Outmatched: A Novel

by Kristen Callihan

  The fine muscles flanking her spine tensed and quivered. She stared down at the cutting board. “Why is it so much…more when we’re alone?”

  The quietly asked question went straight to my dick. I had to let out another slow breath. “Because it feels real.”

  I hadn’t meant to say that.

  Her smile slanted when she glanced up and met my eyes. “It’s easier to act when there are eyes watching the performance.”

  She was still twitching against my palm, as though she was fighting the desire to move away. I kept my hand on her, letting her feel my heat, the weight of my touch. “All actors have rehearsals. That’s what this is.”

  With a quick, efficient nod, she reached for the avocados. “You ever do any real acting?”

  “Me?” I laughed at the absurd image. “No. Wait—scratch that. There’s definitely an element of acting in boxing. Playing it up for the crowd before a bout, promotional crap. The shit you do to psyche out your opponent.”

  “You mean when you guys go nose to nose and say terrible things to each other?” She seemed amused.

  “I keep forgetting you’ve never watched me fight.” My ego was just fine but, without even trying, she was surprisingly good at taking it down a notch. “Yeah, sweetheart, that’s what I meant. But,” I added, “I hated that bullshit. It used to make me laugh when a guy got in my face and went off on some tangent. Shut up and fight already, man.”

  The corners of her eyes crinkled. “That’s exactly what I think whenever I see one of those clips.” Because Parker hated bullshit as much as I did. Which was a bit of a revelation. Her smile grew sly. “Also, I have seen you fight. I watched a YouTube video.”

  Surprise licked down my center. “You did, huh?”

  Her nose wrinkled when she grimaced with apparent embarrassment over her confession. “It was…illuminating.”

  “Illuminating?” I chuckled, but inside I was starting to squirm as much as Parker. What the hell did that mean? Had she been turned off by it? Turned on?

  Her fingertip touched the edge of my sleeve where it met my skin. I felt it down to my balls. “You were fierce, relentless. The way you’d take those blows and just keep at it.” Her breath hitched. “I don’t know how you did it.”

  I could tell her, but she was standing there all soft and open to me, her eyes holding something that felt strangely close to admiration. I didn’t know what to make of that. Didn’t really matter because I was growing aware of other things: her smoke and roses scent, the fact that we were standing close enough that our bare arms brushed.

  The touch of her warm skin against mine raised the little hairs along my arms. I had to break this hold she had on me. I cleared my throat and copped a cocky tone. “Like I said, it’s all for show.”

  With a wide, fake-ass grin, I swooped down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  She flinched, lips parted with a gasp.

  I turned away so I wouldn’t be tempted to kiss her again. “Gotta make dinner.”

  “Are you going to be doing things like that all night?” she asked after a minute.

  All night. Jesus, she put the wrong images in my head.

  “What? Kiss and touch you?” I glanced over my shoulder to find her leaning against the counter, salad done, her eyes on me once more.

  “Yes, that.”

  So prim. She was wearing slim dark jeans and a sleeveless blouse buttoned up to her neck. Aside from her bare arms, not an inch of skin showed. Before meeting Parker, I had no idea how enticing that could be. It distracted me, made me want to peel off those jeans and see …

  I cleared my throat. “Isn’t that why we’re doing this? So you could get used to my touch.”

  A thoughtful look passed over her delicate features, and she made a short, precise nod before pushing off from the counter. Determination radiated from her small body as she stalked forward, and I had the insane notion to back away, run for it.

  Ridiculous.

  I was over a foot taller than she was. I was an ex-pro boxer. I had no fucking reason to feel nervous.

  But when she placed her palm on my lower abs?

  I nearly yelped.

  She didn’t move away but lightly stroked me. Holy hell, what was she trying to do here? Kill me?

  “I need to get used to touching you too.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Touch me lower, woman. I’ll do anything you ask.

  I cleared my throat again, but couldn’t think of a word to say. Aside from the sizzle of pancetta in the pan, the room had gone utterly quiet. Her warm hand pressed a little harder into my abs, the tips of her fingers dragging over my shirt. Sweet mother of mercy, the light exploration nearly buckled my knees.

  Endless brown eyes stared up at me. “Is this okay?”

  Was it hot in here? I sucked in a quick breath. “Yeah, sure, sweetheart. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Pink lips curled into a sly smile. “You’re blushing.”

  “I’m not blushing. I don’t blush.” I gave her a proper warning glare. “I’m cooking. It’s hot over here.”

  “Hmm …” She didn’t break my gaze. “You do feel a tad warm.”

  Fucking hell.

  Get it together, Morgan.

  I turned back to the stove, and her hand slipped free. “Don’t want the pancetta to burn.” Or my dick to poke its way out of my jeans. “Hand me that plate?”

  Giving her something to do got her away from me. She did as asked, and I started in on the rest of the pasta dish. She remained silent as I finished up.

  “You want to eat outside?” I jerked my head toward the terrace at the south side of the building. During the warm months, it was my favorite feature of the loft. Big enough to hold a long L-shaped outdoor couch and a table for twenty, I’d filled the edges with potted trees and plants. Carlos had helped me build a pergola that was now twined with wisteria. “It’s a nice night, and I’ve got a fire pit we can light.”

  Parker took one look at it and beamed. “Oh, yes, please.”

  I really had to stop reading sexual things into everything she said. It wasn’t healthy.

  “First time I stepped into the ring, I got knocked out.”

  Parker’s dark brows lifted high. “No!”

  “Flat on my ass.” We’d had dinner, the conversation easier once we’d gotten over our initial awkwardness. We hadn’t talked about anything deep but exchanged working information: our favorite movies, foods, preferred drinks for each meal, foods we couldn’t stand—all the stuff we’d need to know if we’d been dating for any length of time.

  There hadn’t been many surprises, other than the fact that Parker’s favorite movie was The Godfather II. I’d expected something lighter and with a save the world message. But she loved the drama, the layers of meaning—her words, not mine.

  She’d been equally stunned to find out my favorite was the first movie in the franchise, The Godfather. We had similar reasons, but I liked the original because that’s where we got to see Michael succumb to The Family.

  Now we were on the outdoor couch, the fire pit flickering and giving off enough heat to keep us warm.

  Parker rested her head on her hand and smiled wide. “So, the great Rhys Morgan got knocked out. Who did it? The current champion?”

  God, she was cute.

  “No. It was a training bout. I was green, full of piss and vinegar and wanting to prove it.” I chuckled. “It was my dad.”

  Her lips parted. “Your dad punched you?”

  “He had to. He was my trainer.” A pang of loss seared my heart. “Besides, he was teaching me a lesson. Next time, keep your guard up.”

  In the face of her stunned silence, I shrugged. “It was a good lesson. Never got knocked out again.”

  The glossy strands of her ponytail swayed as she shook her head. “Boxers are a breed apart.”

  She said it with admiration. I could almost imagine she was looking at me with admiration. But that was probably wishful thinking on my part.r />
  “Yes, we are.” I couldn’t help but ease closer. All night, we’d been touching. Nothing sexual. Simple light touches. Fingers skimming over hands, fleeting strokes along forearms, and quick press of a hand to a shoulder.

  At first, we’d gone at it like the assignment it was, making a concerted effort to remember. But as dinner wore on, it became easier, natural. And while those touches had been completely PG, nothing more than what you’d expect a middle school kid to do, it had been sexy as hell.

  Touching Parker while knowing it wouldn’t go further than that had gotten me so worked up, I was now aware of the smallest move she made. The woman would inhale and I’d be waiting to hear her exhale.

  Firelight and the glow from the loft’s windows painted her skin in golds and oranges, highlighting the sweet curve of her cheek, the little pout of her lower lip. I liked her this way, all soft and easy and looking at me as though I was someone she wanted to know.

  I touched a strand of her hair with the tip of my finger. “Tell me something.”

  “Hmm?” She stayed languid, her head resting in her hand.

  “You actually looking to hire a stripper or is it just a sexual fantasy you need help acting out?” Because I had to know what the hell that text had been about.

  Parker’s eyes widened, then she blinked and laughed. I loved the way she laughed—light and carefree, her cheeks plumping and her eyes crinkling deeply at the corners.

  “I totally forgot I’d texted you that.” Her hand landed softly on my thigh. I doubted she was even aware of doing it. But I was. I so fucking was. She smiled up at me. “My sister is getting married, and I’m in charge of the bachelorette.”

  “Which of course needs strippers.” The thought of Parker and her uptown friends squealing over gym-toned, oiled-up guys gyrating in thongs had me grinning. Part of me couldn’t imagine her letting loose like that, but I wanted to see it happen—although preferably with me first.

  I pushed lustful thoughts of Parker watching me strip firmly away. But I couldn’t stop staring at her. Under the string lights, she was all shadows, curves, and shining eyes.

  “Honestly, my mother would probably die of embarrassment if we went through with it. Which is, admittedly, an incentive for my sister.” She laughed again, and the sound struck me right in the chest.

  “You’re beautiful when you laugh.” The words came out in a husky rush. I shouldn’t have said them. But she stopped and stared, her lips parting as though I’d pleased her, and I couldn’t regret what I’d said.

  Everything slowed down and the air thickened. My body grew heavy with need. She was so damned pretty. I wanted to touch that smile, run my hands over her golden skin.

  Her gaze slid to my mouth, and my lower abs clenched tight. With a hitch to her breath, she spoke. “We should kiss now.”

  God, yes. Kiss me. Let me kiss you. I’ll learn every sweet inch of your mouth. Kiss you till it hurts to stop.

  The words nearly left my mouth, when my sex-hazed brain finally cleared and that small, sensible, sane part of me hit the brakes hard and fast.

  Kiss her? Shit. Fucking shit. I couldn’t kiss this woman. Not when I was so worked up I’d fall on her like a starved man.

  Faced with my deer-in-the-headlights silence, Parker frowned. “That is… I mean, I thought we were supposed to…” I didn’t need brighter lighting to know she was blushing.

  “Hey.” I reached out to cup her cheek but stopped halfway, my hand hovering there, making everything worse. My fingers curled into a fist and I dropped it to my thigh. “You’re right. We should. We were. Supposed to, that is.”

  Fuck. I was sweating again.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, bracing herself, and her gaze turned steely. “Let’s just get it over with.”

  It wasn’t the most flattering statement. Which was good. This was a job. A job. I repeated the fact as I moved closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulder to draw her up against me. Later, I’d be laughing my ass off at myself. I wasn’t this guy, freaking out over the prospect of a simple kiss. A fake one at that.

  But Parker was right; being alone made it more.

  Parker pressed a hand against my chest—to brace herself or hold me at bay, I didn’t know. My mind was fuddled, spinning around like I’d taken a solid hit to the chin.

  God, she was tiny. Delicate. Fragile. The back of her head fit perfectly in the well of my palm.

  For a second, I didn’t know what to do. One wrong move, and I’d crush her. I’d been forged to be a fighter. Brutal strength was my weapon. It didn’t feel like an advantage at the moment. I felt like a bumbling oaf.

  Parker let out a soft breath as her gaze searched my face. She was clearly waiting for me to make the first move.

  I can do this. I can do this. It’s nothing big. A kiss. Done it plenty of times. I can keep it neutral.

  We moved at the same time, Parker lifting her face to mine as I ducked my head. Our lips met in the softest kiss I’d ever had. I felt the plush give of her lips, tasted a whisper of the white wine she’d drank. The sweetness of the way she kissed—so very shy but curious—punched right through my chest and squeezed.

  I swear the floor tilted.

  But she was pulling back, a furrow of concentration forming between her brows. “There,” she said.

  There?

  My lips throbbed. I stared at her mouth and wanted more. I wanted back there. Now.

  Through my haze, I heard her talking in that efficient Little Miss Priss voice. “One more thing crossed off the list.”

  I blinked, trying to focus. It was difficult; her mouth held all my attention. “Sorry?”

  Soft pink lips pursed. “That was good enough, right?”

  A laugh tumbled about in my chest. Good enough? Not by half. I shook myself out of the stupid lust fog that had invaded my brain. She stared up at me, looking quite pleased with herself. She really should be; she’d almost wrecked me with one brief kiss.

  Damn it. I needed to get my head in the game. Play my part. I needed to feel her mouth again. Oh, how I needed.

  “Nope.”

  Her nose wrinkled as her eyes narrowed. “No? What do you mean no? We kissed, didn’t we?”

  The way she kept asking questions, I had to smile. It was like she wanted me to argue. I was more than willing to do that.

  “That wasn’t a kiss, sweetheart.”

  Hot color licked over her cheeks. “It was so.”

  “It was a little peck on the lips. I barely felt it.” I eyed her in mock suspicion. “Is that how you kiss guys you’re with? Because, if so—” I broke off, shaking my head sadly.

  She growled. “Look here, you. The men I’ve kissed have been perfectly satisfied.”

  I had no doubt about that. But I wasn’t about to let that show. “Put your money where your mouth is, Tinker Bell.”

  Sparks lit her eyes—it might have been the firelight. Didn’t matter, she was hopping mad now. “You smug—” With another growl, she reached for me, hauling my head down.

  Sweet Mary, she got down to business, sweeping my mouth open with the thrust of her greedy tongue, her lips nipping and caressing. She went at me like she was starved for it. White-hot heat roared through me like wildfire.

  With a groan, I let go, kissing her like I wanted, canting my head to get closer, deeper. I licked into her sweet-tart mouth, totally lost to her. Our lips parted and met over and over, each time a little more desperate, a little more hungry.

  Parker’s hands slid into my hair, grabbing at the strands hard enough to hurt. I wanted it harder. When she arched against me, pressing those firm tits into my chest, I swept her up and set her on my lap.

  She keened, whimpering as though she might actively cry if she didn’t get closer. She was driving me out of my mind with the way she sucked at my mouth, sliding her tongue over mine.

  Cradling her head in my hands, I let her have what she wanted. Shit, I’d give her anything right about now. Our kiss became sloppy, bruising
. Parker rocked her hips against my hard dick, and I was the one whimpering.

  “Hell yes,” I panted against her mouth. “Give it to me.”

  The second I’d uttered the words she froze. And I knew I’d broken the spell she’d fallen under. Fuck. No, no, no. Don’t stop. But she was already lurching back, her eyes wide in shock and horror.

  I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to make her stay, but she scrambled off my lap as though it were on fire. When she got a few feet from me, she simply stared, panting faintly.

  I tried not to look at her breasts trembling under her blouse. They’d felt so good pressed against me. The silence felt like condemnation. What to say? I had no fucking idea. She’d knocked me on my ass.

  Parker proved yet again to be the steadier one.

  “I’m sorry.” She licked those swollen lips. “I… uh…haven’t done this before. Faking it. Was, uh, that okay?”

  Faking. It.

  Right. That’s what we’d been doing. She looked at me with a plea in her eyes, and I knew she needed me to make this okay. She didn’t want the reality; she needed the lie.

  I ran a hand over my mouth, trying to wipe away the feel of her. Jesus, my hand was shaking. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

  Parker sagged in relief. And I gave her my standard bullshit smile, letting her know we were back on script. But in my head, the truth rang clear as a bell. We were anything but cool.

  Ten

  Parker

  * * *

  “Okay, is everyone happy with the teams?” Jackson asked, glancing between the two groups he’d created with a random generator app on his phone.

  I stood at Rhys’s side and ignored the smirk Creepy Pete gave me. We were on opposing teams, and he had Jackson on his. And gossipy Evan. Pete was also the only one who had brought his own paintball gun.

  “It’s more powerful than the guns they supply here,” he’d said when Evan asked about it, puffing up his chest as he did so.

  “Someone’s overcompensating for something, huh?” Rhys had winked at me, and I’d almost choked trying to stifle my laughter.