No Kissing Allowed (No Kissing Allowed #1)(17)

I walked over to the mats and began to stretch, when the door to the gym opened and Aidan walked in, dressed in loose gray gym shorts that hung low on his narrow hips and a white T-shirt that showed off every taut curve and dip of his chest and arms. A flash of that chest pressed against me, his lips moving with mine, hit in my mind, and I sucked in a shallow breath, then two, trying to calm myself down. It should be illegal for a boss to be this hot. Weren’t there regulations for this kind of thing? No one too ripped, no one too young—no one with hair you wanted to run your fingers through while his mouth—

Stop.

Aidan lowered his head as he started for me. Even his walk was sexy. Slow, methodical. Every step so damn controlled. God, I was going to die before this workout even began.

“Did you find everything you needed?” He avoided looking directly at me, and I realized maybe he was as affected by me as I was him.

“I did. This place is amazing.” I took a step toward him, testing my theory, and his gaze lifted to my face before sweeping slowly down my body, his expression full of agony.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, his eyes darting away. “So, where should we begin?”

“Warm up?” I walked over to a wide-open space in the middle of the room and continued my stretches. I’d learned long ago that if I didn’t take the time to wake my body up I’d pay for it the next day. Aidan watched me sit down on the ground and open my legs wide. “Do you work out in here often?” I asked.

His eyes locked on my legs. “Hmm?”

I fought the urge to grin. “Do you work out here often?”

“Most nights. I mix it up. Free weights or cardio.”

I stood up and stretched my arms out, then bent forward to touch my toes. He wasn’t stretching. He was watching. And the look in his eyes messed with my body and mind in the best and worst possible ways. In that moment, I’d have given anything for him to be anyone other than my boss.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

With a quick nod from me, he walked over to grab two pairs of gloves, then met me in the center of the room and passed a set over to me. He was so close. Too close. My skin hummed and tingled, heat spreading through me. Attraction was one thing, but this was torture.

I slipped the gloves on and backed up, eager for a little distance so I could get my heart to calm down.

“Everything okay?” he asked from across from me, a crooked grin on his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

And just like that, my competitive side took over, agitation working through me as I got into position. “Yep. Fine. Good. Let’s start.” I was totally going to knock that smirk off his face. Forget sparring.

I lunged forward and began moving, but with each punch, he was already there, blocking me. My eyes widened as I stepped back again. “You fight?”

“Not anymore.”

“I sense a story there.”

He shrugged, and I realized then that he didn’t like compliments. They made him uncomfortable. “Not really. I was a black belt in karate when I was younger. Used to compete.”

“So, karate is your thing?”

“My thing?”

Kick. Punch. Damn, could he at least let me land something? I pushed harder, growing breathless. “You know,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Your hobby. Your interest.”

“Not now. I went through an extreme sports phase right after college—rock climbing, mountain biking, that sort of thing, but I don’t really have the time for it anymore. My interests have changed.” His eyes gleamed with mischievousness.

I laughed. “Yet you refuse to date. What’s that about?” I knew I shouldn’t question him on his love life, but conversation with Aidan came too easily when we were alone.

“Ah, the question of questions.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

He walked over to a refrigerator in the corner, pulled out two waters, and passed one over to me. Taking a long drink of his, he set the bottle down on the mat, clearly stalling. “Let’s just say I don’t want to end up like my father. So I take away the possibility. No dating. No risk of marrying and turning out like him.”

My breathing slowed as I watched him, searching for something in his face that said his reason was thinner—why date, why get serious, when there were so many women? Something like that. But he only appeared sad. Like the conversation had stirred up memories he didn’t want to remember.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, I shouldn’t have answered, but with you…” His eyes locked on mine and the charge in the air sparked. “I reveal too much.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“What about you? Where do you stand on the relationship thing? Do you date? Have coffee with men who offer?” He smirked.

I turned away, needing a break from his stare. A break from the intensity building between us. Unscrewing my water bottle, I took a long pull, then two, playing the stalling game myself now.

“I only date.” I spun to look at him. “I don’t do casual. Our thing, it—That was a first for me.” Silence replaced the easiness from before, and I wondered if I shouldn’t have admitted my feelings. A guy saying he refused to date didn’t have the same social implication as a woman saying she only dates.