by Kendall Ryan
“It was an accident,” she said and balled her hand up in mine. That was when I made the connection. She’d done it to herself. Her own nails matched up with the tiny cuts on the palm of her hand.
“What happened?” I opened her hand and held it gently in mine, lightly stroking the marks with my thumb. She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek. “Why did you do this?” I asked, and another tear fell down her cheek. “God, Kenzie, what’s wrong?”
“It’s allergies.” She shook her head and sniffed, wiping at her eyes.
This was not fucking allergies. I couldn’t stand watching a girl cry. Hell, normally I would run in the other direction, but with Kenzie it was different. I didn’t want her to cry because I didn’t want her to feel pain, ever.
I wrapped my good arm around her and pulled her head to my chest, then immediately wondered if she wouldn’t gag at the fact that I had blood, sweat, and grime all over me from the fight. But she didn’t resist, instead she surprised me by folding up closer to me. I touched my lips to the top of her head and took a deep breath. She smelled like honey and vanilla. Damn it. I knew she was sweet, and this was fucking killing me.
“We’re here¸” Ty announced from the front seat, then looked back at us. His mouth dropped open, but he quickly closed it.
“C’mon,” Kenzie said as she sat up. She wiped her face with her sleeve, then got out of the car without looking at me.
Eleven
MacKenzie
What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to work with Ian on his rehab?
The truth was, I knew exactly what I was thinking. I had seen the pain in his eyes when the doctor gave him his prognosis. Six to eight weeks’ recovery time meant potentially missing his first pro fight, the one Chris had lined up for him in Vegas. That fight was only seven weeks away. If he was going to get back in shape and have a shot at winning that fight, he needed all the help he could get.
Which was why I was sitting on my living room floor with Alexa at three o’clock in the morning, surrounded by every anatomy textbook I had, laptops open. As a nurse, I knew anatomy. But to get him through the injury, I needed to brush up on some of the physical therapy aspects. Lucky for me, she had offered to help.
Alexa worked night shifts at the hospital, so she was used to being up this late, but I never stayed up late unless I was out at a club and being highly entertained. So, almost never. To compensate, I was pounding my fifth cup of coffee.
I gave her a sly smile. “You don’t need to stay up this late. It’s your night off, go bang your hot-ass boyfriend. At least then one of us will be getting laid tonight.”
Alexa laughed and blushed, but then she got a far-off look in her eyes. “I’m sure I can stay a bit longer with you and still manage to get laid.” She paused, then said, “What’s going on with you and Ian, anyway?”
She looked a little wary, as if I might bite her for asking, which was weird because I always talked to her about guys. But as I tried to answer the question, I realized Ian was different. I felt something for him deep inside, in a place I never shared, not with anyone.
“Nothing’s going on,” I insisted. “I’m dating Chris.” I think. “I’m just helping Ian recover.”
She gave me that look she always did when she knew I was lying, but wasn’t sure she should call me on it.
I sighed. “What?”
“It’s just that you seemed so upset that Ian got hurt, and then there was the night you called me from dinner. What did you call him that night? Amazing?”
“So? I was drunk. Everyone’s amazing when I’m drunk.”
It was kind of true, but I felt my fingers dig into my palms again. Alexa needed to back off or I’d break. Please don’t let me fall apart again.
“Oh, okay,” she said.
This time when she gave me her Kenzie-you’re-so-full-of-it look, I just ignored it. That was how she knew not to push anymore. Alexa was an expert at reading people and knowing when not to push, something I absolutely valued in a friend.
I turned back to the book I was reading, only I could hardly concentrate on the words in front of me. My thoughts kept returning to the moment in Ty’s car when Ian had pulled me close and just held me. Why did he do that? Why was he so pushy, trying to find out why my hands were bleeding? No one ever cared about that, so why did he?
God, I felt like such an idiot for falling apart in front of him, but in that moment, it just felt so good to let him hold me. It was like his strong embrace held me together.
I’d never fallen apart like that before. I hated it. Something about Ian was just so protective and so safe that for just a moment I felt like it was okay to let go. I hated that he did that to me because I don’t let go. I don’t cry in front of other people. Ever. It makes you vulnerable, and when you’re vulnerable, people can hurt you.
And honestly, what was I even crying about? The fight before Ian’s, I was eating it up—the competition, the testosterone filling the room. Hell, I even loved it when Ian was messing with Steel. But when Steel punched Ian in the throat and I saw the very real pain in Ian’s eyes, how he fought for breath, something changed. I raced for the cage, wanting—no, needing—to make sure he was okay.
When I realized I was holding my breath, I knew. I needed him to breathe in the same way I needed my own breath. It was so stupid. So weak.
“There’s nothing going on between us, not at all,” I told Alexa. And at that moment, I was determined that I would mean it. But the thought of spending so much one-on-one time with him during his recovery made my chest tighten, and I knew I was in trouble.
Twelve
MacKenzie
Ian’s address told me that his place had to be nice; I just didn’t realize how luxurious it would be. I couldn’t help compare his building to mine. My ugly little four-story was a reality-cop-show backdrop, whereas his was closer to the set of the next rich playboy movie. His building was about a hundred years older than mine, yet in much better shape. It was beautiful.
I was craning my neck to appreciate the detailed architecture about twenty stories up when a doorman opened the door for me. He checked to make sure my name was on the list before motioning for me to go past the desk. “Down the hall, take a left, last one at the end.”
At least Ian lived on the first floor. I didn’t think I could handle it if he’d lived in a fancy top-floor penthouse. My tennis shoes squeaked on the marble floors as I followed the doorman’s directions.
I was wearing what I always wore to the gym, having just come from there, but here my short-shorts and tank top felt ridiculously inadequate. I wrapped my arms around myself to stay warm in the air-conditioning, and maybe also to cover up a little since I was starting to nip out. As I made my way down the hall, I wondered if I would be able to coach him through physical therapy with my arms locked across my chest. Yeah, right. He’d just better not give me crap about it or I was leaving.
I found the last door, and Ian opened it before I had a chance to knock.
“Hey…” I had a billionaire joke on the tip of my tongue, but when I saw him, the playful smirk on my face fell. It had been over a week since the fight, but his eye still bore the dark marks of bruising, and the gash over his eyebrow they’d stitched up in the ER hadn’t healed yet. I instinctively stepped forward, wanting to brush away the pain I saw there, but I held myself back. This was a professional visit. I was here to help Ian work on his injury.
There was nothing going on between us. He knew it. I knew it.
He wore loose shorts and a clean white T-shirt. His left arm was immobilized, strapped to his chest with a complex brace. He hadn’t worked out in over a week—doctor’s orders—and yet his arm muscles still bulged as if he could rip out of the brace’s straps at any moment. It made the contraption look like some sort of joke.
“I hadn’t knocked yet,” I stammered.
“The doorman called to let me know you were here.” As he spoke, I realized I was looking down at his firm calf muscles
. I forced my gaze back up his body to meet his eyes. They were soft—for him—and he looked sleepy.
“Must be nice to have a doorman,” I said. “Did I wake you?”
He rubbed his free hand over his short hair. “Actually, I did sleep in a bit today.”
He stepped back to let me in. As I walked past, I caught a hint of his scent—soapy with a hint of musk. Of course he smelled amazing.
Just business, I reminded myself. This visit was going to be tricky.
The room was not what I’d expected, since it obviously wasn’t his apartment. Instead it was a small gym with several types of punching bags, a mat, free weights, and all the machines he needed to work out.
“If your building has such nice facilities, why do you even go to the gym?”
“This isn’t the building’s facility.” He paused and smiled a little. “I rent this unit. This is my own personal gym. If I kept all this in my condo, my downstairs neighbor would shoot me. I live upstairs in a different unit.”
I made a mental note that he might be a little more well off than I thought. The billionaire jokes threatened to resurface, but I held back. “Okay, so why do you even bother with Chris’s gym?”
“Here I don’t have sparring partners or coaches.”
“Right. Of course.”
I pulled my bag off my shoulder and looked around for a good place to stash it. He took it from me, his hand brushing against mine as he did. Just that small touch sent my nerves singing and gave me goose bumps.
Ian set my bag on a chair by the door, then turned back to me. His eyes smoldered. Was it possible to be caressed with only a look? His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, then he reached to the wall behind me, grabbed a hoodie from a hook, and held it up in front of me.
“You’re cold.” His gaze drifted down almost imperceptibly.
Damn it, I was still nipping out. This was going great.
I pulled on the sweatshirt, even though the sun coming in through the windows made the place warm. My nipples weren’t exactly reacting to the cold anymore, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Let’s get you out of that brace.” I stepped toward him and reached out, but he took a step back.
“I’ve got it,” he said. He managed to open the first Velcro strap, but he struggled with the next.
“Just let me help you, or we’ll be here all day.”
I closed the gap between us before he could retreat again, and gently pulled his free arm from its impossible task. Holding his shoulder in place with one hand, I slowly pulled open the brace to release his arm.
“How the heck have you been managing with this thing all by yourself for the last week?” As I asked, I realized I had no idea if he’d been alone for the last week. Maybe he’d had his new adult-movie-star girlfriend, “the screamer,” taking care of him.
Not that it was any of my business. So why was I searching his eyes for any hint that he might not have been alone? But he remained silent, quietly studying me. God, I was making myself sick. Why couldn’t I just let it go?
“Let’s start by testing your strength,” I said. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”
Ian smiled and effortlessly raised his right arm. His hand gently cupped my shoulder. I was thankful that I was wearing his sweatshirt, because his touch was doing crazy things to me.
I took a breath and said, “Other hand, genius,” giving him an exaggerated eye roll.
His nostrils flared and his eyes widened at the effort, but he couldn’t manage to get his arm much higher than his waist. His hand shook and he let out a grunt before dropping his arm, swearing under his breath. “Shit.”
“I guess we have our work cut out for us,” I said.
“We? I appear to be the only one breaking a sweat here.”
“Yes. We.” I stepped closer and helped him lift his hand, placing it on my shoulder. His arm, being all muscle, was heavier than it looked, and as soon as I rested it on my shoulder, he took another step closer and tightened his grip.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Push down.”
I waited but felt nothing, no push from his hand. But with him so close, I felt a push of a different nature that needed to be nipped in the bud. And there was only one way for me to stop this growing desire before it got totally out of control.
“How’s Sara?”
Thirteen
Ian
Of course I knew it was a bad idea for MacKenzie to come over and help out with physical therapy at my place. I’m an MMA fighter, not a fucking moron. Still, I felt like one for suggesting it.
I didn’t know if she felt the same way or not, but she agreed to come over. Which was good because I wasn’t ready to go back to the gym. I didn’t need the guys watching me while I struggled to lift my hand any higher than my waist.
But I had no clue how to act with her now. She’d let me hold her in Ty’s car on the way to the ER, and it seemed so right, but then as soon as we got to the hospital, she pulled away and acted like it never happened. So the only way I could figure to deal, was the same way she was dealing with it. Or not dealing with it.
Shit, women should come with manuals. She was lucky she was so amazing.
MacKenzie came over wearing her usual gym clothes, including my favorite pair of short-shorts—so short I could see a crescent of the naked curve of her fabulous ass whenever she bent over. On top she wore a low-cut tank that hugged the curves of her slender waist and clung tight to her exceptional breasts. Her nipples were erect, which made it impossible to not imagine her naked. It was going to be a hard fucking workout. At least I managed to get her to put on a sweatshirt.
Even as she jabbed at me verbally, I couldn’t help noticing her gentle nature as she helped me out of my brace. And when she stepped closer and put my hand on her shoulder, her tiny little frame in my huge hand made me want to say, fuck it. Just take control of the situation and pull her the rest of the way to me. God, I wanted to kiss her—and do a lot more to her—so fucking bad.
“How’s Sara?” she asked.
The words startled me. Where the fuck did they come from? I thought I detected a hint of a smirk. Fuck. I turned away from her to give myself a second. Why wouldn’t the Sara thing just die already? I considered keeping up the charade and telling her we were still dating, but I just wanted to be done with the whole mess.
“I’m not sure, to be honest,” I said and added, “That was our first and last date,” hoping that would put an end to the whole topic.
But the hint of a smirk resurfaced on MacKenzie’s face. Double fucking shit. Here we go…jokes about one-night stands, maybe?
“So I guess porn stars are good enough to have as friends, and good for one-night stands, but not dating material?”
Triple fucking shit. How did she know about Sara’s adult film work? Of course she did. She was MacKenzie. I bet she watched Cade’s films.
Her face was so smug, I wanted to kiss that smirk right off her face. Because even when she was being a little brat, it still all came back to that. I imagined nibbling on her pouty lower lip as I considered how much more I wanted her to know. If in fact there was anything left she didn’t know. God, I hoped she didn’t know I paid Sara. But Cade would never betray me like that.
“We didn’t sleep together,” I said.
Her smile faded and her eyes widened. “So, it’s true then?”
My breathing stopped. She did know I paid for Sara to accompany me. I would be kicking Cade’s ass the next time I saw him.
“What’s true?” I asked cautiously. I might have paid for a night with a porn star, but I wasn’t going to admit to it that easily.
“That you don’t have sex before a big fight.” Her look was so innocent and hopeful, yet it still took me a second to figure out why she was asking this.
“Yes,” I finally answered. Her cute little frame seemed to relax a little, making me feel—once again—like a total dick. She didn’t know I paid Sara;
she was talking about something completely different, about the night we almost hooked up. The night I told her I couldn’t because I had a fight the next day.
She chewed at the inside of her cheek a moment, maybe considering what I’d just said. Shit, that meant she thought I’d just made that up to get rid of her. Not fucking likely. Putting the brakes on that night had been the hardest thing I’d ever done.
“So,” she said as she looked up at me innocently through her eyelashes. “What does that do? For a fighter, I mean.”
I chuckled. “You mean besides frustrate the hell out of us?”
She smiled—thank fucking goodness—then nodded for me to continue.
“You know that stereotype that most guys are boneheaded cave dwellers driven by instinct?”
“Is it considered a stereotype if it’s true?” she said, then giggled.
God, she had a great laugh.
I nodded. “That’s what I was getting at. On some very basic level, we fight in order to survive and procreate.”
She scrunched up her nose, making her look super cute. “But wouldn’t you fight better then? If you have sex, then you have someone to fight for, right?”
Her hand went up to mine, which was still resting on her shoulder. She absentmindedly played with my fingers until she noticed I was watching her, and realized what she’d been doing. She let her hand drop.
I shook my head. “We fight to procreate. Once we’ve had sex, we’ve done the job and have no reason to fight.”
“Hmm.” She nodded. “So I guess now that you aren’t fighting for a while, you’re free to take care of business.” Her gaze drifted down my body.
My dick screamed at me to pull her close. She was stating the obvious, but it felt like she was suggesting more. I saw the hunger in her eyes.
Fuck. Did she know what she was doing to me? If I thought I was any ounce of good enough for her, I’d show her how I take care of business.