Shattered (A Bad Boy Romance Novel)

by Natalie Baird

  “Uh,” Anderson started, the faintest hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks, “Your back is all we have left to fix up.”

  “Oh,” I said, my pulse quickening. “I’ll just...”

  “Maybe just lift the back of your shirt up for me?” he said, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  But it wasn’t discomfort I was feeling, that much was for sure. Lust, yes. Desire, for sure. But not discomfort. I felt more comfortable in my skin than ever with Anderson beside me. I shifted on the couch, turning over onto my belly. I gingerly lowered myself on to the soft leather, my heart hammering inside my chest. The pain was barely registering anymore, drowned out as it was by my unbearable need to feel Anderson’s hands on my skin.

  “Go ahead,” I said softly, peering up at him from where I lay. He hesitated for a moment, and then gently lifted up the hem of my tee shirt. He peeled the garment away from my scraped skin, grimacing at the damage.

  “Do you mind if I...?” he asked, running his finger along my bra strap.

  “Not at all,” I said, trying to keep calm. I would have given anything to feel those hands of his close around my breasts, slide down my stomach and find their way to the tender skin of my thighs. But in my injured state, that much excitement might just do me in. I might be worth it, though, if Anderson was anything like I imagined.

  With an expert motion, Anderson unclasped my bra. He’d had experience, undoubtedly. No one who looked like him could possibly be lacking in bedroom expertise. He looked down at my back, fully exposed before him. Somehow, feeling his gaze on the space between my shoulder blades, traveling down my spine, was more erotic than anything I’d ever felt. I’d been with men before—well, boys, really—but none of them had done to me in bed what Anderson was doing to me right then.

  “This might hurt a little,” he said, lowering the cloth to my back. I winced as my cuts erupted in a flash of stinging pain. The solution he was applying stung as it cleansed my wounds. “You’re pretty scraped up back here,” he said, “But I think this is the worst of it. I’m glad nothing’s broken.”

  He diligently fixed me up, and I lost myself in the feel of his hands on my body. Everywhere he touched felt rejuvenated, and alive with desire. The pain and pleasure of his ministrations mingled in my body and mind, and I could feel that insatiable pressure building up inside of me once more. As Anderson rested his hand on the groove of my waist, I felt a sudden warm wetness between my legs. I turned my face away from him, hoping he wouldn’t be able to read my lust plainly on my face. I tried to tell myself that I was being ridiculous, that he was just being a good samaritan...but there was something in his touch that said otherwise.

  “I just realized something,” my voice husky with wanting him.

  “What’s that?” he asked. There was something pressing behind his words, as well.

  “I never thanked you properly,” I said.

  “I suppose that’s true,” he replied.

  I turned my face back toward his, knowing full well that my cheeks were flushed, my eyes lit up with desire. “Thank you,” I said, “Thank you for saving me, Anderson.”

  He stared back at me, his eyes like dark tunnels. “You’re welcome, Kaela,” he said. “I’m just glad I was there to help.”

  “‘Help is an understatement,” I said.

  “Maybe,” he allowed.

  “You were incredible,” I said, not caring whether I was coming on too strong, “I mean, you were outnumbered.”

  “Not really,” he said, “Those assholes weren’t real opponents.”

  “Who...Who are you used to fighting?” I asked.

  He paused for a long moment, his hands lingering on my back. “Kaela,” he started, “I’m not sure if you really want to know about all that.”

  “But I do,” I insisted. “Come on, you can’t expect me not to be curious.”

  “It’s just...” he said, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Why would I get hurt? You already chased the bad guys away,” I said, laughing nervously.

  “Those bums were nothing. The real bad guys, however...” he trailed off, deep in thought. I waited for him to say something, but he simply lowered my tee shirt back over my cleaned wounds. “Do you think you can make it to the bedroom?” he asked.

  My whole body came to life at the suggestion. Surprise and glee washed over me, and I really felt like a new woman. “The bedroom?” I asked, trying not to sound overeager.

  “I’ll find you something to sleep in, get you settled,” he said. “You could use a good rest, I’m sure.”

  My face fell as I realized that he meant to put me to bed, not take me to bed. “You’re suggesting that I stay over?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding?” he said, “You think I would make you pack up and go after what you’ve been through? You’re staying here so I can make sure you’re OK. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “You won’t have to,” I said. “Thank you, Anderson.”

  “Of course,” he said, offering me his arm.

  He helped me stand and walk across the enormous living room. This apartment was absolutely palatial. The decor was slick and modern, not an item out of place. I wondered how on earth Anderson could possibly afford such an expensive apartment. He led me into the bedroom and flipped on the light. I tried not to get excited as he walked me over to the sprawling king sized bed. Anderson sat me down on the soft white comforter and crossed the room to his closet. I unabashedly drank him up with my eyes as he rifled through his drawers. I longed to grab that tight ass of his, run my hands along his rippling back, and dig my fingers into his shoulders as he slid inside of me...

  “Here you go,” he said, turning toward me with a big sweatshirt and a pair of boxer shorts. I smiled back at him, tamping down my dirty thoughts. He handed me the clothes and turned his back. “You can go ahead and change,” he said, “I won’t watch.”

  He turned away from me, giving me a bit of privacy. I stared at him, eagerly. Didn’t he realize that privacy was the last thing I wanted? I wanted to feel his eyes skate over my naked body, caressing my curves as they went. I wanted him to lay me out across the bed and cover every inch of me with those full lips of his. I wanted to feel him in me, filling me. I wanted all of him.

  With trembled knees, I stood and lifted my dirty tee shirt up over my head. My unclasped bra fell away from my body, and I felt my nipples harden achingly. Gingerly, I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down my legs and off. My panties were soaked through—I couldn’t tell whether I wanted him to know or not. I peeled off the final flimsy garment and tossed it into the pile of my discarded clothing. Anderson stayed put, turned away, but I could sense his muscles tensing up. I straightened up and stood naked behind him. My bare skin was screaming out for his touch. I could scarcely stand to be there, in this gorgeous man’s bedroom, without a stitch of clothing on my body. I wanted him so badly, but I knew that he wouldn’t make a move. Furthermore, I knew that he was right not to.

  The night had already been too overwhelming. If I threw myself at Anderson, it might be too much for me to handle. I was still in shock, and what’s more, my body would never be able to handle him. I could tell from Anderson’s authoritative, expert touch that he liked to lead the way in bed. I had never been with a dominant man before, I was always been the girl on top. But now, I wanted nothing more than to submit to this amazing hero, to give myself over to whatever he desired.

  Another night, I said to myself, sliding the big sweatshirt over my head.

  I pulled on the boxers and sat back down on the comforter. “I’m decent,” I said sarcastically. Anderson turned to me and smiled. I could see the glint of lust in his dark eyes, no matter how hard he was fighting it.

  “That’s a good look for you,” he said.

  I laughed too loudly, trying to get a grip on my unwieldy fantasies. “You’re some kind of a saint,” I said to him.

  “Not at all,” he said, pulling down a corner of the co
mforter and helping me under, “I’m just a guy who knows how to fight.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said again, crawling under the blanket. “Come on, I need a bedtime story.”

  “This isn’t exactly a ‘happily ever after’ type of thing,” he said.

  “Please,” I begged, burrowing into the soft bedding, “I can’t sleep yet.”

  “I guess I owe you some kind of explanation,” he said, sitting beside me. “I don’t have a picture book or anything, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I think I’ll manage,” I said, “Now spill.”

  He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. “I’ve been fighting my entire life,” he began, “Ever since I was a kid. I was born here, in New York City. Well, in Brooklyn, actually. It was me, my parents, and my little brother Toby. We lived by the beach, Coney Island. Things were rougher back then. The city was, I mean. These days New York is like a theme park, but when I was growing up...it was a different story.

  Mom and Dad worked all the time, all the neighborhood parents did. So after school, all of us kids were pretty much free to roam. It was nice, having that freedom, but it also meant that we had to learn to take care of ourselves. In our neighborhood, it was fight or forfeit. And I don’t forfeit. We’d never really do any damage to each other, it was just kid stuff. But as I got older, the rest of the gang realized that I was better at defending myself than most of the others. I got a little reputation as the tough guy in the neighborhood. And I liked it. I liked knowing that I could protect my little brother, myself, without even breaking a sweat. There was a power in it.

  But I wasn’t powerful enough to protect us from everything. When I was thirteen, my parents were in a terrible car crash coming home from work. They were carpooling to save some gas money and got t-boned. The other driver fled the scene. They never found out who he was. Both of my parents died instantly.”

  “Anderson,” I said, reaching for his hand, “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to go on, if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s OK,” he said, “It happened so long ago. It’s getting hard to even remember what they were like. My mother had a wonderful laugh, I know that. And she always smelled like clean laundry. Whenever I walk by a laundromat in the city...I remember her for a second. My dad was reserved, but I could tell that he was proud of Toby and me. He didn’t like my fighting much, though. That much was very clear. I sometimes wonder what he’d think of me now. But that’s pointless. Toby and I didn’t have any other family in the world, but one of my dad’s good friends agreed to be our guardian. Robert Hunt, the finest man I know. He took us in without question, and his lifestyle was not exactly amendable to having two pre-teen boys hanging around. Robert was, and is, a very wealthy man, very classy. His home was a like a museum and the Playboy Mansion rolled into one.

  It was Robert’s idea that I start to take professional fighting lessons. He thought it would be a good way for me to work out my anger over my parents’ death. He got Toby and I the best instructors in the country. We trained constantly, all through high school. I went through teacher after teacher—they just couldn’t keep up with me. Fighting became effortless for me. It wasn’t a matter of anticipating or training anymore, it was in my blood. It was all I ever wanted to do, all I cared about. Robert was so supportive of me the whole time. I went through the MMA circuit, I was even good enough to go for the Olympics, but I didn’t want to be away from Toby. My whole life had been in New York, there was no way I was gonna get shipped off.

  College was never a question. I never took to any subject in school the way I took to fighting. I decided to keep on training, to be the best fighter I could possibly be. Toby was another story entirely. He was an OK fighter, but it just didn’t come naturally to him. He loved his books, that one. Always had to be learning something new...”

  “You’re talking about him in the past tense,” I observed with dread.

  “Yeah,” Anderson said, “I am. Before Toby went off to school himself, he got this crazy idea into his head. He’d heard about this underground fighting league, you could think of it sort of like that movie Fight Club? He decided that he wanted to end his fighting career or whatever with a bang. So one night, he went down to show them what he was made of. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. He had been trained in martial arts, not in street fighting. The other fighters tore him apart. He never stood a chance. But even though he kept getting the shit kicked out of him, he kept fighting. I wish he’d known when to quit. By the end of the night, he’d been knocked unconscious by a nasty elbow blow to his temple, and lapsed into a coma. I made it to the hospital just as they were calling it.”

  “Anderson...” I breathed, at a loss for words.

  “It was the darkest time of my life,” he said, “I just spiraled into this bottomless depression. I couldn’t leave the house, couldn’t eat, sleep...For months, it was just darkness. Robert was a saint the whole time. He was the one who finally helped me see a way out. He knew that fighting had helped me over the loss of my parents, and he came to me with the crazy suggestion that I should enter that underground fighting ring, he said, and I should do it for Toby.

  And he was absolutely right. Somehow, I got myself down there. My first night in that world was the most surreal moment of my life. All I can remember is how good it felt to lay into those guys, without any rules. Everything I learned on the streets came rushing back, it was a whole new high. I was hooked from the very beginning. I thought that if I could get to the top, dominate the whole establishment, it would be some kind of vindication for my brother, my parents. I started to rise through the ranks, and this whole world opened itself up to me. This league is huge, and it runs deep. All over the world, people are feeding into it—but the epicenter is right here in New York. Robert’s been with me from the start, as my manager. I didn’t know that there would be money in it for me, I was only in it for some sense of justice. But, well...as you can see, there was money to be made. Robert helped me figure out the business side of it, and soon I had made enough to get this place. But nothing made me feel better than being in the ring.”

  “It’s your whole life,” I said.

  “It is,” he answered. “I owe my whole life to fighting. It’s the only reason I keep on, after everything that’s happened. It’s the only thing that makes me happy.”

  I could make you happy, I wanted to tell him. Instead I just lay there beside him, floored. He had overcome so much in his short life, so much more than I could even begin to imagine. And yet he was still trying to do right by the world—he proved that much when he swooped in to rescue me.

  “Thank you for telling me all that,” I said, squeezing his hand. The press of his skin against mine was making me drunk with need.

  “Thank you for listening,” he said, keeping my hand within his, “I don’t really talk about...stuff like that. Ever.”

  “That’s what friends are for, I guess,” I said.

  “Friends?” he echoed, looking at me with those deep dark eyes.

  “Sure,” I said, my breath coming quicker and quicker. “Is that...OK?”

  “Oh. Yeah,” he said, “Of course. I was just...”

  Say it, I begging him in my thoughts, say that you don’t want to be my friend. Say that you want to throw me down on this bed and—

  “You should get some rest,” he said, and pulled his hand away from mine. He leaned over me, bringing his face toward mine. I held my breath as he brushed his lips against my forehead. A shiver of delight ran down my spine as he kissed me, my every nerve ending erupting with anticipation. But he drew away with a smile. I wanted to grab him, pull him down on top of me, and cover his hard body with kisses of my own. But I held back, watched as he walked across the room and switched off the light.

  “Good night Kaela,” he said, closing the door.

  “Good night Anderson,” I said.

  The door closed with a click, and I buried my head in the pillow, letting out a desperate li
ttle scream of frustration. What the hell was happening to me? Not twenty-four hours ago, I was just a lowly barista in Alphabet City with a shitty apartment and no prospects. Now, I was falling asleep in a hero’s pajamas, having been whisked away from death by an ultimate fighter who happened to be the sexiest man I had ever seen in real life. Not exactly your typical day at the office.

  I rolled onto my back, my whole body pumping with unrequited lust for Anderson. There were men in the past that I had wanted, but I’d never needed anyone the way I needed him. In the darkness of the room, I let my hands slip beneath the covers. I ran my fingers along my belly, across the twin peaks of my hips, down under the borrowed boxer shorts Anderson had given me. A low moan escaped my lips as I felt how wet I had become just thinking about my savior. I stroked along the length of my throbbing slit, kneading and rubbing myself toward bliss. My thoughts danced through fantasies of Anderson and me together. I thought of how good it would feel to slide down onto him, ride him, and give myself over to those masterful hands.

  A gasp erupted from my lips as I sent myself over the edge. I came with a shudder of bliss, Anderson’s deep, dark eyes cemented in my mind’s eye. My breathing evened out as sleep came to claim me for the night.

  With my last waking thoughts, I wondered about Anderson’s secret life, this world of his that was such a blessing and the ultimate curse. I couldn’t begin to comprehend the scope of it—my own life seemed so small in comparison. But as I lay there in the dark, falling into a much needed sleep, I realized one thing for sure. I needed to know Anderson’s world. I needed to see how it worked, what it looked like. If I could know all that, I’d be that much closer to knowing him...Entirely. Anderson had saved my life, snatched me from the brink of disaster. From that point on, everything I did would be for him. For us. I drifted off to sleep with that beautiful word echoing around my head: Us.