I’m not going to like this. I already hate it. Yet, I drag the stretchy pants from the shelf anyway and don’t allow myself to acknowledge an ounce of discomfort as I yank them on.
I ignore the snug fit as the material clings tight to my thighs. And I don’t take note of my figure after I drag a tank top from the shelf and pull it on. The inbuilt sports bra is the closest I’ve come to underwear in a long time.
Everything I wear is constricting. I try to make it embolden me, the taunting restriction working as a reminder of what I’ve been through. A conniving devil smothered over every inch of my body.
Then I turn on my goddamn heels and trek back to the living room, determined to find a piece of myself in whatever maddening defense lesson Luca has in mind.
If only the look in his eyes didn’t lessen my wafer-thin enthusiasm.
I wish I could ignore this, too. The frowned shock at my appearance. The wrinkles of disapproval.
“Something wrong?” I ask over the lump in my throat.
“No. Nothing.” His voice is gruff as he pushes the coffee table away from the sofa, creating space in the middle of the room. “Just surprised, that’s all. It’s been a while since you wore something that didn’t resemble a sack.”
I take a step back, my skin crawling with the need to hide.
“Get over here,” he growls. “Let’s get this done.”
“If this is such a burden, why are we even doing it?”
“It’s not a burden.” The growl deepens. “It’s—” He stops mid-sentence, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
“It’s what, Luca?”
“Nothin’. Just get over here.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to move, equally despising the warmth that has shifted from between my thighs to pool in my chest.
“Now, shorty.”
“Okay, you don’t need to bark at me.” I walk forward, my heart fluttering wilder the closer I get, the furious beat only increasing when I stop a few feet away from him. “What do you want me to do?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze as he repositions his stance on the rug, spreading his legs a few inches apart. “I’m going to teach you some basic moves first.” He brushes his hands together, his biceps flexing beneath the cuffs of his T-shirt. “When someone’s coming at you, you want to be assertive and as loud as possible. Obviously, aim for the groin if you can. That tends to drop a guy like a sack of shit. But if you can’t, you can try a hammer punch.” He clenches his fist and makes a predictable hammer movement. “Or your elbows. Or the heel of your palm. You want to use—”
“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I learned these basics in high school. I don’t need to go through them again.”
“Good.” Finally, he meets my gaze. “Practice on me, then.”
That rampant heartbeat falters. Stutters. “I don’t wa—”
“You don’t want to. You don’t need to. I’ve heard it all before. Let’s not have this argument again. Just because you think you don’t need to learn doesn’t mean you shouldn’t practice. So throw a swing. Get out some of the built-up aggression you have toward me.”
“I don’t have built-up aggression toward you.”
“The outline of the gun barrel in my stomach says otherwise.” He beckons me closer with a jerk of his chin. “Come on. Let me have it.”
I sigh and lunge forward, attempting to hit him with a gentle elbow.
“Seriously?” He bats me away. “That’s all you’ve got? What happened to the woman who slapped me across the face in Greece? Or the one who attempted to stab me with a syringe?”
I flinch at the reminder.
Even when I didn’t know Luca, I hated hurting him. There was always the slightest sense I was doing something wrong. Like I could see his kind soul through his aggressive and dark demeanor.
“And don’t forget the tiger scratches you lashed my chest with the other day,” he continues. “My cheek, too.”
Oh, God.
My gaze snaps to his face, my hands instinctively reaching for the damage hidden beneath his growing stubble. It’s an uncharacteristic move, my yearning for touch feeling shockingly natural. “Is that why you haven’t shaved?”
He stiffens, his nostrils flaring. “I didn’t think it was a good idea to advertise our fight.”
“I’m sorry.” My fingertips graze over the rough hair along his jaw, the prickle spreading under my skin. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.”
He doesn’t respond, just stares back at me, expression tight,