Page 67 of The Knockout Rule

“If we rush things and it sets you back or I lose you because of it, I’ll never forgive myself. Waiting is testing my willpower. I won’t lie about that, but it’s worth it, and it’s kind of fun. As long as I know where your heart’s at, I’m in no rush.”

She ran her nose over his collarbone. “We can’t be like this in public, though. No touching or flirting.”

No, they couldn’t. And it sucked. “Or tickling,” he added.

He could feel her smiling against his chest. “Or tickling. But jokes are still a must. I can’t live without those.”

Taking her cue, he said, “What’s the best thing about living in Switzerland?”

She quit dancing and looked up at him. “Did I miss the segue into this conversation?”

He pulled her closer, forced her feet to move again. “Just answer the question, Slade.”

“You’re annoying, Kramarovsky. And I can’t, since I’ve never lived there.”

He turned them in a tighter circle. “Me neither, but I hear the flag is a big plus.”

She unleashed one of her snorts—adorable and carefree. “You’re hopeless.”

Hopelessly into her, yeah. The coming days would be a challenge. He wanted to shower Isla with affection, show her how much he cared anywhere and everywhere. But he’d never jeopardize her job. “What if, when in public, we say the opposite of what we’re thinking?”

She nuzzled deeper into him as he hummed and they swayed. “Like…I hate how cold and uncomfortable I feel dancing in your stiff arms?”

He grinned, more pleased than he should be by the twisted-up admission. He sang a few lines, thought about what he loved most about this moment: dancing in a hotel room with Isla, his laptop filled with their teamwork, Whit dozing on his bed. He thought about what the changes ahead truly meant for him, and how talking about poetry and studying with Isla had been such a novelty. Such a beautiful gift. “I hate that you don’t get me at all,” he said.

She stilled. So suddenly, he stumbled. But he caught them, swung her fast and loose, finishing with a dip that had her arching over his arm.

“Do you really feel that way? That I get you?” The question sounded timid, her beautiful face full of so much adoration, his heart squeezed.

He lifted her up, held her close. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone, Isla. Like I’m better with you. Like I’m dying—”

“To learn every detail about your life and figure out your most ticklish spot and which side of the bed you sleep on and if you prefer the beach or a pool and if you like horror movies and butter on your popcorn.”

Yeah, they were completely in sync, both of them greedy to spend time together, learn every detail about each other. Their worsts and bests. He rubbed his hand up and down her back. “In answer to those questions: armpit, left, beach, no, yes. And I plan to spend many hours grilling you. For now, we should get back to work.”

She sighed. “Probably a good idea. I promise not to get as distracted this time.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll never complain about you staring at me. But next time, the shark tank is happening.”

“Not in this lifetime, Mullet Boy.”

“Don’t test me, Velour Girl.”

Laughing, they got back to work, sitting side-by-side, touching easily, giving Whit attention when he waddled over for a pat. Yeah, Isla understood him in a way no woman before had, but as the night wore on, and he helped her with her new business, he realized the inspiration to that admission was bigger than their common interests and attraction. It was the utter peace of being with someone who made you feel comfortable in your own skin. Wholeness you suddenly couldn’t live without. If being with Isla felt this amazing now, he couldn’t imagine the spell he’d fall under when they took their relationship to the next level.

21

Isla walked toward her hotel, sunglasses on, the chatter from milling tourists cheerful and uplifting. She’d never have imagined leaving a therapy session feeling this relaxed and happy, but there was no denying the utter freedom buoying her steps. She felt lighter than she had in years.

The hotel concierge had helped her find a lovely woman who kept walk-in appointments open for tourists. They’d had three sessions this week, filled with lengthy talks about her childhood and father and mother and everything developing with Eric. A flood of tears and release had accompanied each session, but so had a swell of inner strength, the building blocks of wellness. There would be setbacks, no doubt. She’d spent so long suppressing her fears, they were bound to pop up when least expected. Her father’s health situation certainly wasn’t doing her any favors.

For now, she felt as though she were a better version of herself. A woman who could offer Eric more. Be with him and know if she faltered, she had people—Heather, a therapist, a man who knew most of her issues—to go to for help. She was no longer in this alone, and Eric would be leaving boxing soon.

An itch of doubt surfaced. A warning that she should wait until he actually quit. Not get in deeper until he was free and clear of boxing. But she was tired of letting her mind rule her choices. All these years she’d been a victim of her anxiety. It was time to take charge. Be a hurricane. Maybe she’d change her relationship status with Eric tonight, from friends taking it slow to a man and woman insatiable for each other. Show up at his hotel door, wearing nothing under her robe. Or some sexy lingerie. Watch his face transform as he realized she was ready for everything with him.

She smiled to herself as she walked, loving the feeling of the sun warming her skin. Delicious fantasies warmed her body.

She pushed inside her hotel as a woman said, “Does anywhere here serve fried bologna sandwiches?”