Beneath the Surface

by M.A. Stacie

  Thoughts of his comfortable bed filled his head as he walked out into the club. He hung his head, not wanting to be seen. All he wanted was to leave and get home. With the exit door within sight, he pushed past the crowd . . . until he heard her.

  Ms. Porter.

  Dale’s voice filtered through all of the background noise, slamming into him so hard he caught his breath. He spun around violently as he searched the room for her. He gave the room a long, slow sweep, finally finding his prize. Drinking her in, he became enraged. Dale’s short, very tight skirt and tiny top proved too much for his control. Did the woman have no modesty?

  Glaring at anyone in his way, he thundered over to her, catching the horrified expression on her face.

  “Why are you here? And what the fuck are you wearing?”

  Her green eyes widened in shock as she faced him. He focused on her, ready to snap when pain burst at his temples. Spots appeared before his vision and a loud ringing clanged in his ears.

  He was about to pass out, cold-cocked with a sneaky sucker punch.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 5

  “I think he’s coming around.”

  Her voice started to clear the darkness that shrouded Kyran.

  “Mr. Reese? Kyran? Can you hear me?”

  Bells clanged loudly in his head. His skull pulsed as though it would shatter. Everything sounded too loud, each word causing him to flinch.

  Trying to speak proved to be useless as it appeared that he had little control of his body.

  What the hell had happened?

  He recalled the fight and knocking Cal clean out. He even remembered Sam tending to his cuts in the locker room, but after that there was nothing.

  Blank.

  Something warm and soft touched his cheek, stroking his skin with what Kyran deduced as affection. He tried to mumble, but his mouth felt as though he was chewing extra sticky taffy.

  “It’s okay, we’re here,” the gentle voice said.

  Forcing himself to blink proved far harder than anticipated, but the fog began to lift and the ringing in his ears dimmed. Pain reverberated through his body, centering in his jaw, although his eye ached just as intensely. His head swam as he attempted to focus on the shadows before him.

  “Kyran? How’s the head, kid?”

  Sam. He knew without question that the voice belonged to Sam.

  Besides, he was the one person daring enough to refer to him as kid. It still didn’t answer the question—who was the other shadow?

  Nodding so neither of the people with him thought he’d damaged his hearing, Kyran grunted.

  “Do you need some water, Mr. Reese?”

  His body lit up. It was her voice, the spark that ignited his flame, and if he had any doubts about who else surrounded him, they were dispelled by his body’s reaction.

  “S-Sam,” he muttered, his tongue seemingly double the size it had been before the fight.

  “Right here,” was his gruff response, just before he came into view.

  Suddenly aware of where he was, Kyran frowned, his face hurting.

  “What happened?”

  Sam placed one hand on his shoulder, holding a finger from his other hand up in front of his face. “Follow it,” he told him.

  Groaning and fighting the urge to sleep, Kyran did as Sam asked and followed the man’s finger with his eyes.

  His head pounded.

  “Good. Are you hurting?”

  “Yes. No. Yes,” he said, reaching up to touch his head. The movement felt like swimming through quicksand—damn near impossible. Kyran groaned again.

  “Can you sit up?” Sam supported him, tugging him up when his body blatantly refused to budge.

  Kyran looked around the room; a fuzzy hue still surrounded his vision.

  The clanging in his ears had now lowered to a buzz, but he could push past it to hear Sam and her.

  Images flashed in his head. The elevator, the fight, and then hearing her, seeing what she wore to the club. Wheezing, he searched the room, focusing and pushing the last vestiges of fog away. She was here; he could smell her. Fucking vanilla.

  “Where is she?”

  Sam chuckled, pointing over to a bench in the corner of the room.

  Why had she moved? He was certain he’d felt her touch.

  Kyran’s head moved so fast he made himself dizzy. His world tilted for a moment on its axis, but he didn’t care. He stared at her, watching the way she fidgeted in her seat, toeing the floor with her heel. Dale refused to make eye contact with him.

  “You!” Kyran shouted. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

  Dale’s head shot up, her eyes round and innocent. “What? I don’t—”

  “Liar.” He spat on the floor, noticing it was laced with blood. “I was leaving. I’d won the fight. Then you, again, distracted me. Always distracting me. And the next thing I know I wake up in here.”

  “I didn’t touch you.” Dale came forward to kneel on the floor beside him. “I didn’t even know you were here until you barked at me for my clothing choices.”

  Looking her up and down, he noticed Dale now wore a huge sweater over her tight dress. Ignoring her protests, Kyran fought the nausea that tossed harshly in his stomach. He didn’t believe any of it.

  “So I just knocked myself out cold, then?” The sarcasm was evident in his tone.

  Sam cleared his throat, patting Kyran on the shoulder. “You must’ve knocked your head harder than I thought if you seriously think this one has enough power to put you on your ass.”

  Exhaling in defeat, Kyran tried to piece together what had happened to him. When he came up blank, he asked, “Who?”

  “Cal. You really pissed him off by knocking him out. Guess he wanted payback. Seems he was waiting for you to leave the locker room. Took his chance while another fight was going on and you were distracted by Curly.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Yeah, kiddo. A few guys helped me toss him from the club. Wish I could do more, but morals are real low in this place. Anyway, Curly let rip a rather girlie squeal as your head hit the floor. Took three of us to haul your ass back in here. You’re all damn muscle, ain’t you?”

  Anger bubbled in his veins. He wasn’t going to forget this. Kyran would track the guy down and show him that taking a cheap shot at another fighter outside the chalked ring would get him fucked up.

  “Told you it wasn’t me.” Dale pouted, shoving his shoulder.

  Kyran huffed in response. He ran his hand across his clipped hair. He still felt sluggish, but it could also be the exhaustion from the fight zapping his energy.

  Mentally, he wasn’t as sharp. Everything took those few extra seconds for him to digest.

  “What are you doing here, Ms. Porter?”

  She reached out to touch him, her hand fluttering near his forearm before she pulled away and placed it in her lap. “Trace—my brother— works here. I needed to speak to him.”

  “And do you often turn up to see your brother dressed like that?” His top lip curled with distaste.

  “You know what? Fuck you! I stayed here to help, and all you do is judge me.” She stood up and pointed her finger at him, her eyes wild with angry passion.

  He grew hard, his dick showing it was uninjured. To see those eyes blazing with the same reaction while she was under him, screaming his name, would surely be his undoing.

  He quickly wrapped his fingers around her ankle. “You’re going nowhere.”

  “Really? Do you honestly think you can act this way and I’ll do as I’m told? We’re not at work now, Mr. Reese.”

  “No we’re not, but you’re not averse to a bit of manhandling, are you?”

  She held firm, not breaking eye contact. “I beg your pardon? Are you implying that I’m easy?”

  “I—”

  “No, I want to know what you meant.” She shook her leg but Kyran kept his hand on her ankle. “The only manhandling I’ve put up with is yours—in the elevator and here.” She loo
ked down at his hand around her ankle. “And the reason I’ve put up with it is because I’m attracted to you, not because I’m some tramp who gives it up to everyone.”

  His desire raced out of control. Kyran tightened his hold and tilted his head up toward her. “I apologize. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have accused you of things you obviously aren’t. It was a mistake.”

  “Damn right. Now let me go.”

  “Will you stop moving if I do?”

  Sam moved closer, holding a glass of water to Kyran’s lips. “Drink.”

  “I can hold it myself.” He bit out his words and snatched the glass from the old man. He took a series of short sips before draining the glass entirely. The water soothed his dry throat, easing the raw ache and making it easier for him to speak.

  “Is he always like this?” Dale asked Sam, ignoring Kyran.

  “How do you mean?”

  Shaking her head, Dale sat back down on the floor next to Kyran. He moved his hand to her leg, not quite ready to let go. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

  The conversation paused, no one uttering a word. Kyran took the time to regroup and gather his thoughts . . . along with his composure. He checked his watch and cursed when he saw the time. He shouldn’t have come to the club tonight. He knew the choice had been too risky. Maybe next time he’d learn.

  “I’ll call you a cab,” Sam said. “You can’t drive home after a knock like that.”

  “I do often, and I will now,” Kyran replied bluntly.

  “Not on my watch.”

  Kyran glowered, absently stroking Dale’s calf a little too roughly.

  “Ouch!” Dale yelped. “God, Kyran, stop being weird and let go.” She tugged her foot away from him. “Look, I’ll drive him home. He can pay for my cab from his place.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure he can afford it.”

  “You’re not driving my car. Not a chance.”

  Dale laughed, the sound hitting his groin hard. His balls tightened, the jeans he wore becoming far too constricting.

  “You have two options as far as I can tell. Me or a cab. Your choice, though I’m not waiting forever. I can get a ride with Trace.”

  Choice? It sure didn’t feel like one to him. Either he suffered with the stench and the dirt of a cab, or he suffered with the desire pulsing through him. “You’re both treating me like a child,” he grumbled. “I’ve got no damn choice. Sam? Give her my car keys. They’re in my bag.”

  He watched Sam retrieve his keys and pass them to Dale.

  “Scratch it in any way, no matter how small, and you’re fired,” he warned Dale.

  Again, she laughed and helped him to his feet. Still unsteady, he was thankful when Sam wrapped an arm around his waist. He let the old man aid him out into the club.

  Very few people looked over at them, as another fight was in full swing. Kyran breathed a sigh of relief, feeling stupid enough without an audience watching him leave.

  The barman waved, yelling out across the crowd. Dale waved back, making hand gestures that she’d call him. Kyran swallowed down a wave of jealousy, an intense emotion he very rarely experienced. It was disconcerting.

  Stumbling when Sam let him go, Kyran found his balance and said, “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

  Dale reached for him, but Kyran shot her a warning look and tossed his gym bag over his shoulder to carry it out of the bar.

  “Remember what I said. My car is left—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She pressed the key to unlock his car. “No scratches, blah, blah. I understand, Mr. Reese.”

  She winked at him as she opened the driver’s side and got in. He stalled opening the passenger door. What the hell? Her blatant disrespect was unnerving. How was he supposed to react to that?

  A huge grin spread wide across Kyran’s face.

  Lucky for him, Dale was already seated in his car, unaware of his response.

  ***************

  The drive to Kyran’s apartment was quiet. The muted directions to his place were the sole breaks in the silence. Dale buried her nerves, trying to show him his power and money didn’t intimidate her. She’d resolved moments after meeting him that she’d give him as good as she got. She wouldn’t allow him to bully her into submission, no matter how attractive he was.

  And, God, he was attractive. He oozed sex, dripped desire, and let rip a whole lot of lust whenever he was near. He’d smiled at her a couple of times, but on each occasion, her knees had almost given out.

  She didn’t know what it was about him that appealed to her because if she analyzed his attributes, there were more cons than pros. Whatever pros he had, Dale hadn’t seen many yet. Nevertheless, whenever he drew close, her body instantly responded.

  Dale knew she was playing with fire. Kyran may not be her direct boss, but he was the head of the company—her boss, regardless. She needed the job, but that didn’t stop her uncontrollable attraction to him.

  Dale was at war with her mind and body.

  “Just leave the bag there. I’ll be okay now,” Kyran said, tossing the apartment keys into a bowl by the front door. “Thanks.”

  He mumbled the last bit; Dale found it hard to hold back a smile.

  Clearly, the man disliked being thankful. The urge to tease him grew with the desperate need to ruffle his feathers. But he’d had a rough night and doing it would make her feel guilty.

  “I’ll make you a coffee, and then I’ll leave, Mr. Reese.”

  “Can we cut the ‘Mr. Reese’ shit?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged and followed him into the living area. It was huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows on the right side of the room offering a wonderful view of the city. The decor was monochromatic, giving the room an air of coldness. She knew she was gawking but didn’t care.

  “Close your mouth. It’s not attractive.”

  About to snap at his arrogance, Dale twisted to face him. A smile lit his face. He was the one teasing her, and Kyran was devastatingly beautiful when he did that.

  “Meh, I’ve seen better.” Dale grinned, teasing him back.

  Kyran chuckled and sagged onto the couch, resting his head back, and closing his eyes. Dale studied him, and her fingers itched to smooth the worry lines from his brow. He looked exhausted. A small amount of fresh blood looked like it was oozing from the cut to his eyebrow. “Your cut has reopened. I’ll need to clean you up again. You have anything around here?”

  Leaving him alone for a moment, she strolled across to the kitchen.

  She rummaged through his cabinets until she found a bowl and filled it with water. A trip to the bathroom provided some gauze and butterfly bandages—everything she needed to clean his cuts. The hunt wasn’t difficult as his kitchen and bathroom were pretty bare.

  He’d probably protest that she wanted to clean his wounds—she’d be shocked if he didn’t. Again, she’d stay strong and hide behind her attitude.

  It had worked so far.

  She half expected to find him sleeping when she returned. He wasn’t, though he had moved his head. Taking a seat next to him, she tapped him on the shoulder, cocking her head as she said, “You ready?”

  Kyran peeked through the corner of his eye and scowled. “I’m not six, Dale.”

  Her heart pounded at the use of her first name. She was screwed, so utterly screwed. This man was no good for her, and getting involved would lead her Nowheresville. Population: one.

  “I’m aware of that fact, but thanks for reiterating it. I still need to clean it up, though. Sam would kill me if I didn’t.”

  “You know Sam well?” he asked, giving in and tilting his face toward her. He opened his eyes and watched her.

  She soaked some gauze in the bowl of warm water and raised it up to his eyebrow. Dabbing the skin, she answered his question. “Trace has been working at Metro for years. Sam was the one to show him the ropes of fight night and what he had to do. Whenever I went to meet Trace, Sam would be around.”

  Kyran nodded, wincing a
little when she pressed the gauze against his jaw. “I’d rather you didn’t mention this to Taylor.”

  “What? You being knocked out? Sure. He won’t hear it from me.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean it all. The club, the fight, everything.”

  “He doesn’t know you fight?”

  Kyran shook his head, relaxing his body and closing his eyes again.

  His knee rested against hers, and she tried not to feel enamored by how long his eyelashes were or how full his lips were when he wasn’t snarling.

  “But how do you explain the bruises? You have to be at work tomorrow, right?”

  “Got a shitload of meetings. I’m going to have to cancel, which pisses me off to no end. As for the bruises, either I avoid Taylor for a couple of days or avoid the club and don’t get them in the first place.”

  “Why do you do it?” Dale asked, setting the bowl onto the glass coffee table. “The whole bare-knuckle boxer image doesn’t fit with your corporate one.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice soft. It seemed like he was too tired to argue with her. He rested back again, placing his hand flat on the couch between them. She could hear him breathing, deep and slow. His chest rose and fell with a steady pace. While Kyran relaxed, Dale scanned the apartment, noticing it lacked personality. There were no framed photos, no little knickknacks from journeys, or gifts from family. The place was basically one huge studio with a bookcase separating the living space from the bedroom. Even the kitchen was open to the rest of the apartment, and the bathroom was the only room that had a door. It was all rather austere.

  Much like Mr. Reese. But it was very different from Kyran. They were two sides of the one man. Two very confusing sides.

  “I thought you were making me coffee,” he muttered, barely audible.

  “Truth is I don’t think you need the caffeine. You should sleep.”

  “Hmm,” was his low response. “Maybe you should come with me.”

  Kyran cocked his brow, waiting for her response. Gulping, she touched his hand, deciding to call his bluff. She straddled his lap and rolled her hips suggestively. Dale pressed her breasts against his chest, her nipples pushing at the fabrics of her dress and Trace’s sweater. Kyran smoothed his hands along her thighs, stopping just underneath the hem of her dress. She shivered, bringing her lips to his ear. “I doubt you could do anything even if I did,” she whispered.