“What the hell are you doing down here?” Tyson asked, looking just as frazzled—and relieved?—as she was.

“I was heading out to grab something to eat, thought I’d see if you wanted something.” He glanced toward her and added, “Hey. I’m Tyson’s brother. Connor.”

Tyson shot him a murderous look.

“Hi,” she croaked, still struggling to catch her breath.

“I’m fine and so are you. There’s food upstairs,” Tyson said tightly.

“Protein shakes, chicken, and eggs is not food, man,” Connor said.

“Well, order something,” Tyson said.

“It’s faster to run out,” the guy argued.

Parker watched the exchange feeling as though she were witnessing something she shouldn’t be. Quickly, she made her way across the gym. “I’m going to head out. Nice to meet you,” she told Connor as she passed him.

“You too. Sorry to interrupt your training,” he called after her with a knowing grin.

Tyson threw a training pad at him, catching him on the side of the head.

“Ow, Jesus, man,” the guy said, holding his head.

Parker didn’t bother going into the locker room to change. She needed to get as far away from the gym and Tyson as possible. Grabbing her bag, she tossed her stuff inside and headed toward the door.

Tyson called her name as she pushed it open.

She paused and slowly turned toward him.

“Good job today,” he said, his eyes burrowing into hers.

She swallowed hard as she nodded. “Thanks, Coach.”

*   *   *

When her alarm sounded at two a.m., Parker groaned. This couldn’t be necessary. Waking up every night to drink a five-hundred-calorie protein drink?

Still, she tossed the bed sheets aside and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She retrieved the egg whites, the frozen fruit, the flax oil, and the coconut milk and added everything to her blender. Yawning, she mixed the ingredients, and tried to force her eyes to stay open as she poured it all into the Punisher Athletics training cup Tyson had given her earlier that day. It had a metal ball at the bottom to help keep the shake from going lumpy, he’d said.

Gross.

She sloshed the thick purple shake around and then took a gulp. Tyson better be right. This better work. If she got a fat ass from all of his nutritional guidance, she’d kick his.

The liquid held a faint fishy taste and smell from the Omega 3 oil and she shuddered, suffering through another gulp. This was disgusting. There had to be an easier way.

Finishing it quickly, she turned off the light in the kitchen and made her way back to bed, thinking about their trip to the grocery store that day. It had surprised her that he would take time from his day to help her, especially after he’d made it clear he had no interest or intentions of even training her.

But like he said, this was his life. The gym, training, and preparing for fights was all he did. Oh, and give mind-blowing sex, apparently.

Climbing back into bed, she lay staring at her ceiling—suddenly wide awake remembering the feel of his hard, sweaty body pressed against hers and his soft, unexpectedly gentle lips against her flesh. He wasn’t the right guy for her, he’d said, and he was probably right. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if her coach was as good in bed as he was in the cage.

Chapter 6

Where the hell was Parker? This was the third day in a row she hadn’t been at the gym. If Tyson thought her being there was a distraction, her not being there was far worse.

“Can you stop staring at the door and focus?” Walker said, blocking his view of the entryway.

“What?” He blinked.

“She’s not coming back. Whatever you did—or didn’t do—you obviously succeeded in pissing her off.” Walker grinned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Shut up and try that take down again,” Tyson said, getting into position to defend the attack.

Walker knocked him on his ass with ease.

Damn it! The woman was totally messing with his concentration and nothing had even happened between them. Thanks to Connor. Maybe that was the problem. Usually, he’d set his sights on a woman, bang her, then move on. She wouldn’t even cross his mind again. Noble? No. But that’s how he rolled.

This foreign feeling of wanting something—someone—for longer than an hour was driving him insane. And knowing he shouldn’t act on it, that his actions earlier that week had pushed the boundaries further than he’d intended, was torture.

“Why don’t you call her?” Walker said as he stood.

“No. Why would I do that?” He hadn’t even wanted her in his gym in the first place. He should take her absence as a gift and enjoy the lack of visual distraction while he tried to train. His fight was in less than six weeks—that’s what he needed to concern himself with, not whether or not Parker was so mad at him she might not return to training.

Yet, two hours later, he parked his motorcycle outside of her home on Spanish Heights Drive and sat staring at the magnificent three-story house. Driving through the high-end residential area, he’d marveled over the size of the homes. He didn’t think there was a house in the area worth less than $10 million. And hers was no exception. With a dark stone exterior and black-tiled roof, large ceiling-to-floor windows, and several balconies extending from the upstairs suites, it had to be at least eight thousand square feet. The circular driveway was bordered by palm trees, with a water fountain in the center of the roundabout.

What was he doing here? She’d made his life easier by not showing up. He hadn’t wanted her to train at his gym, and he was getting his wish. So why was he sitting in the driveway of a home that reminded him just how out of his league the woman inside was? The home of some actress who wouldn’t have even known he existed or given him a second glance if it hadn’t been for some role in a movie.

Yet his gut told him they’d moved beyond that. She wasn’t just some actress needing his help anymore and he wasn’t a fighter needing the fast cash she’d offered.

But damn, he wished it were that simple.

He climbed off the motorcycle and walked up the stonework pathway to the front door. Other than the main security gate at the edge of the community that had been open and unmanned, there was no other security or fence around the home. For a big Hollywood star, she seemed to live a fairly normal existence. If normal was a $10 million home with more bathrooms than people in it.

Ringing the doorbell, he waited.

Her Audi R8 was parked in her driveway and he could hear music coming from inside. He waited almost a full minute then rang the bell again.

“Tyson?” Her voice above him and to his right made him look up and shield his eyes from the blaring midday sun.

She was leaning over the railing of one of the upstairs balconies. Behind her, he could see a lounge chair and a small table.

He wondered if she’d seen him sitting there for ten minutes, growing the set of balls necessary to ring the bell. “Hi,” he said, feeling like a moron.

“Hi.” Her voice was void of any emotion and it was impossible to know whether or not she was happy to see him there.

Probably not, seeing as how she’d been avoiding him for the last three days.

He walked to stand under the balcony, unzipping his leather jacket in the mild October breeze. “I uh . . . wanted to see if you were okay. Hadn’t seen you at the gym in a few days . . .” Since he’d basically attacked her. Man, he was an idiot.

“I’m fine,” she said casually, tossing her hair over one shoulder, giving him ample view of the neck he’d been fascinated with days before. “I just texted Dane and told him to let me know when he was back.”