CHAPTER FIVE
Forty-five-year-old Margarita Seville toweled off her face and neck at the end of the Zumba class she’d just given, filling in for one of the instructors who’d called in sick today. She waved goodbye to the ladies filing from the room, a room with a glass wall on one side and a view into the world-class gym.
Her gym.
She sighed with a sense of accomplishment. She’d started Club CrossFit Santa Monica ten years ago, putting everything she had—money, blood, sweat, and tears—into this place to make it a success. To her, it was more than a business that provided an income for herself and her now sixteen-year-old daughter, Jessica; it was a statement about her values and will to survive. Her past, for lack of better words, had been one giant shame-fest, riddled with many mistakes, the biggest being Mike—her ex-husband and the saddest chapter of her life. The only thing good to come out of all that was Jessica.
She looked around at the packed gym, people doing the circuit with their trainers—weights, pull-ups, squat thrusts, rowing, and running. It really gave her a rush to see her establishment helping people achieve healthier bodies and lives.
Well, she thought, all that pain led to this. Her dream. Freedom. Being healthy and helping others achieve the same. Today marked the gym’s ten-year anniversary.
Margarita glanced at her watch. Seven a.m. Time to text Jessica and make sure she was up and ready for school. Jess already had five tardies this school year. Teenagers—the laziest, fittest people on the planet. So unfair.
Margarita exited the aerobics room and headed for her office on the other side of the gym to grab her cell. She punched the code on the number pad to the side of the door and entered.
There you are. She reached for her phone atop a stack of papers on her desk and heard the door close behind her.
“You,” said a deep male voice filled with accusation.
She turned and saw a towering male figure standing there staring at her. Beer belly. Turquoise eyes. Messy, long hair.
“Oh, hell,” she muttered. “Not you again.” At least he’s wearing pants. In fact, he almost—almost!—looked handsome in his worn jeans and “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands!” T-shirt.
He stepped toward her, and instead of showing an expression resembling someone lost or daydreaming—or shitfaced—like the last two time she’d seen him, he looked serious. Possibly sober? That was a relief because she hated being anywhere near a drunk. Mike had taught her how cruel they could be.
She crossed her arms over her chest, thankful she wore a loose-fitting T-shirt with her gym’s red logo and black Spandex shorts. The first time she’d seen this guy—drunk, staggering, reeking of beer—she’d been on her way to a private training session with an A-list client staying at the Shangri La Hotel. She’d been wearing one of her smaller outfits—small sports tank and short shorts, better for a stretching and yoga routine—when she bumped into this disgusting clown in the elevator. He’d taken it upon himself to tell her she had a tight ass and nice tits. Pig. Didn’t he know how threatened it made a woman feel to be trapped in an elevator with a huge, seven-foot drunk guy wearing nothing but a pair of tightie whities?
She shivered at the memory. “What do you want?”
The man—Belch he’d called himself—pointed his finger in her face. “You! Blondie,” he barked with a deep menacing voice, “you will make my body into a divine temple to attract many females.”
She pulled her head back. What in the world?
Belch stepped closer, leaving a foot of space between them, and glowered down with intense turquoise eyes, freezing her in place. “What are you waiting for, woman?”
She tried to make her mouth move, but there was something about him. Something so very different from the last time she’d seen him. Dopiness converted into a powerful authority. Magnetism instead of pure repulsiveness.
And he doesn’t smell like booze.
“I am in need of fitness.” He placed his large hand on her shoulder and gave her a little push. “There is no time to lose. Chop-chop.”
Did he just push me? “Did you just push me?” Because no man laid his hands on her. Never again. She’d played the role of victim for one tragic chapter of her life. She’d survived and would never allow anyone to put her in that place again.
“Yes, and I will do so again if you do not get moving,” he said.
“Get. Out. Of my. Gym,” she snarled.
“Are you refusing to assist me?”
Why did he seem so shocked? Didn’t he remember their last interaction? Or the one prior to that?
“I don’t allow disgusting, womanizing drunken slobs in my gym,” she growled.
“Ah, I see. You are nothing but one of those judgmental trolls who enjoys criticizing others less physically perfect. I should’ve known.” He lowered his head, placing the tips of their noses together.
His scent wafted through her nostrils. What is that smell? It was sweet and intoxicating. It filled her lungs like a sensual drug, infusing her blood and giving her a shock of titillating tingles throughout her body. What the hell is that? He smelled amaaaazing. Sinful. Mind-blowingly delicious. Every erotic nerve in her body lit up, throbbing and aching.
No way. She stepped back, pushing her ass all the way against the edge of her desk. How could she want him? No. No. Not possible. She looked at his giant beer belly, unkempt hair, and untoned legs and arms, feeling revolted by the lack of pride in his appearance. Yet…he still had a beautifully masculine face—strong jaw, full lips, and deep, soul-penetrating turquoise eyes that gave her goose bumps. Was he really seeing through her, right into her soul, or was that her imagination running wild due to lack of sleep?
It’s definitely your imagination, and he needs to go. Clearly something was not right in her head.
“Leave,” she snapped.
Eyeing her with those stunning blue-green eyes, he crossed his large arms over his flabby chest. “I will leave when you, you foulmouthed little female, give me what I came for: a hot sexy body.”
She laughed. “Not possible. Now go before I call the police.” This man was a mess, both inside and out. No manners and vile. But dammit, he smells so good. Why? She felt the warm tingles between her legs turn into a hot dampness.
“I do not fear the police or anyone for that matter—except the clowns. They make my skin crawl. Nevertheless, I will go, but know this: you are a member of this world, same as anyone, and you have failed it.”
“Whatever, Arrow. Just know you are the biggest loser to ever walk the…” Her words faded as she watched him turn to leave. Something inside her—a very, very strange something—did not want him to go. No. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to ravish him.
“Wait. Tell me what you’re willing to give in exchange?” What the hell am I saying?
He glanced over his wide shoulder in her direction. “What do you want?”
She couldn’t bring herself to say the unbelievable words: She wanted…she wanted him! Oh God. Did I smack my head on a barbell? He’s so unhealthy.
His eyes flickered with suspicion as if puzzling something out. “All right.” He sighed his words. “If I must.” He returned to her, placing his hands on her hips and lifting her onto her desk.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“What do you think?”
I think you’re going to have sex with me on top of my desk. And more shocking than anything, she wanted him to.
What’s happening to me?