Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down: Making Him Sweat / Taking Him Down. Meg Maguire

the science teacher. What is wrong with these women?”

      “As a trainer and a meathead, I find your outrage offensive.”

      She tried and failed to hide a smile.

      “How can I sign you up for this show?” he asked.

      “I don’t kiss and tell. No way I’d ever let cameras follow me around while I made out with strange guys. Or worse! You should see the stuff that some of these girls will do on national TV.” She sighed and sipped her wine.

      “You drunk yet?”

      “I’ve barely had two glasses. Why?”

      “Nothing. Just wondering if I need to be worried. You get all buzzed, all worked up watching your little make-out show… You might try and take advantage of me.”

      Her lips tightened with a poorly suppressed smirk. “You think you’re really cute, don’t you?”

      Mercer shrugged. Cute, no. He wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but after nearly twenty years of boxing, he could read other people’s faces like billboards. Their emotions, fatigue, pain…attraction.

      And Jenna’s smirk told him everything he needed to know. The trouble was, he didn’t have the first clue what to do with that information.

      * * *

      THEY DIDN’T SPEAK AGAIN until Jenna’s show was over and a program about home decorating came on. She sat up straighter, thinking she might get some ideas for the apartment. Plus it’d be smart to force her mind off its awareness of Mercer’s body, mere feet from hers. She glanced to the cushion beside him, at the pad he hadn’t taken a note on since sitting down.

      “Could I borrow that?” she asked, pointing to it.

      He handed it to her. “Knock yourself out.”

      Mercer had written two headings at the top of the page—Yes and Maybe. Both were crossed out, and beneath he’d started a different list, one that included the items Sell kidney and Rob a bank. Thank goodness Jenna had landed an apartment for free. She didn’t envy his challenge.

      She flipped the pad to a fresh page and awaited the wisdom of the show’s host, pen poised. But fifteen minutes or more passed and she’d absorbed nothing.

      She kept thinking about what he’d said, about his supposed kissing prowess. Jenna hadn’t kissed a guy—really kissed a guy—in ages. Polite smooches at the ends of a few first dates, but no deep, sexy, toe-curling kissing. She hadn’t really given it much thought until Mercer had roused her curiosity, along with the dating show’s on-screen lip-locking. She missed being kissed like that. Plus with Mercer, she might feel those interesting, scarred hands on her jaw, maybe run her own palms down his extraordinary arms. She blinked, waking from the trance. She grabbed the remote and switched off the television.

      “Off to bed?” he asked.

      “Yeah, I’m starting to zone out.” She glanced at his computer. “Are you still depressing yourself with apartment listings?”

      “Gave that up a while ago. Just catching up on some admin. Probably time I called it a night, too. I’m meeting Delante at seven tomorrow in Somerville. Gonna make him run the stairs in the Porter Square T station until his legs fall off.”

      “While you what? Sip a coffee on a bench?”

      “Nah, I’ll join him. Keep my own game up.”

      Again, she ogled his powerful arm. Bad. Bad eyes.

      She rose and headed to the kitchen to clean up the dinner mess. She heard Mercer’s laptop click closed and the couch creak.

      “Don’t,” he said, walking over. “Let me do all that.”

      She opened the dishwasher and began rinsing the bowls. “I don’t mind. It’s still novel for me to even have a kitchen to clean.”

      He muscled her to the side and she submitted. “Fine.” She turned instead to the items scattered across the counter, finding homes for her spices and new utensils. She nudged Mercer’s unnaturally hard shoulder and he shifted to let her get to the trash can beneath the sink. She shut the cupboard door and stood at the exact moment he reached for her wineglass. Their chests brushed, faces inches apart. She felt her eyes widen, mirroring his.

      “’Scuse me.”

      “Sorry.”

      Neither moved. Their eyes darted and she felt her lips part. His did the same. Unbidden, her chin tilted up, and Mercer’s dipped in response.

      “This is…” She trailed off.

      “Yeah.” They were so close, she felt his breath on her lips.

      They were trapped, stuck in some mutual daze, mouths edging closer. She felt a warm, damp hand on her neck, heard the clink as he set her glass aside to free the other. She shivered at the rasp of his fingertips, then melted as his lips met hers. As she softened, he grew bolder, angling his head, kissing her deeply.

      The hand cupping her neck was just as rough and commanding as she’d imagined. His tongue swept against hers, his kiss aggressive but controlled, and she felt consumed in a way she hadn’t in ages. She grabbed his arm and the hardness there left her reeling. She’d never felt a kiss like this, never connected with a man on such a visceral, physical level, as if their mouths were made for one another, their bodies meant to join this way. Other ways.

      But a voice was screaming in the back of her head, telling her to stop, stop, stop. Lust had slammed its foot on the gas, and if she didn’t find the brake, they were going straight into a tree, a ditch, off the edge of a cliff.

      She pushed firmly at his chest with both hands, and with a final deep taste, Mercer let her go. He licked his lips.

      She took slow breaths, willing the madness to pass.

      This man was too complicated. He was her employee, her roommate. The son her father had wanted, a man whose very livelihood was at odds with hers. He was a dozen things that made this an awful, awful idea. But standing this close, the energy between them felt anything but complicated. It was a question with a single solution, and that solution was to feel his body against hers.

      She grabbed his neck, and he was kissing her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her, guiding her, pushing her lower back against the counter. His leg went between hers, driving her skirt a couple inches higher. He gathered her hair in his hands as she stroked her palms up his shoulders, his neck, cupped the back of his head and felt the soft bristle of his short hair. Between the deep strokes of his tongue and the press and tease of his lips, she heard his sounds—tiny grunts and moans. She imagined how much deeper and louder they’d be if they made a terrible decision and took this to one of the bedrooms…

      No, no, no.

      But as he kissed her, so firm and explicit, she knew this was hotter than any sex she’d had in the past five years. This wasn’t attraction as she’d ever experienced it. It made her feel wild and helpless and electrified. So many things, all of them scary and exhilarating.

      Mercer’s kisses grew graceless and needy, and just as he seemed to be losing control, he broke away. The separation left Jenna aching. He looked drunk, his nose and ears and lips flushed, exactly where Jenna felt the heat. This insanity was mutual, and dangerous.

      For long moments they stood that way, hands slowly slipping from one another’s hair, breaths deepening, eyes locked on each other’s mouths. Jenna cleared her throat, lust fading enough to expose a deep vein of embarrassment. She clasped her hands at her waist and felt blood flooding her cheeks, ashamed to have lost control of herself with a man she barely knew.

      “You know, you’re right.” Mercer ran his tongue over his lower lip. “That’s good wine.”

      She could think of nothing to say—no reprimand or smart remark or even a dumbfounded “Well.” She closed