“Hey, you’re back.” Dane’s voice behind her made her turn.

She smiled. “I got the part,” she said, feeling more excited than she had the day before. She realized it didn’t matter why they’d cast her—what mattered was that she was ready to prove to them they’d made the right decision.

Dane hugged her, picking her up off of the ground. “That’s great. We should celebrate.”

She hesitated. Was he asking her out? He hadn’t exactly hit on her the week before while training her, but she’d sensed an attraction there, as though it would only take a little encouragement from her to get him to ask her out. And the last thing she wanted was to get involved with her coach. This one, at least. But catching a glimpse of Tyson watching them from the corner of her eye, listening to their exchange, she nodded. “Okay, sure.”

“Great. We were all planning to go to ShadowDancers night club this evening to watch the PPV fights out of Japan. One of our former guys is fighting in one of the preliminary bouts.”

We? Now she was interested. “Sounds like fun. Um . . . who’s going, exactly?”

“Walker, Tyson, Bobby, and me, for sure . . . and maybe a few others, maybe some girlfriends.” He shrugged, as though only him being there should matter.

Unfortunately, it was one of the other attendees that made the evening out more appealing. “Okay, I’m in.”

*   *   *

“Can I get a club soda, please?” Tyson ordered later that evening. The Las Vegas nightclub was packed with fight fans there to watch that evening’s fight card and the place was standing room only. Their group was in the far corner, and he watched in amusement from the bar as his buddies flirted with several women from out of town who admittedly knew nothing about MMA. The perfect kind. They were easy to impress and they had no idea if the crap that came out of his mouth was true or not. Even from that distance, he could see the tall brunette eye-fucking him, ignoring Billy’s attempts to hit on her, but he turned away. For once, he wasn’t in the mood to steal her away from his buddy and he refused to read too much into that.

“You don’t drink?”

The sound of Parker’s voice behind him made his pulse quicken, especially since his thoughts had been hovering on her seconds before. He knew Dane had invited her and she’d said yes, but he hadn’t really expected her to show up. Had hoped she wouldn’t show up was probably the better word. Being around her threw him off. He couldn’t figure out why, and he certainly didn’t want to try to. She occupied enough of his mind already.

Slowly he turned, and immediately wished he had pretended not to hear her.

Damn. Despite every effort to keep his gaze on her face, his eyes drifted to the tempting body he’d evaluated with disdain the week before. She may not have the body of a fighter, but fuck, what a body. The mind-blowing cleavage and sexy curvy hips only further accentuated how tiny her waist was. And beneath the hem of her form-fitting white skirt, her tanned legs extended forever. She wasn’t tall, but her legs made up at least half of her height. Her blonde hair was curled that evening and free of the ponytail she wore at the gym, and he fought with the unwanted urge to tangle his fingers in its softness.

He wanted his head examined, that’s what he wanted.

“You’re here.”

She frowned. “Every time you say things like that, I never know if you’re happy about it or if my presence pisses you off.”

Neither did he. “Can’t it be somewhere in between?”

She placed a hand on her hip, her bright pink nail polish a stark contrast to the white, stretchy fabric. “I’d rather if I evoked a strong feeling one way or the other. It beats indifference.”

Oh, she evoked a strong feeling, all right. A stronger than safe urge to find a dark, secluded spot in the bar and put her up against the wall . . . “Think of it more as unexpected frustration.”

She seemed to weigh his words then smiled. “I can live with that.”

His eyes shifted to her mouth and her perfect set of white teeth. He wondered if every part of her was that perfect or if she hid a flaw somewhere. He hated that he wanted to get a closer look to try to find one.

She glanced at his nonalcoholic drink. “So. You don’t drink before an upcoming fight or not at all?”

“I drink sometimes, but rarely. I like to control what I’m putting in my body and I like to remain in control,” he said, leaning against the bar. He hadn’t always been that way, but the older he got, the more he understood the consequences of losing one’s inhibitions. He preferred to know exactly what he was doing and the mistakes he was about to make.

She climbed up onto the bar stool next to him and her skirt rose higher on her thighs as she sat. Her gaze was now level with his and she stared at his mouth as she asked, “Always?”

The taunting in her eyes and the smell of her expensive, soft perfume were a combination that fogged his mind. “What are you doing, Ms. Hamilton?” he asked, inching closer, resting one arm on the back of her chair, the other against the bar.

“Just trying to figure out if I’ve pegged you correctly, that’s all.” Her voice remained cool, confident, but the slight waver of her bottom lip told him his closeness had affected her.

But damn, his attempt to intimidate her had had an effect on him as well. He wanted to run his tongue along that lip and find out if she tasted even half as delicious as she smelled. The front of his jeans immediately felt tighter and against his better judgment, he rose to the bait. “What way is that?”

“Let’s see.” She paused as though she had to think about it, but he suspected she knew exactly what she thought of him. They’d both had plenty of time over the last week to evaluate and judge each other, formulate their own opinions. For whatever reason, he was interested in hearing hers. He leaned closer as she continued. “You are closed off and guarded. You act as though you’re not paying attention, but you see everything . . . You act like a tough guy around your fighters, pushing them to their breaking point, but you offer just enough encouragement that they work harder so as not to disappoint you.” She paused for a breath, folding one leg over the other and the fabric rose even further. Any higher and her entire thigh would be exposed. He moved slightly to block that view from any other set of male eyes. “How am I doing with my assessment so far?” she asked.

Pretty damn good. “Continue.”

“Outside of the gym you like to have fun, but you’re private about it. You prefer a party of two rather than a big crowd.” She touched his chest and her hand felt like a hot iron against his skin beneath the thin fabric of his black Punisher Athletics T-shirt. “My only question is, how do I get an invite to such a party?”

His pulse throbbed in his neck and pretty soon it wouldn’t be safe to try to walk across the bar. Why was it so much easier to protect himself against repeated shots to the head than it was to recover from her blatant flirtation?

Her index finger traced the neckline of his shirt, the soft, barely there touch sending shock waves along his spine as she waited for an answer.

Swallowing hard, he gripped her wrist tightly in his hand before saying, “Don’t kid yourself, Ms. Hamilton. You may think you know me . . . may even think you can handle me . . . but I also know you, and I’m not fool enough to take that on.” He picked up his drink and drained the contents. “If you’re looking for a party, Dane’s your guy.”

Without waiting for a reply that could easily sway his decision to walk away, Tyson headed toward the door. Several beautiful one-night-stand options caught his eye as he passed and he swore under his breath as his dick begged him to take any one of them home, but his unwanted house guest prevented any chance of that. “Fucking Connor. That cock-blocking son of a bitch,” he mumbled under his breath as he escaped outside.