Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down: Making Him Sweat / Taking Him Down. Meg Maguire

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the better for her new venture’s image. All the better that she get busy hiding the gym’s very existence.

      How easily Mercer had let himself forget what side she stood on the second they’d been tangled on the couch.

      He jogged up the steps and into the foyer. The office was lit but locked, and he could see Jenna’s half-finished lunch on the desk. He ran up to the apartment, but she wasn’t there, either. Must have gone out on an errand.

      He headed back to the gym, ditching his shoes and thinking he’d better find somebody down there to spar and work off some of his angst. Angst that felt distinctly like misplaced lust. Felt like way too many things. Feelings. Blergh.

      And feelings promptly punched him in the face as he near-literally ran into Jenna heading up the steps.

      “Hey,” she said, her smile polite but nervous. Nervous because of the sign or because of them getting to second base on the couch, Mercer couldn’t pinpoint.

      “I was just looking for you,” she said.

      “I was just looking for you.”

      “Oh?”

      He nodded. “We gotta talk about that sign.”

      “I know. I’m sorry—that’s why I was trying to find you. The franchise people came to take a tour of the space. I didn’t know they’d put that up so soon. Or, you know…quite so prominently. I didn’t see it until after the men with the ladder had gone.”

      Mercer sighed, irritation lifting a little. One less emotion. Good. But there were still plenty underneath, all charged with that physical tension from the night before. Except down here…

      Down here, Mercer could keep his priorities straight.

      “That sign’s going to cause a stir with the guys. I haven’t told anybody the deal yet. But we’ve been needing new equipment for years, and suddenly there’s the money to open an entirely new franchise? You’re not going to make any friends that way.”

      She crossed her arms, and God help him, that defiant little gesture had his anger morphing to lust in a heartbeat.

      “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to run a business.”

      “Two businesses.”

      She was kind or smart enough not to add, For now. “I haven’t forgotten that.”

      He glanced at her feet. “Take your shoes off. These mats have enough holes in them already.”

      She yanked off her heels. “I know it looks bad. That’s why I apologized. But this place is your territory. Spark is mine.”

      “I can’t have a bunch of keyed-up fighters questioning the future of this place so soon.” It hurt too much to even know the score himself. “Not with an important tournament coming up.”

      “I get it, and I’m sorry. Like I said, I didn’t ask them to put the sign where they did. Maybe we could find a ladder and move it up, so it doesn’t look so…”

      “Condemning?”

      “Yeah.” She sighed, sounding exhausted. “We’ll figure something out.”

      “Yeah, we will. What’s up with you, anyway? You look beat.”

      Another loaded breath. “It’s fine. It was just stressful, showing the managers around, not knowing what they’d make of the place. It was approved last month on paper, but who knows what improvements the franchise overseer will demand to get it up to Spark standards. Or how much it’ll cost. But they said they like the neighborhood—I hadn’t been sure they would.”

      “And the neighbors?” he asked, jerking his head to mean the gym.

      She smiled, a tight, apologetic gesture. “I won’t pretend they were giddy about it.”

      “No, I’m sure they weren’t.” Suddenly exhausted himself, Mercer cast his gaze around, searching for a change of topic. A distraction from both the conflict and the attraction that had him so screwed up in the head.

      “There’s something I was meaning to show you, next time you were down here.”

      “Oh?”

      He led her to the back wall. It was plastered with old boxing posters. Photos of the greats, newspaper and magazine stories about local fighters hung behind Lucite. He tapped an item in the middle and she came close to peer at it. It was a yellowed article from her hometown paper, with a picture of Jenna at age twelve or so, in a bathing cap and suit, holding up a medal for her team’s showing in a county swim meet. He watched her face, her blue eyes widening only to then narrow, lips pursed in a tight line.

      “He put that right up there, with all the stories about his favorite fighters,” Mercer offered.

      “Yeah. That’s sweet.” She was forcing a pleasant response, but Mercer couldn’t even guess what emotion she was aiming for.

      He pressed on anyway, compelled as always to defend her dad. “He was really proud of you. Never shut up about you.”

      “Great. Thanks for showing me that. It’s very touching.” She was so lousy at faking enthusiasm, she almost sounded sarcastic. Mercer felt suddenly diminished, reduced to a sweaty, weary heap of aching muscles. Maybe it had just been the wine for her, all along.

      “Well. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

      She nodded. “You too.”

      “I’ll get one of the guys to help me with the sign. Hoist it up a couple feet so it’s clear our two ventures are just cohabitating. And I’ll get busy letting everyone know you’re taking over the office and all that, for the dating thing.”

      “Thanks. Tell them they’re free to ask me about it. If anyone’s confused or concerned.”

      He smiled grimly. “I’ll be first in line.”

      Her gaze jumped to the article he’d shown her.

      “He was a good guy,” Mercer said. “I’d prove it to you, if you gave me half a chance.”

      She chewed on a reply but swallowed it, unspoken. “See you around the apartment.”

      “Yeah. Sounds good.”

      Jenna began to walk away, taking Mercer’s energy with her. Then she turned, and a little glimmer of her sweet self broke through the crust. “If you like frittata, I can make enough for two tonight.”

      He warmed at the offer, so tempted to toss a teasing remark back and remind her what happened the last time they’d shared a meal. “I’m not sure what that is. But if it’s food, then yeah, that’d be real nice.”

      “Seven-thirty?”

      “I’m leading a session at seven, but make it eight-fifteen and it’s a date, Miss Matchmaker.”

      Finally, she smiled. And just like that, СКАЧАТЬ