As I jogged down the concrete along the side of the road that hugged the shoreline, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Last night, I’d exchanged emails with some of my colleagues in Edinburgh, one of them complaining about the cold rain.

Sure, Florida got cold, but with it being later November and still hovering around the upper seventies, I couldn’t complain. It was perfect jogging weather.

I’d been jogging since before the sun rose. There was something beautiful and addicting about getting up before almost everyone else in the city, hitting the streets with nothing but an outfit and a phone, and just going.

I monitored every step my long legs took, felt every shift in my weight as I ran. Over the years, I’d come to make my cardio workouts as controlled as my breathing, and my routine was almost as regular. Years of soccer in and before college made it an essential part of my life. Even when I was in countries that were totally foreign to me, even if I was visiting for just one morning for a business meeting, I’d try to find time to go running and explore the area just before dawn.

Jogging around Lima while on vacation and running by puzzled locals was still one of my fondest exercising memories, but Ft. Lauderdale had a special place in my heart, too. As I felt the salty air kiss my swelling leg muscles and hug my chest as I ran, I got to watch the sun rise to the east, colors bursting over the horizon as boats began to lazily drift out for business or pleasure.

And all the while, my body marched on like a machine, every part of my honed physique working in perfect harmony to keep things moving, always improving, always staying fit. I made my body a temple.

It paid off this morning, like most mornings. I was rarely the only one out running along the coast. There were plenty of others, old and young, who came running the opposite direction or made way for me to run past them.

I got a lot of looks from the women, too. There had been more than one occasion when a morning run had turned into a conversation with some other young professional out for a jog, and that conversation had turned into a cardio workout of a very different kind in my yacht’s bedroom.

This morning, though, I just pushed myself, hard. None of the looks I was getting from the young women out here was doing anything for me. That kind of thing hadn’t interested me since—her.

I clenched my jaw and tried to control my breathing better as I ran, focusing that energy into my workout. I didn’t listen to music when I ran. A long time ago, a trainer told me that a workout was as much about the mind as it was the body, and if my mind was distracted, I was missing out on half the workout. I still took that to heart.

So when thoughts of Jillian haunted me, I fought tooth and nail to focus that frustration into my jogging, blood coursing through my body, swelling my muscles, keeping my heart in perfect condition.

But the distraction came in waves, and I wasn’t always able to keep it at bay.

It had been a week since I’d seen Jillian and Jeff. A week since Jillian had walked in on me, a week since old memories came flooding back to me in ways I’d never expected, a week since things had gotten tense with Jeff over the subject of his little sister.

So, why did it feel like the past week had been one long, drawn-out day?

My workouts had gotten more intense since seeing Jillian, and not just my cardio. I found myself spending more time in my gym, pushing myself harder than usual, really wanting to feel burns I’d never felt before in my body. If my physique was like a statue, I wanted to be a master sculptor. Nothing but perfection was acceptable.

But are you doing this for you, or for her?

That thought pestered me the whole time.

My phone buzzed in its holster on my bicep, and I brought my jogging to a slow stop so I could take it out and look at it. My heart jumped at the sight of Jillian’s name on an email.

Fuck. All that focus, and just the sight of her made this ironclad routine of mine get all worked up.

I checked the email, and to no surprise, I saw that it was the offer on the yacht. I paused for a moment, my thumb hovering over the attachment.

Normally, I never checked work emails while out on runs, both because it was hardly the environment to do anything productive and because I didn’t like distracting myself from the workout. But Jillian made me feel impatient, somehow.

I opened the document and scrolled through it. Since this was Jeff’s company, I really didn’t care about the price, if I was being honest. I could afford as many yachts as I cared for, even if I wanted to keep the Mirabella. As for the rest, I’d read through enough sales proposals to know what words to hone in on and which paragraphs to ignore.

Jillian had sent me a solid offer. I knew it was totally reasonable and fair, based on the condition and quality of the yacht. Yet I found myself looking for something, anything that might be unusual or unsatisfactory.

There was nothing like that, of course. Jillian was genuinely good at her job. Despite the tension between us, she was professional enough that I’d have wanted to hire her if I could have.

But was that about to stop me?

I thought for a moment, then closed out the email and called Jillian’s number.

“Good morning, Bruin,” her voice chimed after a few rings, and I was surprised by how much the sound of her voice made me feel genuine cheer. “If you’re calling for the proposal, I just sent it over.”

“Hey, Jillian,” I said, keeping my tone level and professional. “I saw. Just looked it over, in fact.”

“That was fast,” she remarked.

“I knew what I was looking for,” I said. “The Mirabella isn’t the first yacht I’ve sold and won’t be the last. There are a few clauses in the offer I wanted to discuss, though.”

“Oh?” she asked, sounding a little surprised. “Well, I suppose that’s fine, I’ve got some time right now.”

“I’d rather discuss it in person,” I said, a smile growing on my face. “I’ve always preferred dealing with my contacts face-to-face when it comes to these kinds of things. Can you meet on the boat this evening?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Bruin, I-I… ”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot last time,” I continued. “I’m not taken by surprise very much, but you pulled it off. I’d like to show you how Bruin Kincaid really handles himself.”

Maybe it was the blood still rushing through my body, or maybe it was the thought of bending Jeff’s little sister over my dining table and fucking her between those round ass cheeks until she was crying my name out, but I couldn’t keep the husky edge out of my voice.

I knew Jillian was picking up on that, too. I knew it would be easy for her to just insist on having a video conference. If she was business-savvy, she could just make up a story about another important client she’d already agreed to meet. There were plenty of ways to try to turn me down, if she wanted to.

The pause on the line was so heavy I could feel it.

“I can do five,” she finally said, and my smile grew into a grin.

“I’ll see you then, Jill,” I said, and I ended the call.

My heart was racing faster than it had been when I was jogging. I still couldn’t believe the effect this woman was having on me, but god, she gave me a rush.

And I’d meant what I’d said.

I was going to show her how Bruin Kincaid really handled himself.

And I was going to leave her desperate for more.