Annabelle was already rethinking her decision to accept Dante's challenge within the first hour.

Sweat trickled down her brow as she adjusted her stance, and her green eyes blazed with defiance.

Dante circled her like a predator, his dark gaze sharp and calculating.

His training shirt clung to his muscular chest, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms corded with strength.

He moved with a fluidity that made her feel like prey, and he wasn’t pulling his punches.

Not with his move.

Nor with his words.

She didn’t want to acknowledge that he hadn’t actually hurt her.

He had even made his men bring in extra padded foam...