not needing to be told twice, I flopped on the matted floor and into an ungraceful starfish pose. “How’s the hole I patched up for you? If I started a side hustle, I’d probably make a killing with all the criminal activity this city has to offer.”
He looked down at me with his arms hanging at his sides. He wasn’t even winded, and here I was feeling like I’d just run the Boston Marathon.
His eyes kind of twinkled. Either that or I’d imagined it. “The sweat makes it burn, but otherwise it’s fine. You did a good job.”
Legit twinkles.
I grinned. “Well, now that you’re my teacher—you’re welcome back to Willa General any time. You don’t even have to pay me.”
“Not your teacher.”
“Are too,” I corrected, feigning insult.
“I don’t want the title,” he grunted, slipping back into ruthless assassin mode.
“Fine . . . master.”
“Willa.”
“What? I thought you’d love that one. Kinky devil with his handcu—”
