The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances by Tia Louise Page A

equipment.
    The closer I got, however, I heard the dull thud of what sounded like gloves hitting a bag. Rounding the corner, I froze in my tracks. His back was to me, shoulders up and chin down, and his feet moved lightly as his fists slammed into the canvass body bag in front of him.
    He was shirtless, and he was ripped. Every muscle in his shoulders and back flexed with his strikes. The lines in his stomach deepened along with those on his arms. The gloves inked on his biceps read, Never stop fighting. Only, from what I could see, the fight was either keeping him alive or killing him.
    Perfect form, fists at eye level, his punches flew straight to the center. Quick, precise, sharp. He moved like a professional. He was a professional. My duffel slid from my shoulder, amazement mixing with something else, low in my stomach, as I watched. He was beautiful.
    He didn’t see me, so he didn’t stop. Ice blue eyes focused through his furrowed brow on something invisible. His fists were like cannons. He moved out, then he moved back in, shooting three to four swift hits before moving out again.
    Right jab, left jab, left hook, out.
    Left jab, right jab, left hook, right jab, out.
    My breathing picked up as I understood what he was doing. Tension rippled off him in waves as he fought with something unseen. It was a fight I knew well because it was the same one I’d waged every morning for almost a year.
    His intensity increased with each strike, and the wings inked down his back flexed like they were trying to escape whatever held him. I wanted to step forward and lay my palms flat against his skin. I wanted to feel the strength of those swift, strong blows. I wanted to close my eyes and merge our arms and see if I could feel the power of his fists, see if they would unlock my own pain and release it.
    His punches increased in speed and ferocity, fists shooting forward so fast, they became almost a blur as he pummeled the bag. His furrowed brow creased, and I heard a low growl rising in his throat.
    Jab after jab, punch after punch, I lost count there were so many moving so fast until he let out a loud noise and jerked away toward the cinder block wall, banging the sides of his fists against it just under the rectangular window at the ceiling.
    His head rested on his gloved fists a moment, his breath coming in gulps. Sweat traced the lines down his torso stopping at the black shorts he wore, and I couldn’t help breathing fast with him.
    I wasn’t sure if I should speak or leave. I felt like I’d walked in on something incredibly personal, almost like when I caught Rook and Tammy in the shower. My heart was flying in my chest—only in this case, I didn’t want to run away. I wanted to stay.
    Finally, I found my voice. “I-I um… I’m sorry to interrupt.”
    He looked back over his shoulder, those blue eyes meeting mine, stopping my heart. In a quick move, he scooped up a maroon tank and dropped it over his head before turning to face me. I could see the tops of letters inked in a half circle right at his collarbones, but I couldn’t make out what it said. Why hadn’t I read that? I’d been too overwhelmed by the intensity of his fight.
    “Sorry.” His voice was hoarse. “I didn’t know anybody came in this early.”
    Unable to hold his gaze, I tried to smile as my eyes moved from his square jaw, past the line down the center of his chin, to his muscular arms.
    “I’m the only one who does.” My voice was higher in contrast to his. “I missed a few days, but I try to get my workout in before the members arrive.”
    He grabbed a towel off another bench, and I noticed a small bottle of cheap, generic water and a bundle of what had to be his clothes. “I’ll get the locker room cleaned before you need it. If you’re okay?”
    In that one phrase, recognition almost knocked me down. I was back on the beach. It was dark and I couldn’t stop shaking. Still, in that place of darkness as I struggled not to cry, all I