She demonstrated the proper fighting position, then moved behind him to adjust his posture. The moment her hands touched his shoulders, heat shot through her like lightning. His skin was warm and firm beneath the thin fabric, and that intoxicating scent wrapped around her senses.
"Feet wider," she murmured, her voice coming out huskier than intended. "And drop your center of gravity."
Adrian complied, but Riley could feel the tension coiled in his frame as she guided his positioning. When she pressed against his back to correct his posture, she felt him inhale sharply.
This was dangerous territory. Every professional instinct screamed at her to step back, to maintain distance, to remember that this was supposed to be training. But her body had other ideas entirely.
"Better," she managed, though her hands lingered longer than necessary on his shoulders. "Now let's work on basic punches."
As they moved through the fundamentals, the sexual tension built like pressure in the air before a storm. Every correction required touch, every demonstration put them in close proximity, and Riley found herself fighting a losing battle against the desire pooling low in her belly.
She didn't know how she was going to train this powerful, sexy man without wanting to throw him down on the mat and discover what happened when his legendary control finally snapped.
And the mate bond thing—God, the idea of being his—should have terrified her. Instead, it sent a thrill of excitement through her that she couldn't deny.
This was definitely going to be a mistake. But as Adrian's blue eyes met hers, the golden flecks flaring with unmistakable hunger, Riley found she didn't care at that moment.
EIGHT
ADRIAN
Adrian had braced himself for rejection when he'd shown up to Riley's gym tonight. Especially after she'd given him only ten minutes to explain himself and why he'd abandoned her five nights ago. When he'd started his confession, he'd expected her to laugh, or be in shock, or even back away slowly while suggesting he seek professional help. Instead, she'd absorbed his impossible confession with the same fierce composure she brought to everything else, processed it with startling efficiency, and agreed to help him.
Now, an hour into their first training session, he was drowning.
Not from the physical demands—though Riley's regimen pushed him harder than he'd expected. No, what threatened to undo his legendary control was the woman herself. Every correction of his stance required her hands on his body. Every demonstration put her close enough that her flower-and-citrus scent wrapped around his senses like a drug. And watching her move with that lethal grace in form-fitting leggings and a black sports bra that showcased the elegant curve of her spine was pure torture.
His tiger prowled restlessly, recognizing its mate and demanding he claim what belonged to him. The beast didn't understand restraint or respect for autonomy—it only knew that she washisand they were alone and the air between them crackled with enough sexual tension to power the city.
"Drop your shoulder more," Riley instructed, moving behind him to adjust his form. "You're telegraphing the punch."
When her palms pressed against his back, heat shot through him and went straight to his groin. Adrian bit back a growl, forcing himself to focus on technique instead of the way her touch made every nerve ending sing.
"Better," she murmured, her breath warm against his neck. "Now let's work on combinations."
Adrian followed her lead, throwing the sequences she demonstrated while fighting the growing hunger that threatened to consume his rational mind. She was magnificent—all controlled power and fierce concentration, sweat glistening on her skin as she pushed him through increasingly complex drills.
By the time she called for a break, his shirt was soaked through and his body thrummed with exertion and barely leashed desire.
"Let's get some water," Riley said, ducking through the ropes.
Adrian followed her into the cramped office, his gaze inevitably drawn to the sway of her hips and the way her hair had escaped its messy bun.
When she bent over the mini-fridge, his mouth went dry for reasons that had nothing to do with physical exertion. The sports bra stretched across her form, highlighting the lean muscle of her shoulders and the tantalizing glimpse of cleavage visible from his angle. Adrian's hands clenched into fists, his tiger demanding he close the distance and discover if she tasted as good as she smelled.
Riley straightened and tossed him a water bottle, which he caught reflexively despite his scattered concentration.
"Thanks." He twisted off the cap and drank deeply, surprised by how parched he was.
Riley's training intensity had caught him off guard—not just physically, but mentally. She demanded complete focus, complete commitment, and his body had responded with enthusiasm.
Riley laughed, taking her own sips of water. "You look like you've been through a battle."
"You're tougher than I expected," Adrian admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Thank you again for helping me. I know I'll need every bit of training I can get to be ready for the first round in two days."
"You're catching on quickly," she said, her brown eyes bright with approval that made something warm settle in his chest. "I have confidence you can win your first few matches. But the semis and finals, if you make it that far, will prove challenging."
Adrian nodded grimly. He was under no illusions about the level of competition he'd committed himself to. And somewhere in that field of fighters would be Darius, circling like the predator he was.