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She scrambles off her mat and starts rolling it. “I wasn’t hiding.”
There’s no reason for me to point it out. I could give her the space she was seeking when she came to the gym, but I say, “Lying doesn’t suit you.”
She sighs and jams the rolled mat into the stand by a table that holds the speakers and her phone. “Nice girls like me aren’t supposed to lie?”
“You can lie to whoever you want, swan. But you’re blunt with me in a way you’re not with anyone else. Don’t start withdrawing when I’m your bodyguard. You need to trust me.”
“I have no choice but to trust you.”
I grind my teeth. She’s right, and it’s irritating. I can’t be bothered to earn her trust; I have a job to do. Still, I can’t help but wish it was different.
She gives me a curious look. “Is it supposed to go both ways?”
I don’t trust anyone but Jacobi and Kase. “I have to trust you’ll do what I say.”
Her expression shutters. “I do what everyone says.”
“Except you married an older man before you finished college.” I’m testing her reaction for no damn reason.
“And you can see where that got me.” She picks up her phone and doesn’t bother looking at the screen. “Yes, I was hiding. Mother’s never had much confidence in me. I’m sure she thought my last name would carry me through college and then, when I dropped out, well… She hasn’t said, but she probably thinks that Roman supported the studio and paid for all the coaching fees for both me and Juan Pablo. So now that I’m leaving Roman and I’m here, she thinks I should work with her. She thinks I’ll need to work with her.”
“And you don’t want to?”
She does that stance again, with her hand on the inside of her other elbow, only her hip is kicked out. She’s not shrinking in on herself. “I’m not in a position to say no, am I? I have a bodyguard I can’t pay, and she’s not the only one who’s wondering if I’ll have to choose between the studio and a roof over my head.”
Her shoulders hunch. The confidence from her yoga session is gone. I put her in this position. I’d thought that since Brittany Cowles cut her daughter off once, she’d be willing to help without strings attached. Does Brittany truly want to help Penelope, or is she capitalizing on her daughter’s misfortune?
Anger roils under my skin. I can’t be the one to stomp up to Brittany and tell her that she won’t be profiting off her daughter as long as I’m around. I stalk toward Penelope. She swallows hard and backs up until her legs hit the table.
“Tell your mother that I’ll find another safe house if she thinks she’s going to pimp you out.”
“Pimp? What—”
“Tell her, swan.”
The confusion smooths out of her face, and I get a glimpse of outrage. “I’m tired of men thinking they can order me around.”
“There’s a difference between me and Roman, swan. Instead of being determined not to take orders from guys like Roman, maybe you should find yourself a guy you’ll gladly take orders from because he knows you better than you know yourself.” My tone gets heated, like I’m wishing I could be that guy when I should have nothing but professional interest in her. “A partner you wouldn’t think to question because the trust runs so deep.”
A tiny crease forms between her brows and her stunned gaze drops to my bare chest. Her pillowy lower lip parts from the upper, and my first instinct is to dip my head and pull it between my teeth. “Okay?”
My reaction is entirely inappropriate, and I need space. “Tell her,” I growl and move toward the treadmill. Maybe after a few hard miles I’ll be able to control myself when I’m around her.
* * *
Penelope
My hand’strembling as I drink one of Mother’s guava-passionfruit vitamin smoothies. I’d hurried through my shower before Cannon came back from his run. I heard his light footsteps in the hallway and stuck to my room like a coward.
I’m doing my best to ignore what he said to me. A guy who knows me better than I know myself. A partner I wouldn’t think to question. And when he said it, his image flashed in my brain. He was standing right in front of me. That had to be why.
I didn’t think he had a body like that under those baggy shirts. The width of his shoulders made his shirts hang off his frame and billow around his pants, giving the impression that he’s on the frumpy side.
He’s not frumpy. The only gut he has is defined and chiseled. I could crack a walnut on his pecs. But he’s not bulky. Is it the running that keeps his muscles long and toned?
And when he charged at me, his voice rose, I couldn’t move. I was mesmerized. The yellow flecks in his eyes danced with the lamplight, and the way he moved was pure sinuous grace. I’m around a lot of dancers. People confident in their bodies and their movements. Their posture is impeccable, and they can be dressed in sweats and a hoodie or a custom-fitted suit and still stand out.
Cannon was in the military, and I had chalked up his big, muscular frame to whatever he’d done there. But the way he’d stalked me… Deliberate steps, light on his feet, like a predator trained to perform in front of a crowd. It’s odd. A combination I haven’t noticed before.
