For Her Protection(54)

The last woman entered the studio, leaving the door open behind her. All those poor ladies—his “students”—they were probably just as taken in by him, just as fooled by him as she’d been.

She glanced at her watch. Still time for some weight training. Charlize went to the free-weight area, diagonally across from the gaping studio doorway. The location allowed her to get a glimpse of Connor’s athletic body, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning women.

Not that she was looking.

Caveman wasn’t shirtless but the black tank against his tan skin revealed enough muscle to kick her saliva ducts into overproduction.

Cocky bastard.

As if he didn’t know how good he looked in his tight gym wear. She fished a dumbbell from the rack and began a triceps curl. Connor stood in the center of the room and the bodies dispersed from around him, opening up the view. His hands moved as he spoke. A tall figure emerged from the group and stood opposite him. Charlize straightened but kept swinging her arm. Her neck craned.

The woman facing Connor almost met him in height, the top of her head level with his nose. She had the kind of legs that made models envious and regular girls a little damn pissed. A blond ponytail crowned the back of her skull at the highest point, swinging as she shifted her stance. Connor stepped closer and reached for her. The blond ducked and pivoted then rose swiftly, catching Connor’s thick arm in both hands. She rotated, rolled her backside against his middle and sent him tumbling over her shoulder onto the mat.

Charlize stepped forward. She swung the dumbbell faster, no longer noticing the weight. No she didn’t care that Amazon’s ass had made contact with Connor—not at all. It didn’t even piss her off the way the woman strutted—the way she watched Connor get up and then flicked her fingers toward him in a gesture that said “come get me”.

Connor sprang up and lunged for her again. Amazon stepped into him this time, met him halfway and again sent him sprawling onto the mat, then stood back and rolled her shoulders. Amazon was as freaking cocky as Connor.

And the bitch had the moves to back it up.

The weight tugged on Charlize’s arm and her energy dissipated.

“You could always go in, you know.” A deep voice sounded from behind her.

Charlize glanced at Jason then back at the room she’d almost wandered into. “No I need to get to work.”

Jason nodded and his gaze swept over the blond. The woman helped Connor up then bowed to him and stepped back into the group.

“Do you know who she is?”

“Yeah she’s Connor’s latest recruit. Brooke’s been training with him for years and he finally convinced her to come work for Crowe.”

“Hmm,” she said and sucked her cheek between her teeth. “Well it sure looks as if she can handle herself.” It took effort getting out words.

Her arm ached, her chest throbbed and the dumbbell almost slipped from her fingers. So Connor thought enough of Amazon Barbie to have her work for him—but her—her he coddled like a three year old.

“Here,” Jason said and took the dumbbell. His gaze softened on her. “You look as if you could do all right. You sure can run.”

She nodded shakily and let him put the weight away.

“I need to get changed,” she said and fled to the locker room and hit the shower. But hot water didn’t ease the chill in her blood, only made it that much more obvious. Her chest heaved and she swallowed the ragged sounds breaking free. Tried not to sound like a lunatic, sobbing in the ladies’ showers. She flipped the tap to the other side and let the cold shock her back into control. She let the water run over her stinging eyes.

Maybe if she were taller. Maybe if she managed to burn the padding off her curves. Maybe if she were naturally tougher—

No…none of those things mattered. Amazon was the real deal. Innately fierce. And Connor saw the difference. Amazon didn’t have to fake it.

Not like Charlize had been doing all along. Faking it. Faking everything. Faking her whole freaking life. As if maybe—if she looked the part, if she spoke the part—people might believe her. Believe she didn’t need anyone to “protect” her. Believe she was more than people told her she could be.

The one thing she hadn’t tried was being herself. She leaned against the tiles and the cold water beaded over her skin in icy little daggers.

But being herself wasn’t an option—it’d never be enough.

She turned off the water, dried herself and dressed in work clothes. Structured black dress, tights and shiny black stilettos with ferocious steel heels.

She pinned her wet hair into a bun, not caring what it’d look like later or how long it’d stay damp. But she took her time with makeup. Made the effort to use highlighter around her eyes to disguise the puffiness then drew a black slash of liner above her amber eyes, which, as usual, were paler after crying. She finished with blood-red, stay-put lipstick.