not to like her more and more.
“So you said your aunt opened her salon here before you were born.” Forget Afghanistan and every God-damned thing that had happened there. It was stupid to think of that while in the middle of a date with the one woman in the entire city – hell, the entire world – who captured his interest. “Have you always lived in Baltimore?”
She nodded. “My mother was born here too. My father moved here from Mexico when he was a kid. What about you?”
“New York. Grew up in the city. I’ve moved around some since then and wound up here.”
“How do you like it here?”
“I’d rather be here than in New York.”
“I like it here too. But I’m definitely biased.”
When they abandoned giving background information in favor of talking about fighting, it was as if a physical weight slid off Ryan’s shoulders and onto the floor, forgotten. Lost in speculation about the upcoming weeks’ events and reliving the most recent ones, he was mentally suspended in the one subject that distracted him from all others.
All others except for Ally’s beauty, that was. As she told him about how she’d telegraphed a kick during her last Saturday fight and lost the match because of it, he pictured the event as he listened, focusing especially on the way she must’ve looked in a sports bra and shorts.
It sucked that he’d missed it. Really, really sucked.
“I used to have the same problem,” he confessed.
“You telegraphing your kicks? That’s hard to imagine.”
He smiled, unable to ignore a small internal burst of satisfaction. “It was a long time ago.” Back when he’d been about sixteen, to be exact.
“Well if you have any wisdom to impart next time I see you at the gym, feel free to grace me with your expertise.” She grinned as she propped an elbow on the table.
Was it only his imagination that made it feel as if a wave of heat rolled over him as she leaned toward him? Maybe it was the way the position put the lower curves of her breasts level with the tabletop. They rested there, pushed up just enough by the hard surface that the barely-visible buds of her nipples showed against the fabric of her sweater.
“Anytime. And even if Melissa really did straighten out your technique, I won’t mind watching you throw a few kicks to verify.”
He’d seen her practicing her kicks with her friend at the gym that day. He’d watched her then, too. Unfortunately, the sports bra she’d worn then had been made of much sturdier stuff than whatever she had on beneath her sweater now. What did she have on under there?
Something thin, that was for sure, and maybe lacy…
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” She hid a small smile with the rim of her wine glass, sipping the Chianti Riserva.
Through the crystal-clear glass, he could see the dark red liquid lapping against her parted lips. He hadn’t tasted his own wine yet, but detected a faint sweetness on his tongue anyway.
He shifted in his seat in an effort to relieve the pressure his jeans were exerting against his stiffening cock. Her smile had nothing to do with that, did it? There was no way she could know how hard he was under the table. Unless she knew exactly how beautiful she looked sitting there, which was unlikely. She didn’t seem like the vain type at all.
As they cleared their plates, the waitress returned and offered to pour Ally another glass from the bottle Ryan had ordered.
She hesitated for the barest moment, then nodded, her gaze flickering to Ryan a couple times before she devoted her attention to the glass, wrapping her fingers around its crystal stem.
Her lashes fanned out against the soft skin beneath her eyes when she looked down. They were true black, darker than the deep brown waves of hair framing her face. And it wasn’t because of her mascara, either – no, he’d noticed her thick, dark lashes the first time he’d met her eyes, when she’d been make-up free in the gym.
An involuntary smile tugged
“So you said your aunt opened her salon here before you were born.” Forget Afghanistan and every God-damned thing that had happened there. It was stupid to think of that while in the middle of a date with the one woman in the entire city – hell, the entire world – who captured his interest. “Have you always lived in Baltimore?”
She nodded. “My mother was born here too. My father moved here from Mexico when he was a kid. What about you?”
“New York. Grew up in the city. I’ve moved around some since then and wound up here.”
“How do you like it here?”
“I’d rather be here than in New York.”
“I like it here too. But I’m definitely biased.”
When they abandoned giving background information in favor of talking about fighting, it was as if a physical weight slid off Ryan’s shoulders and onto the floor, forgotten. Lost in speculation about the upcoming weeks’ events and reliving the most recent ones, he was mentally suspended in the one subject that distracted him from all others.
All others except for Ally’s beauty, that was. As she told him about how she’d telegraphed a kick during her last Saturday fight and lost the match because of it, he pictured the event as he listened, focusing especially on the way she must’ve looked in a sports bra and shorts.
It sucked that he’d missed it. Really, really sucked.
“I used to have the same problem,” he confessed.
“You telegraphing your kicks? That’s hard to imagine.”
He smiled, unable to ignore a small internal burst of satisfaction. “It was a long time ago.” Back when he’d been about sixteen, to be exact.
“Well if you have any wisdom to impart next time I see you at the gym, feel free to grace me with your expertise.” She grinned as she propped an elbow on the table.
Was it only his imagination that made it feel as if a wave of heat rolled over him as she leaned toward him? Maybe it was the way the position put the lower curves of her breasts level with the tabletop. They rested there, pushed up just enough by the hard surface that the barely-visible buds of her nipples showed against the fabric of her sweater.
“Anytime. And even if Melissa really did straighten out your technique, I won’t mind watching you throw a few kicks to verify.”
He’d seen her practicing her kicks with her friend at the gym that day. He’d watched her then, too. Unfortunately, the sports bra she’d worn then had been made of much sturdier stuff than whatever she had on beneath her sweater now. What did she have on under there?
Something thin, that was for sure, and maybe lacy…
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” She hid a small smile with the rim of her wine glass, sipping the Chianti Riserva.
Through the crystal-clear glass, he could see the dark red liquid lapping against her parted lips. He hadn’t tasted his own wine yet, but detected a faint sweetness on his tongue anyway.
He shifted in his seat in an effort to relieve the pressure his jeans were exerting against his stiffening cock. Her smile had nothing to do with that, did it? There was no way she could know how hard he was under the table. Unless she knew exactly how beautiful she looked sitting there, which was unlikely. She didn’t seem like the vain type at all.
As they cleared their plates, the waitress returned and offered to pour Ally another glass from the bottle Ryan had ordered.
She hesitated for the barest moment, then nodded, her gaze flickering to Ryan a couple times before she devoted her attention to the glass, wrapping her fingers around its crystal stem.
Her lashes fanned out against the soft skin beneath her eyes when she looked down. They were true black, darker than the deep brown waves of hair framing her face. And it wasn’t because of her mascara, either – no, he’d noticed her thick, dark lashes the first time he’d met her eyes, when she’d been make-up free in the gym.
An involuntary smile tugged
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