Mystery ~ MV1

011. Impossible to deny

[Agent A]

It was 6 AM in Miami, and I was taking out my frustrations on a punching bag in the hotel's private gym.

A week had passed since Monaco, and while I'd made some progress tracking Vega's operation, I was still dealing with a nagging Raymond who was seeming more like a concerned father than a commanding officer who wanted the mission done.

And then there was something else was occupying far too much of my mental space – specifically, a certain Dutch racing driver who'd recently followed me on Instagram.

My form was sloppy – something that would have earned me extra drills back at Langley. But right now, I didn't care.

My mind was too busy wrestling with the complexities of my current situation: maintaining my cover, gathering intelligence, and trying to ignore my new Instagram follower.

I had deliberately not followed him back, harsh I know, but I told myself it was to maintain professional distance.

The truth, which I refused to think on, was probably much more complicated than I ever wanted it to be.

The gym door opened, and I caught a glimpse of familiar athletic build in my peripheral vision.

Well look who my thoughts seemed to conjure.

I continued my combinations, pretending not to notice as Max tried to casually lean against a weight rack, failed, readjusted, and ended up in what looked like an attempt at a casual pose that was anything but casual.

I wanted to laugh rather than judge, and that's what made me pause.

I turned around, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "You didn't strike me as the type for an early workout," I said, unable to keep the amusement from my voice as he tried to recover from his awkward positioning.

A small smile pulls at the corner of his lips, "didnt strike me as the type to choose boxing."

I shrug, grabbing my water bottle that sat close by. "Were you expecting Pilates or something?" I ask before taking a sip, the cold liquid a need with the humid Florida air.

"I don't know what to expect from you," he mumbled but loud enough for me to hear, "your forms a bit off though." He said it, then immediately looked like he wished he could take the words back.

I raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, um..." He straightened up, moving closer. "Your hips aren't rotating enough with your punches. You're losing power."

I had to resist the urge to laugh. I'd spent years perfecting my striking technique, but watching him transform from awkward to confident as he stepped into teaching mode was oddly endearing.

"Show me?" I challenged, letting a hint of flirtation color my voice.

Max stepped behind me and I immediately regretted the invitation. Suddenly the temperature in the room seemed to rise ten degrees. His hands settled on my hips, touch light but firm, I could feel his hands flex against the material of my shorts.

That's when I felt his movement pause, his breath catching slightly.

"That's... quite a tattoo," he said softly, and I felt his fingers brush my ponytail aside, tracing lightly over the exposed portion of the swords handle at the base of my neck. The gentle touch sent an involuntary shiver down my spine before I felt goosebumps rise across my skin.

"Like it?" I asked, my voice coming out huskier than intended. I didn't dare turn around, the heat filling my face couldn't have been explained away by the humidity and the exertion of working out.