Sweet Victory (Fighting for Love)

by Gina L. Maxwell

  She smiled, those ruby-red lips revealing brilliant teeth. “That’s very sweet of you, Xander, but I’m happy being a Caldwell.”

  “What, so you’re saying even if we’d gotten married for real, you still wouldn’t have changed it?” She didn’t say anything, but at least she had the decency to look slightly apologetic. “I’ve got to admit, Soph, that hurts my male pride.”

  “It’s not uncommon anymore for a woman to keep her maiden name,” she argued. Standing, she walked back toward the closet. “Kristin didn’t take Billy’s last name.”

  “Who can blame her?” Xander got up and followed her, then leaned against the doorjamb, his arms and ankles crossed. “The man’s name is Snodgrass. That’s just bloody awful. No one should be subjected to that. Did you know that having an ugly surname was actually a punishment back in the days of Henry V?”

  “Was it now,” she said dramatically, playing along.

  “Oh, absolutely. That’s where all the ridiculous names like Snodgrass came from. If you displeased the king, he changed your name to something humiliating. Something that made people snicker in polite society and fall down with laughter behind closed doors.”

  This particular ridiculous story had been conjured up by him and his older brother, Max, while discussing the unfortunate names of brothers they grew up with. “I used to know brothers named Harry and Eaton. Great chaps with the most unfortunate names I’ve ever heard. Can you guess at their surname?”

  She shook her head. “Not even a little.”

  He had her chuckling now, and it only served to egg him on. She was radiant when happy, and he’d do just about anything to keep that look on her face.

  “Balszac.”

  A hearty laugh burst from her as she said, “Shut up. You’re lying!”

  Her mirth was contagious and he gladly joined her. Holding a hand over his heart, he said, “Swear to Christ, I’m not. And it was even worse for poor Harry because he was a beast of a boy and a damn fine rugby player.”

  “How does that make it worse?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t normally, except there were two other Harrys in class, so people used an identifier to keep them straight. Ginger Harry, for his hair. Mad Harry, for his temper. And lastly, for his size…Big Harry.”

  “Big Harry Bal—” She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the peals of laughter he could see bubbling in her chest, but her expressive chocolate eyes still twinkled. Lowering her hand, she wrinkled her nose and said, “Oh my God, can you imagine social functions where they had to be introduced over and over again?”

  Xander gestured to an imaginary person next to him. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet our star rugby player, Big Harry Balszac. His brother is that young man over at the buffet. Yes, the one shoving prawns in his face is Eaton Balszac.”

  Sophie placed a hand on her flat belly as she threw her head back and laughed deep and long, dropping a dress in the process. “You’re right,” she said, finally calming down and wiping the tears from her eyes. “I can see how that would be a special kind of torture.”

  “See? Now you can give Billy the bad news that at one time, he probably had a very lovely name.”

  Xander and Sophie bent to pick up the dress at the same time and bumped foreheads.

  “Son of a—”

  “Jesus, Soph, I’m sorry.” They straightened and he brushed her long fringe aside to study the place where he’d nutted her. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She touched the spot gingerly and winced. “Grams always said I was hardheaded.”

  You’re not the only one. Though his was a different head entirely and was getting harder by the second. Xander barely resisted the urge to adjust himself. It no longer surprised him every time his body reacted to her. Seemed it was as inevitable as gravity around this woman.

  He trailed his fingers down the side of her face. Her jewel-toned hair sat atop her head in a messy knot, leaving her pale throat on display. He pictured it marked with streaks of red left from his beard stubble. Maybe a faint bite mark. Or two. Or five.

  “Xander…” She cleared her throat like her voice had come out too breathy for her liking. But he liked it just fine like that. All breathy and needy. For him. “I think now would be a good time to go over the details of our arrangement.”

  He narrowed his eyes a bit as he studied her. “Details?”

  “Yeah, you know. The things we expect out of each other. As roommates.”

  “Roommates.” He took a step back. And then another. Christ, stop panting after her like she’s a bitch in heat. Crossing his arms over his chest again, he said, “Why don’t you just tell me what you expect and then I’ll see if it’s something I find agreeable.”

  She licked her lips in a nervous way and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, sure. Well, for one thing, I get up at four every morning so I can be in the bakery by five, which means I’m not much of a night owl. I usually don’t make it past ten and I know you’re typically up later, but I’m not a light sleeper so you won’t have to worry about waking me up.”

  “How do you know I’m up later than ten o’clock?”

  “Hmm? Oh. I don’t,” she said waving a hand. “I said I’m sure you are because you don’t seem like the kind of guy who needs much sleep.”

  That’s not what she said, but he decided to let it go for now. It may have been a slip of the tongue. He didn’t enjoy interrogating someone based on a hunch. He preferred to give people enough rope to hang themselves with if they were guilty of something. And if they weren’t, then he hadn’t started a needless confrontation or hurt anyone’s feelings.

  “Also,” she continued, “I think as long as we’re careful—because I’m not putting it past my uncle to have a telescope trained on your apartment somewhere—no one will know that I’m actually sleeping on the couch and not with you.”

  “I’ll be the one sleeping in the living room, Sophie, and you’ll be taking the bed.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re already sacrificing your home and everything else. I’m not kicking you out of your room for six months. Forget it.”

  “No, you forget it. Whether it’s for six days or six months, you’re my guest. And besides that, you’re a lady and ladies need privacy for whatever it is ladies do. The couch is a sleeper so I’ll be just fine crashing there, and I have no need for privacy.”

  “Okay. Thank you…but if you want it back at any time—”

  “Sophie,” he warned.

  She held her hands up in a supplicating manner. “All right, all right. But then you really have to make sure the curtains are drawn before you start pulling out the sleeper, okay?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Not a problem. I always make sure they’re drawn at night.” Mostly. Probably. Not really.

  “No, you don’t,” she said.

  For the first time, he realized she had a front row seat to anything he did in his kitchen or living room. The thought of her watching him from her little dark apartment aroused him. No surprise there. But he hated that she might have seen him with other women. He didn’t consider himself an exhibitionist. It didn’t turn him on to have people watching him shag. But it didn’t exactly bother him, either. As a fit man comfortable in his own skin, unless the woman brought it up, he never gave much thought to preventing others from seeing him do anything. Horses for courses and all that.

  However, if he’d known before that Sophie lived above her shop, he would have had a newfound affinity for privacy on certain nights. Those nights when he tried exorcising her from his mind by shagging the type of women he’d always been attracted to. From the time his voice and bollocks dropped, he’d panted after blond, tan, walking Barbie dolls—opposite of his fair-skinned, dark-haired angel of a mum—until the day he set eyes on the tattooed pinup beauty closing her ruby-painted lips around the last half of a cupcake, and she ruined him for all other women.

  None of them did anything for him anymore. Each time, he ended up fantasi
zing it was Sophie’s arms around him, Sophie’s slick heat he sank into, Sophie’s moans of pleasure. The woman had him twisted up in knots and she hadn’t the faintest idea.

  “Sophie Caldwell,” he said, dropping his voice an octave, “have you been spying on me?”

  She squared her shoulders. “As if. No. Absolutely not.”

  He shook his head slowly and tsked. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  “Uh, no. I don’t doth anything, Mr. Know It All.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child, she glared at him. He didn’t offer anything else. Simply waited her out. Eventually she’d break. She had too much fire in her to sit back and play the mental tug-of-war. When Sophie played, she used her claws.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  “Look, it’s not my fault that you have an aversion to drawing your damn curtains.” Irritation rolled off her, though he hadn’t pinpointed whether it was at him for accusing her of spying or for not putting his draperies to good use. “Haven’t you ever heard that windows at night turn your house into a fishbowl?”

  “Can’t say I have, no.”

  “Well, they do. Which reminds me, you’ll have to be more creative with your locations when you need female companionship. You can’t bring them back here anymore, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” he repeated. Now he understood what had her hackles up like a wolf defending her territory, and he couldn’t blame her one bit. Xan stepped into her until their bodies barely brushed each other. “Fear not, wife, I won’t be running around on you, behind your back or otherwise.”

  That seemed to surprise her. “Xander, we’re not really married. I don’t expect you to be celibate, for fuck’s sake.”

  Reaching up, again he lightly trailed his fingertips down her cheek and over her lips. Her eyes darted back and forth and he could practically see her struggle to get her bearings. “Who said anything about being celibate?”

  “I—”

  His lips claimed hers, preventing them from spilling whatever second thoughts her mind had given them. By all rights, he should be having his own second, third, and fourth thoughts about starting any kind of relationship with her other than the fake one they had to show in public.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to pull back from Sophie, and it had nothing to do with sex. He could just get his dick wet with anyone he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

  It was her.

  Sophie began softening, her body molding itself against his as she fisted the cotton of his T-shirt. He held her with one hand at her nape and the other grabbing her sweet arse through her thin pajama shorts.

  He’d been sexually compatible with women before, but this was so much more. This was that chemistry everyone talked about. It had to be, because he felt like they could ignite or combust at any moment depending on what he tried mixing and when.

  Sophie flattened her hands and pushed. She wasn’t strong enough to make him move, but he relented and pulled back. “Damn, but you set my blood on fire, woman,” he said, taking in a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Really? Because the way you were kissing me back felt like you think it’s a bloody fantastic idea.”

  She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut as though it would spare her from the truth of the matter. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no reason to be sorry for giving in to the chemistry sparking between us, Soph. Especially considering the situation we’re in.”

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, she opened her eyes and stared at him with what appeared to be regret. “That’s exactly my point,” she said. “This…situation, is surreal to begin with. It’s hard to believe what we’re attempting to do. We’re already having to act like a couple when we’re outside these walls, and I think that if we add in a physical relationship—even if we agree it’s only physical—it’ll complicate things even if we don’t mean it to.”

  Xander backed up—again—and took stock of where his head had been when they were kissing. A few moments ago, he’d let silly notions and his aching bollocks take the reins, practically leading him into the one fucking thing he didn’t need right now: a relationship, casual or otherwise. Thank Christ she had enough sense for the both of them and was strong enough to say it.

  Imagining a sponge, he sucked all the warm and fuzzy feelings from his extremities until they were trapped, and then tossed it like so much rubbish into his mental bin.

  “Right, okay,” he said. “I need to stay focused on my upcoming fight anyway. That’ll be hard to do when I know I have a willing partner twenty-four-seven. I’ll end up thinking of shagging more than my training.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve never let myself be in a relationship while training seriously before. I hate losing, so I never took any chances.”

  “Oh.” Sophie rubbed her hands over her bare arms as though she felt a chill, but he knew the temp in the flat was more than comfortable. “You know, I really respect your work ethic and dedication, Xander. It’s…refreshing.”

  Now there was a compliment he didn’t hear everyday from a girl, if ever. Usually it had to do with his body or his blue eyes or his strength. Something superficial he’d heard a hundred times and had to work at not rolling his eyes whenever he heard them. And years ago, when he did try dating back in the UK, his work ethic and dedication weren’t something his girlfriends appreciated. They hated how much time he spent training and eventually demanded more of his attention.

  It figured that Sophie would find it as something other than a character flaw. Then again, they weren’t in a real relationship. If they were, it’d only be a matter of time before she felt every bit as slighted as the women before her.

  Still, none of that took the sting away from the fact that he was about to live under the same small roof for half a year with a woman he craved yet couldn’t touch. His balls were already aching just thinking about it.

  “But refreshing doesn’t make you want to throw caution to the wind and let me toss you on that bed, does it?”

  Sophie swallowed hard, then shook her head.

  “Then I guess I’d better get used to cold showers.”

  “Like I said, as long as you’re discreet, you can still be with other women.”

  “O’course, yeah,” he said tightly. But even as he said it, he knew it for the lie it was. Xan wouldn’t be seeking out anyone, whether he could have Sophie or not, and he didn’t understand it for one bloody second. It didn’t make sense to turn into a monk for a woman who not only made it clear she was off-limits, but gave him permission to shag whomever he chose. There was a good chance he’d gone completely mad. All he knew for sure was that the idea of bedding someone other than Sophie right now held no appeal, and imagining her with another man made him downright agitated. And that was putting it politely.

  He needed to work it off before he attempted sleep or there would be none to speak of.

  “I think I’ll head out for a quick run,” he said. “Take your time getting settled.”

  She looked like she wanted to say something, but then changed her mind and simply nodded. As Xander turned and strode out of the room, he wondered if he hadn’t gotten himself into a situation he would sorely regret.

  Chapter Seven

  175 days left

  Two a.m. and no sleep in sight. Sophie rolled onto her back in the huge bed and stared at the ceiling fan spinning around in a blur of blades. It still felt strange to be here and not her cozy studio, but she couldn’t go back there even if she wanted to. Kristin had come up with the idea of renting out the space on a six-month lease. It would look good to the courts and bring in a little extra money in the meantime. So now she had a squatter (tenant) preventing her from finding any solace in her own home.

  She’d been living with Xander for the last week, but it hadn’
t been all sunshine and fucking roses. The man was PMSing or something, because he was crabby and distant. She’d been as nice and helpful as possible—she hadn’t forgotten that he was the one put out by this entire situation—but if this was how the entire six months were going to be, she wasn’t sure she could hack it without bitch slapping him.

  With a heavy sigh, she tossed back the sheet and got out of bed. Maybe Grams’s trick of warm milk would help her get at least the last two hours of sleep in. Though the remedy was more psychological than real, Sophie was willing to try anything at this point.

  As she shuffled barefoot out of the bedroom, she rubbed her eyes, then immediately regretted it. They felt like the Sandman had dumped his stash under her lids and now she had a set of scratched corneas. Fucking ow. She continued down the hall, blinking and squinting her way into the main living space, then tiptoeing over to the kitchen so she wouldn’t wake Xander on the sleeper sofa.

  Getting a glass of milk was easy enough, but if she wanted it warmed, she’d have to use the microwave with all its beeps every time you pressed a key. Seriously, what was the point of that anyway? So you knew you’d pressed the button? What was wrong with a silent pulse like smart phones and other smart things? Maybe the beeps wouldn’t be loud enough to really be heard all the way across the room. Only one way to find out.

  A minute and a half later, she’d successfully heated her milk without a problem. She carefully extracted the mug and closed the door to the microwave a little louder than intended. Wincing, she held still and waited…and waited…and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You know that doesn’t really work, right?”

  “Jesus Christ!” Sophie’s entire body jerked, including her arms, making the milk slosh all down the front of her T-shirt. “Shit. I thought you were sleeping. And I know it doesn’t really work, but the childhood comfort it reminds me of does. Sorry I woke you.”

  That had come out more annoyed sounding than she’d meant, but a shirt soaked in very warm milk was bound to have that effect on her.