“Does this mean you’re going to tell me what’s going on?” I say, turning to face him.

He shakes his head. “Better if you don’t know.”

“It has nothing to do with your PI business, does it?”

A pained expression crosses his face. “Sia…”

“What if I guess?”

“I’ll have to lie to you. I don’t want to do that.”

With a glance back toward the class, I sigh. “Thank you for the necklace. I’ve gotta get back to Tag. Maybe we can talk later.”

Ray cups the back of my neck and pulls me closer. “Fuzz is just gonna make you jump up and down for another half hour. You want to learn to protect yourself, I’ll show you how.”

“I don’t think—”

“Please.”

My Predator said “please.” “Okay.”

He walks me over to a secluded corner of the gym, stopping along the way to tell Tag he’s taking over my training today. Tag shoots me a questioning glance and I shrug. It’s only half an hour. What could possibly go wrong?

Ray runs through some grappling basics, and I surprise us both with the amount of info I’ve picked up just watching the fights. Yes, I know about armbars and kimuras, foot bars, triangle chokes, and guillotines. Not that I have the technique down, but I know a gogoplata when I see one.

Amused by my interest in the more complicated holds, Ray grabs a Submission Master from the rack and makes me lie on my back, positioning the grappling dummy on top of me.

Weighing in at eighty pounds, the black nylon–coated dummy is anatomically correct but lacks the humanlike appearance of the less sinister Grapple Man. However, eighty pounds is no small amount of weight, and by the time Ray has finished bending the Submission Master’s limbs into position, I can barely breathe.

“I submit. I submit.”

Ray laughs and locks the dummy’s arms so it bears some of its own weight. “I’m trying to teach you something. Don’t distract me.”

“And I’m not supposed to be distracted with the Submission Master lying on top of me?”

Crouched down beside me, Ray gives the dummy a considered glance. “Hmmm. Now that you mention it, I don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at you.” Ray lifts the dummy and tosses him to the side as if he weighed eight pounds, not eighty, then he lies on top of me, taking the dummy’s place, his weight on his elbows, his legs between my thighs.

My body responds in an instant, heating from zero to boiling point in a heartbeat, and I melt beneath the intensity of his gaze.

“We’ve never done this before.” I soak in his warmth, the weight of his body, the safety of his arms.

Ray frowns. “Grappling?”

“No, silly. We’ve never made…” Love. But I can’t say it if I don’t feel it. And I can’t feel it if I don’t trust him. So I try again. “We never had sex lying down. Like in a bed.”

His eyes soften, warm. “Thought you couldn’t do beds.”

“Thought I couldn’t defend against a rear naked choke or handle having someone lying on top of me, but I seem to be doing okay tonight.” I bite my lip and take the kind of risk I would never have taken before. “Maybe we should try three for three.”

“Anything your heart desires, beautiful girl.” He leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet. So gentle. I forget for a moment he is the Predator because all I see is the man.

“Christ. Not again. Every time a guy hooks up with someone in the gym…” Rampage coughs indiscreetly a few feet away, and Ray looks up and scowls.

“Not your party.”

“It’s never my party.” Rampage sighs. “But one day, it’s gonna be me on that mat pretending to teach a girl moves so I can catch some quick nookie in the middle of practice.”

Ray’s scowl deepens. “You here for a reason, or you just haven’t been punched enough today?”

“Yeah. I’m here with a message from Torment.” Rampage snorts. “He says ‘get a room.’”

Chapter 20

I didn’t hurt you

“Wow.”

I don’t know what I expected Ray’s apartment to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this eclectic feng shui–inspired loft conversion with its dark, polished hardwood floors, exposed beams, and matching support pillars along the center of an open-plan living space. Ornately carved doors line one wall, and a small bathroom is inset in the exposed brick beneath the white-painted piping. A crown-shaped teardrop chandelier hangs over a long, wooden dining table surrounded by a patchwork of quilted chairs, and a bright purple rug brightens up the living area, dominated by an enormous, overstuffed, velvet-covered couch.

“Friend of mine is a designer. I told her what I wanted, gave her a coupla things I collected when I was abroad, and we worked it out together.”

“Well, it’s incredible.” So incredible I hope she lives far, far away. “If I lived here, I would never leave.”

A smile ghosts his lips and he heads for the kitchen. “That means a lot coming from an artist.”

“Doesn’t take an artist to appreciate beauty.” I take a seat on the zebra-fabric covered chair at the kitchen island and Ray pulls out a bottle of vodka.

“Saw you drinking this at the fight.”

I hold up my hands in a warding gesture. “Ray…me and vodka…it’s not a good relationship. It’s like me and potato chips. I can’t stop with just one.”