Page 35 of Talk Howly to Me

She pushed through the distraction of his touch and demonstrated the escape technique—a sharp, twisting motion that broke his grip and left him slightly off-balance. Following through with the movement, she swept his legs and guided him toward the padded floor with controlled precision. Ronan went down smoothly, his combat training evident in the way he absorbed the impact without resistance. From his position on the mat, he looked up at her with something that might have been surprise mixed with unmistakable admiration.

"Impressive," he murmured, and the rough approval in his voice sent heat flooding through her system.

She helped him to his feet, trying to ignore the way his hand lingered in hers longer than necessary. "Now let's try something a little more advanced," she announced to the class, proud of how professional she managed to sound. "This technique is for escaping a rear choke hold."

She turned her back to Ronan, acutely aware of his solid presence behind her. "Go ahead and put your arm around my neck."

His muscled arm slid around her throat with careful precision, and suddenly his entire body was pressed against her back. The heat of his skin burned through the thin fabric of her sports bra, and she could feel every ridge of his abdominal muscles against her spine. His breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, sending shivers of desire cascading through her system.

This was a terrible idea, she realized as her body melted backward into his embrace.

The mate bond sang between them, amplified by the intimate contact until she could barely think past the overwhelming need to turn in his arms and⁠—

Ten people, Sloane. Ten people are watching you demonstrate a life-saving technique. Get your act together.

She forced herself to focus on the mechanics of the escape, demonstrating how to grab his arm, step to the side, and use leverage to break free from the hold. The technique required her to duck under his arm and pivot, ending with Ronan once again on his back on the mat—only this time, the momentum of the movement left her straddling his hips.

For a moment that felt like an eternity, they stared at each other in silence. His hands had come up instinctively to steady her, his palms burning against her bare waist just above the waistband of her leggings. The position was undeniably intimate, and the heat in his blue eyes suggested he was thinking about entirely different kinds of physical activities.

The sexual tension between them was so thick she could practically taste it, and judging by the way several guests shifted uncomfortably, it was obvious to everyone in the room.

Move, Sloane.

She scrambled to her feet with less grace than she would have preferred, offering him a hand up that he accepted with a knowing smile.

"Okay, your turn," she announced to the class, her voice only slightly breathless. "I want everyone to pair up and practice both techniques. Take your time, focus on the mechanics, and don't worry about speed or power right now."

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of instruction and encouragement. Sloane moved between the pairs, offering corrections and praise as the guests worked through the movements with varying degrees of success. Margaret and Tom proved surprisingly coordinated, while Frank needed extra help with the footwork for the choke hold escape. The college friends approached the exercise with competitive enthusiasm that reminded her of her own training days.

Throughout it all, she remained acutely aware of Ronan's presence as he assisted with the instruction. Every time he demonstrated a technique or offered encouragement to a struggling participant, she found herself stealing glances at the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt or the patient expression on his face.

He's a natural teacher, she realized.

The combination of his protective instincts and teaching ability was devastatingly attractive, and by the time she called an end to the session, her entire body thrummed with awareness and barely contained desire.

As the guests filed out of the gym, chattering excitedly about their new skills and promising to practice during their remaining days at the lodge, Sloane began collecting the exercise mats they'd used for the demonstrations.

"You were really great today," Ronan said, moving to help her stack the mats against the wall.

The genuine admiration in his voice made her cheeks flush. "Thank you. I wasn't sure how teaching would go. I've never actually instructed people before."

"You're a natural," he assured her, and something in his tone made her look up to meet his gaze. "Would you like to teach daily classes? I think our guests would love the opportunity to learn from someone with your expertise."

Daily classes. A regular schedule. A real job doing something I'm actually good at.

The offer felt like another piece of the stable life she'd been afraid to hope for, and she found herself nodding before she'd fully processed the implications.

"Yes, I would love that."

His smile in response was brilliant, transforming his usually composed features into something that caused her heart to race. Then his expression shifted, becoming more intense. When he spoke again, his voice carried a rough edge that sent heat straight to her core.

"Would you like to go up to my suite and take a shower with me?"

The boldness of the invitation hit her unexpectedly hard, stealing her breath and making her knees weak. There was no mistaking his intent, no room for misinterpretation. He wanted her.

"Yes," she heard herself say, the word emerging as little more than a breathless whisper.

As she followed him out of the gym, her body still humming with post-workout endorphins and growing anticipation, her mind raced with the implications of what was about to happen. The invitation to teach daily classes meant he wanted her to stay—not just temporarily, but as a permanent part of Hale Lodge's operations. And the invitation to his suite meant he wanted her in ways that had nothing to do with professional arrangements.