I cupped her face, planting a soft kiss on her beautiful lips. "Don't ever run from me, baby," I said softly, letting my thumb trace her jaw. "I love the chase." Her jaw tightened, her hands coming up to try and move mine. "Stop calling me baby, Ezra," she snapped, eyes flashing. I couldn't help but grin, dropping my voice to something low and dark. "Ohhh, now my baby has a problem with me calling her baby?" She shot me a glare, but I just tucked her hair behind her ear, pressing another kiss to her lips-gentler this time, lingering. "You don't get to tell me what to call you, baby." I leaned in closer, brushing my nose against hers. "You're whatever the fuck I call you."

She takes the job because it pays too well to ask questions. He's an underground boxer with a private gym, a dangerous last name, and a reputation nobody explains out loud. Focused. Disciplined. Off-limits in every way that matters. She's there to keep fighters healthy, nothing more. No distractions. No lines crossed. But tension doesn't care about rules. Between late nights at the gym, lingering looks, and a pull neither of them names, lines blur fast. And when family business starts bleeding into the ring, she realizes this job comes with more than bruises. Some things happen in the spotlight. Everything else happens between rounds.