Lena

Watching Jase interact with the twenty or so children in his class shouldn't get to me, but it does. They clearly adore him, and he's heart-wrenchingly patient with them, not concerned about repeating instructions a second—or even third—time. The older boys vie for his approval, while the two teenage girls both have hearts in their eyes. I don't blame them. Seeing him in action is softening my heart in a way I can't afford. It seems that Jase Rawlins is one of the decent guys. After exchanging a few words with the man who runs the center and assuring him of my good intentions, I snap photographs of Jase with the kids, making sure not to capture their faces because I promised him I'd keep their identities private.

Jase holds pads for a tiny girl who can't be more than four, and beams at her in encouragement when she hits them. Snap. That's the money shot. All I can see of the girl is a dark ponytail, but it's Jase's expression that really sells it. Zooming in on his face, I take another, and something melts deep inside me. He's making this so easy. If only he'd told me everything up front, we could have skipped a day or two of being at odds with each other. But I suppose I can understand why he clammed up. What reason did he have to trust me? Especially when I'd made my opinion of him clear from the get-go.

I'm on his side now though, and this story is writing itself in my head. I take my phone into the ladies' restroom and call one of my contacts at Sports Daily, a magazine-style website.

"Hi, Aiden," I say when he picks up.

"Hey, Lee. What's going on?"

"I need a favor, but it'll be worth your while."

He laughs, the sound rich and deep. Girls go nuts over Aiden, and I get the attraction, but I've never seen him that way myself. "Anything that comes from the golden girl of sports PR is going to be worth my while. What are we talking about here?"

"I want a premium feature. Not for tomorrow, but perhaps the next day. As soon as you can fit me in."

He whistles, and I hear him shuffling papers in the background. "Which bad boy are we going to be spotlighting?"

I love the way he assumes I've got the goods, but not his assumption that it's a bad boy. I know I've become the girl with the magic touch as far as spoiled players go, but there are other things I'd much rather be known as.

"Jase Rawlins," I tell him.

"Oh, nice." The cogs are whirring in his brain. He knows anything with Jase will be controversial right now, and controversy sells. "Keep talking."

"I'm working on a piece. It isn't finished yet, but I can have it to you tomorrow. It comes with man candy action shots, and the real winner—one of him coaching disadvantaged kids."

Aiden thinks for a moment. "I like it. Get it to me by twelve tomorrow, and the spot is yours. Provided, of course, that you come up with the publicity gold I think you will."

"Have I ever let you down, Aids?"

"Don't get cocky, Lee, there's a first time for everything."

"Kisses, bye." I hang up before he has a chance to ask me on a date, as he invariably does. He's a nice guy, but he just doesn't do it for me. And honestly, I don't think I'm his type either, which is probably why he persists in asking. He knows I'll always say no.

Heading back to the main room, I pocket my phone and claim a chair in the corner, far enough away from anyone else that no one talks to me. I grab my notebook and start bullet-pointing ideas for the article. Every now and then, I glance up to check the action, and to get my fill of Jase. A smile is permanently stamped on his face, and he's glistening with a sheen of sweat. I can't get enough of the way his muscles move as he demonstrates kicks, punches, and rolls. They're bulging and lean and fucking glorious.

When the class finishes, he waits for the kids to leave, speaking to a few of them as they pack up, then he makes his way to me, wearing a heart-stoppingly sexy grin. I flutter on the inside.

"So?" he asks, flopping into the chair beside me. "What do you think?"

"This is amazing," I reply honestly. "I can't believe you do this."

He slants a look at me. "Because I'm just a dumb jock?"

I roll my eyes and laugh. "I'm a bit judgey sometimes, sorry. If you'd had the same experiences I've had, you'd probably be the same."

He straightens, suddenly alert, his eyes narrow. His intensity sends a shiver down my spine. "Like what?"

"Nothing. Don't worry, that's not the point." I wave my notepad at him. "This is pure awesomeness and I've got a contact who can get you a feature on Sports Daily in two days' time."

The grin is back. "Seriously?"

"One hundred percent."

"And I get to check what you write first?" he confirms.

"Nothing goes in that you're not comfortable with."

He holds up a palm and I high five it, not worrying for once about how sweaty he is. "Thanks, Lena."

"No problem." I lean forward. "Seriously, it's so great what you're doing here. How did you get started?"

He glances over at the center manager. "We're getting the eyeball. Why don't you come to my office so the next group can use the room?"

I get to my feet and follow him into the hall, my eyes dropping to his firm butt as we walk. "You have an office?"

"Nah, they just let me use it while I'm here." He holds open a door and waits for me to enter. I feel his gaze on my ass as I pass by and wonder if this is payback for ogling him. "Have a seat."

"There's only one," I point out.

He paces inside and closes the door. The snick of the latch gives me all kinds of crazy ideas about what I'd like to do to him now that we finally have privacy. Not that I should. Nothing has changed from yesterday. He's still my client, and I need to keep a professional distance. But if I'm completely truthful with myself, seeing him with those kids eased my mind with regards to my other concern—the one about him being violent. Anyone who can be so gentle with a four-year-old girl is surely not a vicious person, regardless of his line of work.

"If I sit now, I'll seize up," he says. "Need to keep moving for a while."

Folding myself into the chair behind a pockmarked desk, I watch him wear a path on the floor, back and forth. "So, tell me the story."

Still pacing, he catches my eye, then breaks off the contact as he turns. "Like I told you yesterday, I grew up in foster care and moved around a lot, especially as a teenager. Fifteen-year-old boys with a chip on their shoulder aren't at the top of foster parents' wish lists."

He spins on his heel, his gaze burning into mine, and prickles of lust shoot south at the same time as my heart aches for him. How must it have felt to be cast aside? To know nobody wanted you? Even if my parents have never been what you might call traditionally loving, I never doubted they wanted me. I don't say anything, letting him continue at his own speed.

"The MMA gym one of my foster fathers ran was the first place I belonged. I had a lot of anger, and I worked it out on those mats. The guys were really accepting. I can't have been easy to get along with, but they made room for me. Even when I had to move on, I kept going back. Then, when I moved again, I found a new MMA gym."

"It sounds like MMA is important to you," I say softly.

He nods, coming over to me and drawing me to my feet. "It's my religion. The thing that gives me direction, purpose, and a sense of things being all right. That's why I started doing this. I wanted to give these kids that same experience." He swallows, the cords of his throat moving, and those gray eyes of his are hot but full of pain at the same time. "If I can do that for even one of them, then I've succeeded."

I can't believe this guy is the same one who sat opposite me in my office three days ago, giving me lip. I was blind not to see the depth he has. And while my heart thumps erratically, yearning to remove the shadows of his past, my body craves him. I want to take him in my arms and soothe his wounded soul. I want to kiss him, to smooth my hands over the planes and dips of his muscles and tug him closer. But most of all, I want him to fill the empty, throbbing part of me that wakes up every time he's around.

You can't, Lena.

Jase's hands land on my shoulders, and hebrushes my hair back, his thumbs sliding over the sensitized skin of my neck.He's studying me like I'm a math problem he needs to solve, and then slowly,agonizingly, his lips claim mine and lay waste to my good intentions.