3:15 on a Sunday morning—no way I should’ve been up and in this goddamn gym. I should’ve been home, dead asleep. I’d had a long day yesterday. I’d been at work early for an inspection, and stayed late to finish adjusting the design for the new projects we had coming up.

Design was my specialty. I had to go to Arizona this coming week to go over the blueprints on a sky-rise project there. It was a casualty of becoming a partner and lead designer for my firm; I was now being loaned out for jobs.

This week was gonna suck. I hated traveling. I’d arranged it so that I only traveled Monday to Wednesday mornings, or late Wednesday nights to Fridays so that I could still see my kids on Wednesday evenings. That was my hard line when I was promoted to partner and agreed to move here—nothing stopped me from seeing them on my scheduled days.

Christ, I missed my kids.

Enough with the sorrow, asshole. Hit this shit, go home, and sleep.

I dug through my bag for resin. As I stood back up, a flash of long, multi-colored hair caught my eye through the mirrors. Valentina. Did the woman ever sleep? She dropped her gear at a treadmill and cleaned the machine. I’d always come in after her, so I’d never seen her hair all the way down. Almost to her waist, it bounced around her in wavy layers before she jumped on the machine and viciously manhandled that mane into some sort of messy ponytail.

Jesus. Easy, kitten. You’re gonna pull half that hair out.

Fucking tense. The woman was a live wire. I’d bet my house there was no man in the picture. No way she should have that amount of energy at this hour if there was a man at home taking care of her right. I sure as fuck wouldn’t be in an empty, smelly-ass gym on a weekend if I had a woman warming my bed.

Glancing up through the mirrors at Valentina, an idea hit me.

Playing with fire, motherfucker. Worst idea in the history of fucked up ideas.

Whatever. She did tell me she was an editor . . .

If I handled this right and with a little luck, I could get her out of the gym. Bridgette did need that manuscript read, and I sure as shit didn’t want to read it. Two birds with one stone—I liked that. A lot. I didn’t have to face the reality my sister wrote fucking graphic, sex-filled novels, and I’d to get to know my hot gym buddy a little better. I made her nervous, but I could work around that. She’d said fiction editor and I needed to know what kind of fiction.

I finished up on the bench as she strolled into the weight room. I put my hoodie on, but tracked her through the mirrors. Same fucking response as soon as she saw me. She hesitated a second before continuing to her spot. This time, though, if I hadn’t misread her mouth dropping open a little, she might have said, “Fuck me.” I choked back the laugh.

Give me the time and place, sugar . . .

I moved to the incline bench behind her.

She swung around as I dropped my gear. “It’s Sunday morning.” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at me. “Why are you here?”

And people bitched that I had no filter?

“Hello to you too, sweetness.”

Her eyes widened and she instantly squeezed them shut. “Sorry. No. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I just—you’re never here on weekends.”

I loaded two plates to both sides of the bar, then straddled the bench. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you? What the hell are you doing here?”

She shrugged and dropped her eyes for a second. “I’m always here.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “And why is that, exactly?”

Her eyebrows scrunched together, and I could see her trying to think of what to say. Something about the way she searched for an answer bothered me. I preferred the uncensored version.

“I’m an insomniac. This helps.”

I nodded in understanding. I had no trouble sleeping, but I could see a good workout helping with sleeplessness. “Fair enough.”

She cocked her head. “What do you do? Where do you work?”

There she was. Random and unfiltered, just the way I liked her. I smiled, and her cheeks reddened. “I’m an architect. Partner and head of design at a firm down the street.”

“What’s your specialty?” She bent over, still keeping her eyes on me, and pulled out her lifting gloves from her bag.

“I can pretty much design anything, but for the firm, it’s high-rise buildings and industrial complexes. I was on a site most of the day yesterday, which is rare, and then had a project to finish up. Sometimes I can’t shut my brain off. So here I am. At your service.”

“Huh. I can’t draw a stick figure. You must be good at your job to be a partner. Do you like it?” She grabbed two fifteen-pound dumbbells and sat on her bench, setting one on each knee.

I picked up the bar and started doing warm-up reps. “I do. I get carried away with the plans sometimes, but in the end, yeah, I like what I do and who I work with. On that subject, remind me to ask you something later.”

She sat up straighter on the bench and turned her body toward me. “What?”

I kept up the reps. “Later, sugar. I’m warming up here.”

Her perfect mouth formed a small “O” and she shook her head. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. I—I’m sorry.” She rolled back on her bench and lifted the weights above her.

Fuck me.

“Hey.”

She kept lifting.

“Valentina, stop for a second and look at me, please,” I said, securing the bar and sitting up to face her.

With the weights above her head, she paused and rolled her head toward me.

“Something you should know upfront, since we have this gym thing happening here: I joke around. A lot. And you’ve already proven entertaining as hell to mess with.”

She nodded and bit the inside corner of her bottom lip.

Another nervous habit, but one I found insanely sensual. Every time that lip half-disappeared between her teeth, I wanted to kiss the shit out of her and suck on the fuckin’ thing.

“Good to know,” she countered. “Thank you for the warning, and just so you know, I’m here six to seven days a week for your amusement.”

I got up, loaded a forty-five to each side of the bar and chuckled. “I appreciate you being so accommodating.”

Rolling up off the bench, she shook her head and began a core set on the mat beside her bench. We went about our workouts, which was cool. It was an unspoken sort of thing, a timing thing. I waited until she was in between sets and added two more plates.

“Hey, wanna give me a hand here real quick?”

She got up and walked around the bench to me. “Is this what you wanted to ask me?”

I pulled out my weight-belt before chalking up my hands. I nodded behind my bench to the platform behind it. “This isn’t that.”

Valentina leaned around me. She frowned at the 360 on the bar. Looking back up at me, she lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “What exactly do you need a hand with?”

“Spot me.”

She exploded with a sexy laugh that made all the blood in my body rush to my dick. Fuck, I could listen to her laugh all damn day.

“Spot you?” Her eyes grew large as she lifted her hand at the bar. “Spot that? Do you have a death wish?”

“You’re funny. Come on. You don’t think you can do it?” I adjusted my earbuds.

Her lips pursed and those gorgeous eyes got even greener—challenge accepted.

Nice. Spunky as hell—fucking loved that. But whatever got her closer to me, I was good with. I wasn’t above a little manipulation, and what I did pick up on almost immediately was that this woman rose to pretty much any challenge thrown at her.

She took a deep breath before speaking, “What exactly do you need me to do, Jaxx? Because while I’m tempted to let that weight fall on your smart ass, I don’t want you hurt. We both know I can’t help you if you get in trouble, benching what might as well be a Mini Cooper.”

“Ahh, see? You do care. I don’t need much, just lift off with me and guide it back in.”

Looking around the weight room, she came around to stand right in front of me. “I get you’re new here, but there are more men in the weight room now. Do you want me to ask one of them? Because you do get that me spotting you is a like a minion spotting Superman, right?”

I intentionally didn’t look at her and got settled under the bar. “No big deal. Just get up behind me and I’ll show you what I need. Now move your ass. If I get cold, we’re both fucked.”

“Stubborn, frustrating, man,” she grumbled, but she did get up on the platform. “Remember it was me who said this is a bad idea. What do you need? I’ve never spotted before. Nobody I know lifts heavy enough for a spot.”

Leaning back, the top of my hat was level with her hips. She couldn’t step back, because she’d step off the platform. I looked up as she glanced down at me. The fresh, beachy coconut scent of her surrounded me, and I prayed to every saint listening, to not let me get hard. Workout shorts didn’t hide that shit.

“See the smooth spaces on the bar? Put your hands there between mine. When I say lift, lift with me and let go. I’ll let you know when we’re locking it in. You need me to move down?”

It was then she seemed to notice how close we actually were. Her face paled, but she stayed where she was and shook her head. “I’m fine. Just do what you do and don’t get hurt.”

Fuuuck.

She was too damn tempting all flustered, but I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I checked her body language in the mirror and glanced back up at her. “I can move down so you’re comfortable.”

“Oh, my God. Jaxxon! I’m breaking out in hives here. I’m fine. Worry about you.” She put her small, quivering hands on the bar the way I’d told her to and looked between them. A tiny crease lined her forehead as if she were concentrating.

I was a dick. She was genuinely afraid I was gonna hurt myself, and I could do this with no spot. I just wanted her closer. “You worried about me, sugar?” I asked, flipping through my music.

“I kind of hate you right now. Please stop talking.”

Chuckling, I got comfortable. “I’ll tell you if I need you. Keep your hands inside mine.”

“Yep. Got it. Get your head straight.” She let out a long sigh.

A wave of peppermint fell over my face. Was it weird I wanted to make out with her right here in the weight room? I literally wanted to pull her over the bar, spread those thighs across my lap, and didn’t give a fuck who saw.

It’s 360 on incline—this isn’t bench. Focus, fucker.

I took a few deep breaths and lined my hands up. “Ready?”

“Yes!” she snapped at me.

“Lift with me on three. One, two, three,” I grunted out. Six. I probably had six in me today. I lifted it off the bar and purposely did slow reps, knowing the pump would strain the muscle more, pop the veins . . . and that would be obvious in my tank. I wasn’t usually a dick that way, but with her, I was quickly becoming one vain motherfucker. “One more.”

“Got it.”

We locked the bar in and I immediately got up. “Thank you.”

Stepping down from the platform, she stopped in front of me and smiled before going back to her safe haven in the corner. “Oh, yes, anytime, because I was so much help.” She shook her head. “You didn’t need me.”

I grinned down at her as she turned to go back to her bench. “Hey, it’s the only way I could get you close to me, and besides, you smell better than any guy in here.”

With a gasp, she whirled around. “No you did not! You really didn’t need me, did you?”

I started taking off plates. “I wouldn’t say that. With that much weight, it helps to have someone there. If I got in trouble, not even a dude could help me, so it might as well be you.”

She glared at me for a second before nodding. “I’m going to take your word for it, because I know nothing about spotting. If I actually helped, okay. If not, you’re kind of an ass.”

Smiling at her, I dropped two plates to the ground on each side. “You helped. So, about what I wanted to ask you. If you’re up for it, I could use some non-gym related help.”

The little crease in her forehead came back. “Depends on what it is. If you tip semis over for fun, then no. I’m going to have to pass.”

I chuckled. “Not this week. You said you’re an editor right?”

Her eyes widened and her head jerked back the slightest bit. “I am. Why?”

“You said fiction. Any chance you edit romance?”

“Yes.” She studied my face for a few seconds, before the little crease between her eyes made an appearance. “I’m head of the romance division for our LA satellite office. Why?”

Fuck yeah. “I have a sister who just wrote her first manuscript—some kind of erotic deal. Any chance I can talk to you about that?”

Plopping down on her bench, she stared up at me and tilted her head. “I’m not sure what I can do. There’s a protocol involved with submissions, but I can talk to you about it, I guess. I can make some suggestions, offer some advice, or try to get it in the right hands. I can’t promise anything without taking a look at it first.”

“Hey, whatever you can do will sure as hell help me out. I mean, it’s my sister. What the hell do I know about a damn erotica novel?” When she snickered at me, she turned a sexy shade of red, and my goddamn cock jumped. “I’m out of town for a few days, but how about next Saturday? Coffee around 8:00?” I sat back down on the bench for a final burn set while she thought about it.

“Coffee? Yes . . . I can meet you for coffee. Where?”

“Not sure when I’ll be back.” Absolute lie. “You mind giving me your number and I’ll text you if I have to stay? If not, I’ll let you know where and we’ll talk shop.”

“I—I don’t mind giving you my number.” She started gathering her gear to move to another machine and then finally looked at me.

I pulled my phone out and brought up my contacts. “Hit me.”

Rattling off her number, she hiked her bag over her shoulder. “So, I guess I’ll either see or hear from you next week then?”

“Count on it.”

“I’ll pencil you in.” She gave me a small smile with the reddest cheeks I think I’ve ever seen and walked over to the cables as I finished my last set.

That went better than I thought it would. At least I could see what options Bridge had, and yeah, it fit my male agenda . . . Bridge would get off my ass, and maybe once I sat down and actually talked to Valentina outside the gym, I could get this quirky, beautifully complicated woman out of my system.

Good luck with that, motherfucker.