She followed him down the corridor and was momentarily confused as to why they were heading away from the elevators. They passed an enormous room that had more workout equipment than a commercial gym. She stopped and looked through the glass partition that stretched to the far wall. In one corner were stacks of mats. And standing on a mat were Knox and Deacon. They appeared to be beating the shit out of each other.
Ronin noticed she’d stopped. He backtracked and followed her gaze to the men throwing each other everywhere. “What?”
“Shouldn’t you intervene before one of them gets hurt?”
“No. They’re training.”
“For what?”
“Mixed martial arts. Deacon is a professional MMA fighter. Knox and I train him. We’re trying to build a training program, but most fighters want Brazilian jujitsu instruction as well as Muay Thai. We also train others, but Deacon is our highest-ranked fighter.”
“You train him because . . . you’re his sensei?”
“Partially. Mostly I train him because I fought in combat sports before there was MMA and I know what it takes to win.”
“Do you still fight?”
“Thirty-eight is too old to compete with twenty-something guys in their prime.”
His world was so different from hers—was that why he’d deflected the question? “So this is a separate training area for MMA competitors?”
He shook his head. “This is the training gym for all students. It’s open to them anytime during class hours. But when Knox and Deacon and I are working on techniques, we train up here, simply because it’s closer to the offices where we spend our business hours.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How can this possibly interest you?”
Impulsively, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “If it has to do with you, it interests me.”
Ronin wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her with breathtaking passion. It felt completely natural to lean into him and press her hands against his chest. When she shifted even closer, her laptop bag swung and connected with the bag of food, forcing her to step back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like your hands on me, Amery.”
They stared at each other, the attraction between them getting stronger each time they were together.
“You think it’s a good idea for us to be alone in your penthouse?”
“Yes. Because the first time I f**k you I’ll need more than an hour.”
Oh. My. God. Amery just about came right then.
“Come on. Let’s eat.”
Once they were on the elevator, she said, “I don’t want to seem obsessed, but I’ve never known anyone with a private elevator. My inner eight-year-old girl is squealing with happiness at being in a real-life Barbie Dreamhouse.”
He laughed softly. “It was a cargo elevator at one time and I had it revamped. It’s key-coded after the second floor since it’s mostly used for the students to get to the gym.”
Inside Ronin’s apartment, first thing she did was ditch her heels—she noticed he didn’t wear shoes in his place. They trooped into the kitchen and he emptied the contents of the deli bag. “The plates are directly behind me. If you’d grab two small bowls too, that’d be great.”
He sliced the sandwich and put half on each plate. He divided up a container of salad into the two square bowls. Then he grabbed a fruit plate from the fridge and set it on the counter. “What would you like to drink?”
“Water is fine.”
“Sit. I’ll get it.”
This domestic side of Ronin surprised her. And pleased her because she doubted he showed this side to many people.
As she checked out the food, Ronin said, “It’s Thai chicken salad on rye. The salad is quinoa, lentils, and alfalfa sprouts in balsamic lime vinaigrette.”
“Looks delicious. And healthy.”
Ronin shrugged. “It’s how I eat.”
Amery scooped strawberries, honeydew melon, and cantaloupe onto her plate. “Is there any food you won’t eat?”
“Sushi.”
That floored her. “But . . . isn’t it, like, a law in Japan you have to love sushi?”
“I can’t stomach the stuff. And to further alienate my kind, I don’t drink tea either. Doesn’t matter if it’s hot, cold, green, orange, or some flowery shit. I pass.”
“Sake?”
“Sometimes. Has to be good sake, and there is a difference. We’ll do a taste test sometime.”
“It’d probably be wasted on me. I’m not much of a wine drinker.” Amery tucked in to her sandwich, which was probably the best chicken salad she’d ever had. And she must’ve been starving because she finished it in record time. She shot Ronin a sideways glance; he’d finished his and had moved on to his salad.
“What about you? Any ethnic type foods you won’t eat?”
“Lutefisk, which is a nasty dish that’s served around Christmastime. My dad is Norwegian, so we had it every year. My mother is of Scottish descent, so we had haggis. If I had to pick the lesser of two evils? I’d say the stuffed sheep’s intestine.”
“Haven’t had the pleasure of either and I’ll avoid such delicacies in the future.”
“Wise choice.”
Amery finished her salad and decided this healthy eating wasn’t all bad. She forked in a couple of bites of fruit and wondered how often Ronin brought women to his penthouse for meals. Had he brought Naomi here?