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understand him. But I am impressed with your work. If you ever decide to leave Rabid Ink, come and talk to me. I have something in the works that might interest you.”
    The server rushes out from behind the counter and gives Torment an apologetic smile when he hands him his shake. Torment nods and stalks away. I collapse into my chair.
    Ray hasn’t shown up by the time I’ve finished my snack and I steel myself for a search of the main gym. But first, I check out the chalkboards outlining the weekly class schedule. Fuzzy is signed up to teach two classes this afternoon: Baby Boot Camp followed by Get Fit or Die. Sweet . He’ll be tied up for at least another hour and a half, and by the time he’s done, I’ll be long gone.
    Pausing in the doorway, I take in the twenty-five-thousand-square-foot gym, complete with fight cages, practice rings, and a full range of cardio, weight, strength, and endurance training equipment. Grapple dummies line one wall and punching bags another. In the training area at the back, exhausted fighter wannabes drag themselves around Tag’s killer circuit while he scowls and peppers them with affectionate abuse. The air smells of stale sweat, lemon-scented disinfectant, and a hint of vinyl. Delightful.
    Skirting around the equipment to keep out of Tag’s line of vision, I head over to the free weights and catch sight of Ray drumrolling a speed bag in the corner. Sweat glistens on his body as he pounds the bag in a steady rhythm, his biceps flexed, the smooth skin on his lats rippling over the hard muscle underneath.
    For a moment, I allow myself to imagine I’m a normal girl caught up in a normal fantasy where he dumps Shayla and takes me home, and we have wild, hot, animal sex until neither of us can move. I’ve never had wild, hot, animal sex, but I imagine any sex with Ray would be amazing.
    Ray glances up and catches me watching. Without missing a beat, he gives me a wink that makes my cheeks flame and my toes curl. Instinctively, I do what all prey do when spotted by a predator. I run.
    Safe in the shadow of the huge elevated cage dominating the center of the warehouse, I sit on a bench and watch from a safe distance where my drooling cannot be easily noticed.
    Ray moves from the speed bag to the bench press and Homicide Hank offers to spot him. Wiry, tall, and lanky, Homicide seems ill suited to the job and is indeed rendered redundant when Ray lifts and lowers the massive weight bar without even a tremble of his arms. I try to keep my hormones in check at the incredible display of male strength, but Mother Nature has her own ideas, and within minutes my skin is hot and sweaty, my nipples are tight, and I’m wet down below. I am almost disappointed when Ray and Homicide Hank shake hands and Ray joins me on the bench.
    “So how was the date?”
    Momentarily befuddled, dragged out of a fantasy where Ray does push-ups over my naked body, I just stare. “What date?”
    “The date you had last night.”
    My heart sinks. Ray is about the last person I want to talk dates with. “Well…it went as expected. One look at my ink, piercings, pink streak, and leather, and it was all over. It’s like he was expecting Taylor Swift and got Lady Gaga instead.”
    His gaze travels over my Coldplay tank top and black leather pants. “A guy who can’t appreciate a sexy woman isn’t worth your time.”
    “C’mon.” I give him a little nudge with my elbow. “This look doesn’t scream sexy.”
    “You scream sexy.” He strokes a finger along the strap of my tank top and my body stills, need gripping me so hard I can barely breathe.
    “I’m not—”
    “You got a gym full of men watching you walk across the floor,” he says in a low growl. “Means you’re sexy.”
    Oh God. Is he teasing me? Or worse, flirting? What about Shayla? Cheeks burning, I pull a folder from my portfolio. “Here are the designs I promised you.”
    But Ray doesn’t take the folder. Instead, he gently strokes the