Had he been a monk? Hell no. He enjoyed sex, but he still practiced caution. A man in his position and with his wealth had to. So he chose his partners carefully—women who understood he didn’t want a relationship, just a temporary arrangement that provided pleasure for both of them—and ensured he used protection. Still, he understood that mistakes could happen. Nothing was infallible. But none of his ex-lovers had ever approached him about an unexpected pregnancy or a child. Because if they had, he would’ve never abandoned the woman or the baby. Never.
For Sophie to suggest—no, to accuse him of being able to neglect his own flesh and blood...
With a low growl, he shoved open his car door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind him. Seconds later, with his duffel bag in hand, he stalked toward the gym, ready to work off some of the anger and tension riding him like a relentless jockey on a punching bag.
An hour later, sweat poured from his face, shoulders and chest in rivulets. Pleasurable weariness born of pushing his body to the limit sang in his muscles. Yanking off his boxing gloves, he picked up his bottle of water and gulped it while inhaling the scent of perspiration, bleach and the musk from bodies that had permanently seeped into the concrete floors and walls. This gym, located in the next town over from Falling Brook, wasn’t one of those trendy establishments soccer moms and young CEOs patronized with stylish athletic wear and skin that glistened or, for God’s sake, dewed.
Fighters grappled and trained in the boxing ring at the far side of the room. Huge tires leaned against a wall and a smattering of paint-flecked, scratched gym equipment hogged one corner while free weights claimed another. Grunts, the smack of rope hitting the concrete floor and rock music permeated the air. People didn’t come to this to be seen, but to push their bodies, to beat them into submission or perfect working order.
So what the fuck was Sophie Armstrong doing here?
He scowled, studying the petite, frowning woman as she whipped the battle ropes up and down in a steady, furious pace. Even as the familiar anger and suspicion crowded into him at the sight of her in the gym he’d frequented for years—his sanctuary away from the office and home—he couldn’t stop his gaze from following the slender but toned lines of her small frame that the purple sports bra and black leggings did nothing to hide. Without the conservative clothes that halted just shy of being plain, he had an unrestricted view of the high thrust of her smallish and utterly perfect breasts that slightly swelled over the rounded edge of her top. Though he ordered himself to look away, to stop visually devouring the enemy, he still lingered over the taut abdomen that gleamed with hard-fought-for sweat and the gently rounded hips and tight, sleekly muscled legs that seemed impossibly long for someone of her stature.
Like a sweaty elf princess who’d momentarily traded her gilded throne for a dusty battlefield. The silly, fanciful thought swept through his head before he could banish it. Thoughts like that belonged to the artist he used to be, not the sensible, pragmatic businessman he was now. Still... Watching her muscles flex, her abs tighten and those strong thighs brace her weight, he was impressed at the power in her tiny frame.
Impressed and hard as hell.
“Goddamn,” he growled. Frolicking puppies. Spreadsheets with unbalanced columns.
His mother’s shuttered face and devastated eyes when she read Sophie’s article.
Yeah, that killed his erection fast.
And maybe it didn’t snuff out the hot licks of lust in his gut, but it gave fury one hell of a foothold.
Clenching his jaw, he stalked across the gym toward the woman who had infiltrated his life and cracked open a door he’d hoped, fucking prayed, would remain locked, bolted and welded shut. Just as he reached Sophie, she gave the battle ropes one last flick, then dropped them to the floor with a thud.
“Stalking me, Ms. Armstrong?” he drawled, his fingers gripping his water bottle so tight, the plastic squeaked in protest.
He immediately loosened his hold. Damn, he’d learned long ago to never betray any weakness of emotion. People were like sharks scenting bloody chum in the water when they sensed a chink in his armor. But when in this woman’s presence, his emotions seemed to leak through like a sieve. The impenetrable shield barricading him that had been forged in the fires of pain, loss and humiliation came away dented and scratched after an encounter with Sophie. And that presented as much of a threat, a danger to him as her insatiable need to prove that he was a deadbeat father and puppet to a master thief.
“Stalking you?” she scoffed, bending down to swipe her own bottle of water and a towel off the ground. With a strength that could be described only as Herculean, he didn’t drop his gaze to the sweet, firm curve of her ass. He deserved a medal, an award, the key to the city for not giving in to the urge. “Need I remind you, it was you who showed up at my job yesterday, not the other way around. So I guess that makes us even in the showing-up-where-we’re-not-wanted department.”
“Oh, we’re not even close to anything that resembles even, Sophie,” he said, using her name for the first time aloud. And damn if it didn’t taste good on his tongue. If he didn’t sound as if he were stroking the two syllables like they were bare, damp flesh.
She didn’t immediately reply, instead lifting the clear bottle to her mouth and sipping from it. His gaze dipped to that pursed, wicked mouth, and a primal throb set up in his blood, his dick. Stand down, he ordered his unruly flesh. His loose gray basketball shorts wouldn’t conceal the effect she had on him. And no way in hell would he give her that to use against him.
“I
