“What’s that?” he called.
“Nothing,” she muttered. Put on a bra. Hmph. Apparently their ideas about good ways to blow off steam differed. Clearly, she was way more affected by him than he was by her. And just as well. In her room, she slipped a bra on under her sleep shirt. Shouldn’t even be thinking of anything else while Charlie was missing. No matter that Nick made her feel more like a woman than any other man ever had. Selfish much, Bec? Guilt settled over her like a lead blanket.
From the moment she returned to the hall, Nick’s gaze was on her. Leaning against the front door, he watched her walk the straight line to him. And, damn, even though she was trying like hell to ignore it, he was sex on a freaking stick, his folded arms emphasizing the inked and stacked muscles of his biceps and shoulders, and leaving bare the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his now-buttoned jeans.
“All right, lay it on me. What kind of big surprise requires a bra at two o’clock in the morning?”
“This way,” he said, holding the door for her. He followed her out and gestured to the door opposite their apartment, where he entered a code into another electrical panel.
“What’s with all the keypads?” she asked.
“Secure. Easily changeable. Not easily picked.” A metallic click sounded and he stepped inside, into the yawning darkness. He reached to the wall, flipped some switches, and light illuminated a mostly unfinished, cavernous space. One they used as a gym, judging by the machines, free weights, and other equipment within.
But Becca couldn’t focus on the details of the huge space. Because all she could see was the magnificent expanse of Nick’s bare back.
Running almost the whole length of his spine, a dragon wrapped itself around a deadly black sword, hilt just below his neck, point at his lower back, ending near a mass of scars that traveled outward toward his hip and disappeared below the waistband of his jeans. The dragon’s wings spanned his shoulder blades, and the movement of his muscles made it appear alive, actually struggling to hold its perch on the steel. The red of the beast’s eyes looked out from the image, holding her gaze.
Surrounding his left shoulder, the tribal tattoo looped and jagged in a lighter shade of black than the dragon. A reach for something off a shelf revealed lines of writing on his rib cage beneath his right arm, but Becca couldn’t make out what they said.
Tattoos had never looked better than they did on this man. She was absofreakinglutely sure of it.
“Put these on.”
A pair of fat white boxing gloves fell into her hands. “We’re gonna box?”
He smirked. “Figured you’d enjoy taking a swing at me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What? I don’t want to—”
“Relax.” He grabbed a smaller pair of black gloves for himself and slid one on. They left the tips of his fingers exposed. With a smirk, he pointed. “We’ll use the heavy bag.”
Becca’s gaze cut across the room, where an oblong vinyl bag hung suspended from a beam. “Oh.” Actually, beating the crap out of something did sound like a good way to work off some nervous energy. “Cool.”
“Here. Let me help you with those.” He tucked one of her white gloves under his arm and held up the other. The padding that encased her hand was cool and stiff, and the Velcro band that secured it was tight around her wrist.
“These fit perfectly.”
They repeated the process with her other glove. “They’re Katherine’s. Figured they’d work for you.”
“Katherine boxes?”
Tugging his other glove on, he nodded. “Yeah. My sister is tiny, like five foot two. Before she left for college, I made sure she knew how to take care of herself. Now she’s hell on wheels.”
Becca smiled at the image of this apparently petite yet kick-ass woman, but also at the obvious affection in Nick’s voice. “You were a totally crazy overprotective big brother, weren’t you?”
“No more than necessary.”
She knocked her gloves together. “Ha. According to you or her?” His scowl made her laugh. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. I think I’d like to meet your sister.”
He crossed to the heavy bag. “I’m sure that would be tons of fun for me. You ever hit a bag like this before?”
Becca stopped a few feet away. “Er, no. You don’t just hit it?”
“Not if you don’t want to hurt yourself. Hit it wrong and you could sprain or break your wrist. Watch, and then I’ll walk you through it.” Nick stepped about an arm’s length away, his body at an angle to the black vinyl, right foot, hip, and shoulder back. He brought his arms up, elbows in tight and gloved fists in front of his chest. As he explained, he demonstrated in slow motion a few times, twisting his body into the fake punch. “Your goal is to make solid contact with the bag, not to push it or make it bounce. Like this.”