Chapter fourteen

GRACE CHAMBERS

“Come on, Grace. You can do better than that,” my trainer, Austin, encourages as I lift my foot to deliver another roundhouse kick towards his gloved palm.

My muscles burn as I execute the move, maintaining proper form and follow through.

From there, Austin and I move through a combination of front and side kicks. His taunting serves as the motivation I need to make it through the next set of punches.

Following the news I’d received from my mom two days ago, I’d decided to take up kickboxing.

A coworker of mine had recommended Austin and when I’d called him, he’d happily agreed to give me an introductory lesson tonight.

We’re working out in a private room at the gym, typically reserved for dance fitness classes.

As we wind down with some stretches, I notice a figure looming in the open door.

My heart leaps in my chest and that giddy feeling invades my stomach.

Jameson.

With an inviting wave and easy smile, I gesture for him to come inside.

We’d agreed to meet up after my gym session and he was right on time — punctual as ever.

As he comes towards the two of us, I notice his normally neutral expression is dark, his eyes possessing a dangerous gleam.

Dread twists my gut and fear tickles my nerve endings as my mind draws up the worst-case scenario.

Did something happen?

Did he hear from Brick?

I want to voice these questions but think better of it when I see Austin extend his hand in Jameson’s direction.

Clearing my throat, I make hurried introductions as the two men shake hands.

I notice Jameson barely makes eye contact with Austin, his brooding eyes trained solely on me.

“Jameson, this is my new trainer Austin. Austin, this is… Jameson,” I say as my mind draws a blank.

What do I introduce him as?

The guy who’s fucking me?

My new bodyguard?

My boyfriend?

“Nice to meet you, man.” Austin is friendly, his words cloaked in a thick Southern drawl.

Jameson barely grunts before he addresses me.

“Grace, are you ready to go?”

A frown sets in as I gather my things.

What the hell is his problem?

He’s being so rude.

Austin and I make plans for our next session and I thank him profusely before gathering my things from the corner near the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

As we walk through the gym towards the front door, I notice his icy behavior is specifically aimed at me.

No flirty comments or greeting kisses are exchanged. Just pure silence and body language that says more than he has.

From the ticking at the base of his jaw, I can tell he’s pissed.

Once we reach the parking lot, I stop walking and turn to him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

His tone is clipped and cool when he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting a trainer, Grace?”

Affronted, my earlier frown returns.

“I wasn’t aware that I had to tell you anything, Jameson. What is this about?”

He scoffs, shaking his head.

“I would have liked to know, that’s all.”

“Why?” I pry, beginning to understand the root of the problem.

He’s jealous.

“Don’t be so dense, Grace. Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

Anger shrouds my being at his harsh words but I try to remain as cool as he’s being.

“Jameson, you don’t get to talk to me like that.”

A familiar ache settles in my chest as I recall the last man I knew who’d turned to acting out in lieu of mature conversation. I refuse to go down that road again.

“If you have a problem with something, just tell me. But I will not allow you to belittle me with your words because you’re jealous of my trainer.”

His head snaps in my direction at the tone I’ve taken.

The petulance on his face is replaced with admiration.

“Are we clear?” I ask leaning against my car.

He nods almost immediately and reaches out to pull me against the solid wall of his chest.

“Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry,” he murmurs in my hair.

A quiet moment passes between the two of us before he starts speaking again.

“I was standing at the door for a while and didn’t like the way he was looking at you when he thought you weren’t looking.”

Pushing out a heavy sigh, I pull away from him and study his face.

Lines crease his forehead as he stares back at me, pensively.

“Jameson, he’s my trainer. He has to check out my form and tell me what to correct.”

“He was staring at your tits and ass ninety percent of the time,” he claims.

I roll my eyes and he persists.

“If you need a trainer, I can do it.”

This time an even bigger sigh escapes me.

“Jameson, as much as I appreciate your protectiveness, I can’t start letting you fix every single problem I have. You’re already providing me around-the-clock protection, free of charge. I can’t accept anything else from you. Austin is knowledgeable and giving me a great price. I’m going to keep seeing him at least twice a week.”

The anger edges back into his gaze.

“I don’t like it.”

“Jameson.”

“Let me train you,” he says.

At my skeptical glance, he continues on.

“I was a SEAL, Grace. I think I can teach you a thing or two about self-defense.”

I huff, expelling air from my cheeks.

“Let me think about it,” I counter his proposition.

A smile claims his face for the first time since he arrived.

“Whatever you want,” he agrees.

Relieved, I turn to unlock my car and ask him about our plans for the evening.

“Are we still on for your place after I change and grab some clothes?”

Jameson runs his hand over his jaw and nods.

“I want to cook for you tonight,” he states, closing the space between us in two beats.

“Ooh, lucky me,” I wiggle my brows.

He chuckles lowly at my antics and then tilts his head, letting me know another question is coming.

“I have another question.”

Damn, I’m good.

“Shoot.”

“The way you introduced me…” he lets the sentence linger.

I offer a blank stare in return and he’s forced to complete the thought.

“You didn’t say I was your boyfriend. Why is that?”

Heart hammering, I look up at him and gnaw on my bottom lip.

We’ve never had this conversation before.

Up until now, I figured he was just content to have great sex and share an occasional meal. I hadn’t asked for more because he simply hadn’t alluded to the fact that he wanted more.

“Are you my boyfriend, Jameson?” I ask earnestly.

Running on assumptions has no appeal for me. I need a clear-cut answer.

“I consider you my girlfriend.”

This is news to me and I’m sure the shocked expression on my face conveys this message.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he nods emphatically.

His hand finds my waist, pulling me flush against him. When he speaks again, I’m held captive by the deep timbre of his voice.

“I want to make sure we’re on the same page here — you are mine, Grace.”

His declaration slows my breaths and I watch hazily as he bends his head to kiss me. His lips are brushing me when he utters his next words.

“And I protect what’s mine.”