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I come to a halt at the front of the class. "Switch!”
There is a flurry of movement around me as everyone switches with their partner. Well, almost everyone. My eyes linger on Holly Rampwood and her mystery partner. Holly hasn’t switched. She’s still standing there, laughing and talking to the other woman.
My eyes move to her, drinking in the sight of her as I mindlessly call out boxing combinations. She’s one of the best-looking women I’ve ever seen up close. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, the tips brushing between her shoulder blades as she jabs with purpose.
She has eyes the color of an expensive whiskey and pink, plump lips standing out on her dainty, pale face. My gaze trails down her, assessing her form…sure. I bite back a snort. I’massessingherform.
No, I’m not. I’m admiring how her pink yoga pants caress her slender body, and her tits barely move in her tight, cropped workout top.
My hands flex involuntarily. I can still feel her warm, soft skin under my hands. Whoever she is, she’s not on the class list. Maybe she’s a fairy sent here to torment me.
I pull my attention off her, calling out encouragement to the class in general. No matter how hard I try, my eyes keep finding the sexy strawberry blonde who is punching the boxing bag like it personally offended her.
My phone buzzes against my leg, and I pull it out of my pocket. Time’s up.
“That’s enough boxing. Let’s move back to the floor for some weights.”
Holly Rampwood and her companion are the last to leave the boxing bags, taking a spot at the back of the group. I try to pay attention to everyone else and fail miserably.
I have never been so glad for a session to end. People start grabbing their bags and heading out of the room. I approach the sexy strawberry blonde, who has her bag slung over her shoulder but has drifted back to the boxing bags, standing there alone.
Coming to a halt in front of her, I cross my arms over my chest, my eyes meeting her gold-brown ones.
“You’re not on my class list,” I tell her, fighting the urge to wince at how stern I sound. Way to ask a woman their name, Jimmy.
“Oh, I’m taking my brother’s place.”
That doesn’t tell me her name. “This is a member-only club.”
Who the fuck am I? Christ. Just open your fucking mouth, Jimmy, and saywhat’s your name?
“Oh, well, I’ll become a member.”
That could work too. I can sign her up on my phone, but that’s not what I offer. Instead, I hold my hand, palm up, toward the door.
“Let’s go get you signed up then.”
She nods, falling into step beside me. Holly Rampwood is hovering outside the door, frowning. I make to stop and speak with her, but the woman with me waves to her, mouthing something. Holly grins, turning and marching off. Whatever that was about.
No one is in the elevator when we get there, and I swipe my card to give us access to the top floor. The doors close, and electricity hums between us. At least, it does for me. My companion doesn’t even seem to notice. Fucking hell. Just my luck.
I spend all day ignoring the flirty glances of female members, and now I’ve finally found one who I want to look at me like that, and she stares at the elevator door.
The elevator dings and I stride off to my office, the woman keeping pace with me. She enters the room as I hold the door open, gesturing her to go first. Her eyes dart around as I close the door behind me, and she drops her bag onto one of the chairs in front of my desk, gracefully sinking into the other.
Rounding the desk, I sit, pulling my keyboard toward me, and tapping the space bar to wake the computer up. I pull up a new member form and turn my eyes to meet her gaze.
“Name?” Finally, I’m going to find it out.
“Thelma Rampwood.”
Jesus. Less and less luck. I hesitate for a second, swallowing. Typing her name in, I turn back to her.
“Reason for attempting to split my punching bag in two?”
Please don’t say boyfriend troubles. My eyes dart to her left hand. It’s bare, but she’s not wearing any other jewelry either, and she just did a boxing class, so it might mean nothing.
“Shit year at the office.”
