I squared my shoulders, tamped down my inconvenient libido, slipped past him, and got in the car.

A few moments later, Con was in the driver’s seat, and we were circling the block until we came up to a sketchy alley—the kind of alley you didn’t go down in New Orleans if you wanted to come out alive. Any wayward thoughts were eradicated from my mind.

“Are you sure…?”

He didn’t bother to answer, just drove down the narrow brick passageway into a small enclosed parking lot, and pulled into a spot next to a wicked-looking black Harley.

“Is that yours?” I asked, nodding toward the motorcycle.

He jerked his chin in what I assumed was a response and hopped out of the car without offering anything further.

I hurried after him, not wanting to look like I was waiting for him to open my door. Because I wasn’t. I surveyed the back of the warehouse. It didn’t look any more reputable than the front. Con tossed me my keys with orders to lock the car.

Con unlocked the heavy steel door before pulling it open and gesturing for me to enter.

“After you, princess.”

I stopped on the threshold. “Could you not call me that?”

One side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Why? That’s how I’ve always thought of you. Vanessa Frost, the perfect princess.”

I didn’t know what stunned me more: Con’s confession that he thought about me, or that he thought I was perfect.

I straightened and tried to look confident.

“I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot. And since my tiara seems to have been misplaced, I think princess is out, too.”

“I like nicknames. I give ‘em to everyone. So if not princess, what the hell am I supposed to call you?”

I thought of several things he’d called me that infamous night. Sexy. Gorgeous. Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever had. OH MY GOD. I can’t believe I just thought that. Even being around Con was a mistake.

I cleared my throat, as though that would clear the smut from my brain. “I can live with Van, if I get to have an opinion.”

“Done. But don’t bust my balls if I slip and call you princess now and again. Might be hard to break me of that one.”

I decided this conversation needed to move on to whatever reason we were really here. “So, you going to show me what’s in this warehouse, or are you going to keep me guessing?”

The semi-intimate moment broken, Con led the way inside. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the guys.”

I followed behind him, trying valiantly not to focus on the way his basketball shorts hung off his hips and molded to the curve of his ass. And I tried even harder not to study the way his rippling, tattooed biceps extended from the cutoff sleeves of his T-shirt. It was hard to believe I’d had my hands—and mouth—all over that body once upon a time.

Sounds of thump thwack thump drew my attention back to the here and now.

We entered a large open room with a boxing ring set up in the middle, punching bags hanging from thick beams, old exercise bikes, weight lifting equipment, coiled jump ropes, and sections of bright blue mats filling the rest of the space.

Every piece of equipment was in use. At least a dozen boys stilled when we walked in. Whistles and catcalls filled the cavernous space.

“Con’s got a girlfriend!”

“Holy shit, did you see the curves on that one?”’

“I’d tap that.”

“I’ll take her when he’s done with her—tomorrow.”

A shrill whistle ripped through the din.

“Pipe down, knuckleheads, and get back to your workouts, unless you want to be running laps from now until Judgment Day,” called the man who’d originally answered the door on the front side of the building. The one who’d called me tail.

Con spoke up. “This is Ms. Frost. If I hear any of you say anything disrespectful about her, you’ll be my cleaning bitch for a month and have zero ring time.” Groans and protestations filled the air. “Shut it down, boys, and get back to work.”

Con glanced at me. “Sorry ‘bout that. They’ve still got some rough edges, and well… they’re teenage boys. I guess that’s an explanation all in itself. And no woman has ever set foot inside here, except for Mrs. Girdeau. And she doesn’t look anything like you.”

I shrugged off his explanation. I was still stinging from the truth the one boy had yelled. Even these kids knew that Con operated on a one-night M.O., and I’d already had mine. Not that I want another, I told myself. Sternly. And don’t forget it. Mental tongue-lashing completed.

“What is this place?” I asked.

A soft smile spread over his face, and I had to harden my heart. “This is the gym. A sort of afterschool, weekend, and summer program Reggie started a while back. He lets me hang out and pretend I’m partially in charge.”

“In charge of doing what? Teaching them to fight?”

Con’s smile turned mocking. “Yeah, Van. Teaching them to fight. To box. It keeps these guys off the streets and away from the gangbangers. They learn discipline and dedication. We’ve even been able to get a few of them scholarships.”

“College scholarships? For boxing?”

Con crossed his arms, his shoulders hiking up. “That ain’t good enough for you?”

He’d completely misinterpreted my tone. I laid a hand on one bicep. It was the first time I’d voluntarily touched him in two years, and the heat beneath my palm told me it was a bad idea. But I needed to wipe the defensiveness away. I wasn’t judging him. I was… in awe. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m… impressed. I just didn’t know there were colleges around here that gave out boxing scholarships.”

“The two guys who’ve gotten scholarships are at schools on the East Coast. They got a chance to get out of here, and they took it. We’ve got two more headed that way in the fall.”

“That’s… amazing.” I was being completely sincere. Because it was.

He shrugged, and I desperately wanted to lighten the mood. I told myself it was because a defensive, angry Con wasn’t going to help my cause… and if I lied to myself, I wouldn’t have to admit that I much preferred seeing him smile.

I decided shock was the best alternative. “So, am I your cleaning bitch today?”

My pointed question did the trick. Con’s head swiveled, and his eyes locked on mine. But then he turned it on me. “You wanna be my bitch, princess?”