Page 66 of Twisted Knight

I fight an irritated smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Holden’s words, or rather his demeanor, are so different from what I’m used to. “What is going on here?” I ask more to myself than to him.

“We’re talking. Chatting.”

“You don’t chat.”

“No?”

“No. You brood. You plot. You scheme. You attempt to ruin people’s lives. You don’t chat.”

He flashes a grin that would make a lesser woman weak in the knees. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.” He shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.”

Charming isn’t exactly a word I’d use to describe Holden Knight and yet here he is, being just that. And who could have guessed that when he turned it on, it would make him even more devastating than he already was?

“Can I have your asshole nature and my bar back, please?” The tug of war continues, except it seems like I’m the only one that has to put any effort into it.

“Why? I rather like this conversation we’re having. You’ve yet to think I’m an asshole or a prick—at least that’s a guess considering I caught you ogling me a few minutes ago. I’d say we should keep this going.”

“I wasn’t ogling you.”

He snorts. “I’ll let you think that so you can keep your pride intact. It’s better for our working relationship that way.”

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not.”

“How did you know I was going to be here?”

“I didn’t. Like you, I prefer ‘in, out, and done.’ Maybe a little more added pleasure in there for good measure between the ‘in’ and the ‘out’ parts, but that’s just personal preference.”

“Are you drunk?”

“While working out? That’s counterproductive.”

“Then what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He grins. “Maybe I’m just finding my footing.”

Or maybe you’re using reverse psychology on me so that I start to like you.

The problem? It’s working.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to spot you? I mean, this bar is going to feel pretty heavy once I let go.”

I hold tight to my anger because I don’t want his charm to work. This time when I try to take the bar and say, “I’m fine,” Holden lets me.

I struggle under its weight, my arms tired and my head not as focused as it should be. But I am determined not to show it as Holden stands there and watches me struggle through five more reps.

I refuse to let him think I’m weak.

And when I rack the bar and let my arms collapse to my sides, he chuckles. “Great job. Now tell me in the morning when you’re unable to move your arms because they’re so sore that not accepting help was worth it.” He gives a nod and then heads back over to his own workout without another word.

I sit up and stare after him. Annoyed. Irritated. Confused. Needing to look away as he does squats on the rack but finding it hard to.

“Weak woman,” I mutter to myself. A great body doesn’t negate who he is and what he stands for.

As if on cue, Holden glances my way and flashes yet another grin that has me turning my back to him so I can concentrate.

But there are mirrors. Everywhere there are freaking mirrors to the point that I have to look at the floor to avoid seeing him.