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Apparently she liked him as a fighter just as much as she liked the savvy businessman. Maybe more. Her raw reaction at the sight of Antonio in the ring was powerful and uncomfortably warm. Hot, even. And far lower than seemed appropriate in public.
It was shameful. Shameful to be so affected by her sister’s husband, shameful that she’d carried a yet-to-be-extinguished torch for Antonio all of these years. Most shameful of all was that at least half of his appeal lay in his primal stance as he waited for an opening to do bodily harm to another human. She’d always thought of him as the perfect man—committed, beautiful, steady. And it frightened her to be so attracted to him for purely carnal reasons.
But she couldn’t stop the flood of elemental longing any more than she could explain how over-the-top sexy the man had become once he slipped into his glory in the ring.
She’d never seen him fight live. Once he and Vanessa had hooked up, she’d spent a lot of time feeling sorry for herself and as little time as possible around the two of them. It was too hard to be reminded that he’d picked the glamorous Hopewell sister instead of the quiet, unassuming one. Not that she blamed him; most men had overlooked Caitlyn in favor of Vanessa, and Caitlyn had never been bitter about it. Until Antonio.
She’d spent the entirety of their marriage hiding her hurt and disappointment and jealousy, the entirety of their relationship wishing she could have her sister’s marriage...and then the past year feeling guilty and sick about the uncharitable thoughts she’d had.
Now she just wanted to feel as if she didn’t have to apologize for being alive when her sister wasn’t. For being a woman affected by a prime specimen of man as he engaged in physical combat. Was that so wrong?
The men circled each other, trash-talking. Suddenly, Antonio lashed out in a blur of intricately executed moves, both beautiful and lethally graceful. Her breath caught as she drank in the visual panorama. Antonio’s body moved fluidly, as if it had been made specifically for this purpose, and it was stunning to behold.
In enabling him to return to the ring, she’d unwittingly exposed herself to a piece of his soul that was the opposite of harsh, the opposite of brutal. It was breathtaking.
Caitlyn blinked as Rodrigo hit the mat without having lodged one defense.
Violence was unfolding before her very eyes and the only thing she’d noticed was how exquisitely Antonio had executed it. Something was very wrong with her.
The crowd murmured as Rodrigo shook his head and climbed to his feet, rubbing his jaw.
“Lucky shot, boss,” he grumbled.
Not that she had any basis for judgment, but Caitlyn didn’t think so. As the men went at it again, Antonio’s superior skill and style couldn’t be mistaken, even by an untrained eye such as hers. Rodrigo landed a couple of shots, but the younger man called a halt to the match after only a few more minutes, breathing heavily. Caitlyn grimaced at his split lip.
Rodrigo and Antonio shook hands and the crowd slowly dispersed, many of them stopping to welcome Antonio back or clap him on the shoulder with a few congratulatory words about his performance.
Caitlyn hung back, remaining as unobtrusive as possible while Antonio excused himself to shower and change. No one was paying attention to her anyway, which she considered a blessing as long as her insides were still so unsettled. This whole Falco Fight Club experience had shown her something about herself that she didn’t understand and didn’t know what to do with.
Antonio returned. His gaze cut through the crowd and locked on to hers, his eyes dark with something untamed and unnameable and she shivered. It was as if he knew exactly where she was in the crowd. And exactly what she’d been thinking about while watching him fight.
Her cheeks heated and she blessed his distance because, hopefully, that meant he couldn’t tell. But the distance disappeared as he strode directly to her.
Though clothed, his potency hadn’t diminished in the slightest. Because she knew what his hard body looked like under his crisp white shirt and slacks. Heat rolled between them and his gaze fell to her mouth for a moment as if he was thinking about dropping a kiss there.
Her lips tingled under his scrutiny. Madness. She’d fallen under some kind of spell that caused her imagination to run away with her, obviously.
“I’m ready to go home,” he murmured and the moment broke apart. “I’ve had enough for one day.”
“Sure,” she managed to get out around the tight, hot lump in her throat.
Goody. Now they could cram themselves into a tiny Range Rover for the drive home, where his masculine scent would overpower her, and she’d spend the drive reminding herself that no matter how sexy he was, the complications between them were legion.
