Winning Love

by Abby Niles

  He toyed with a chicken bone, then tossed it onto the plate. “Dinner was great. Thanks.”

  She took the cue. She’d gotten him out here. Had made him relax a smidge in her company, but he was ready for the evening to end. She gathered up the plates, quickly folded the blanket, and attached everything to the ATV.

  Instead of driving back to her place, she passed it by and dropped him off in front of Lance’s porch, just wanting a few more seconds of feeling his powerful body behind hers, his muscular arms around her waist.

  He slid off, and she immediately missed the warmth.

  “Feels weird having a woman drop me off,” he said.

  She grinned. “I’ve never done things the way people expect.”

  He snorted. “I’m not surprised. But you’re not as much trouble as I’d initially thought.”

  She climbed off the four-wheeler, walked up to him, and placed a kiss on his cheek. “You haven’t experienced the full Gayle yet. I’m all kinds of trouble.”

  Chapter Two

  You haven’t experienced the full Gayle yet.

  Mac surveyed the contents of the refrigerator for something for breakfast, found nothing, and slammed the door closed.

  She was wrong. He had. And that gale had destroyed everything he’d loved. He had no desire to experience another one. No matter how much he’d tossed in bed last night replaying the crazy woman’s antics or how often he felt the lightness of amusement bubble in his chest from the memories—especially over her calling him a curmudgeon and the exaggerated, grossed-out expression she’d used while saying it.

  The corners of his lips twitched. Groaning, he rolled his eyes at himself and stalked to the coffee maker. What the fuck?

  There was no question about it, he had to stay away from that woman. Last night she’d been on her best behavior, and he’d actually relaxed, begun to think she wasn’t so bad. Yeah. Then she’d sucker punched him with her “I’m all kinds of trouble” warning.

  He didn’t want trouble…didn’t need trouble. Hell, judging by the way he’d assaulted Lance yesterday, he had more than he could handle as it was. How could he have almost hit his friend? No matter how far gone he’d been in his anger and grief, he’d never physically attacked another person unless it was within the confines of training or the cage.

  The only explanation for his momentary snap was that no one in Atlanta really knew him, and everyone there respected the clear I-don’t-want-you-to-know-me vibe he gave off. Lance already knew every dark demon of Mac’s past and wouldn’t hesitate to bring them up…and there was nothing Mac could do to stop him. Add in the horrifying kick of attraction he’d felt for Gayle, and he’d, well…snapped.

  He rubbed his hand over his face, then shoved a filter in the coffee maker and added three scoops of grounds. Nothing had been within his power to control, either, which had made everything worse.

  He took the pot to the sink, filled it with water, and poured it in the maker. If he was going to get through this with any of his sanity still in check, he needed to regain control. He could prepare for Lance. Though it was the first time Mac had wanted to hit him, it wasn’t the first time they’d exchanged heated words. So he wasn’t going into that blindly.

  Gayle, however, was a live wire. He couldn’t anticipate what she’d say or do next. She was anything but predictable. She was outrageous. Blunt. Crazy. And his structured life had no room for her disturbance, even temporarily.

  Once the coffee maker finished its burbling, he poured a cup and glanced out the kitchen window. He bit back a curse. Speak of the devil and she will rise.

  Striding across the field between the farmhouses, carrying that damned picnic basket, was Gayle in another pair of too-short khaki shorts and too-tight green tank top sans an overshirt this time, so her generous chest stood out proudly. Last night, the plunging neckline of the sundress she’d worn had tempted his eyes more than once. And that hadn’t been all that had tempted him—which was all the more reason to put a lot of distance between him and her.

  On top of everything else he was dealing with, he didn’t need an unwanted attraction to an unpredictable woman, especially at this particular time and place. It was not exciting, nor was it welcome.

  It was time to make it clear to her that he wasn’t interested in pursuing even a friendship.

  He waited for her to rap at the back door, then opened it, but kept the screen door closed between them. Crossing his arms, he stared down at her. “What do you want?”

  “Oooh. Curmudgeon McMudgeonson this morning, huh, handsome? Had a few hours to think, did you?”

  Stunned, Mac’s arms slipped a fraction of an inch. He jerked them back up. She hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t even hesitated. How did he deal with a woman like this?

  Bluntly. Just like she did.

  “I have,” he said. “I think it would be best if we keep our association to a minimum while I’m here.”

  Way-too-enticing plump, pink lips pursed as she cocked her head to the side. “Why? Scared you might have some fun?”

  What. The. Fuck? “I’m not on vacation. I’m here to help Lance train.”

  “And if you’ll notice, Lance is gone. You’re going to realize he’s gone a lot and you’ll be sitting in this house alone with nothing to do.”

  “I’m quite capable of keeping myself busy.”

  “I have no doubt you can. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun with more than just yourself. Unless, of course…you like playing with yourself.” A mischievous sparkle danced in her hazel eyes.

  Words left him. Vanished from his mind as though he hadn’t used them all his life. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then finally managed, “That was inappropriate.”

  “Did I say something racy?” Her nose scrunched, then she laughed lightly and wagged a finger at him. “Shame on you, handsome. I was merely playing with words, since we were talking about having fun. You’re the one who put the dirty spin on it, not me.”

  He didn’t believe a damn bit of that. “I don’t have the patience for your antics today.”

  “Such a stick in the mud.”

  Through the entire exchange, he’d studied her movements as he would any opponent in the cage, waiting for the first signs of frustration or anger. There was none. Her body was just as relaxed as it had been when she knocked on the door. What did it take to ruffle this woman’s feathers?

  He jerked his chin to the area behind her. “You know the way home.”

  Intending for that to be a dismissal, he started to back away from the door to close it. She grabbed the handle to the screen door and swept past him into the kitchen. Stunned, all he could do was gape at her audacity as she placed the picnic basket on the kitchen counter.

  “I didn’t invite you in.”

  “I’m not a vampire. I don’t need to be invited.” She held up a hand and lightly shook it. Dangling from her middle finger was a silver key on a large key ring. “Besides, I have this. I get to use it. Any. Time. I. Want. I thought this morning was perfect. Thought maybe I could catch you in bed and slip underneath the covers…you know…wake you with a very pleasant ‘good morning, handsome.’” Pursing her lips seductively, she winked.

  Jesus. Christ. Mac swallowed, alarmed by the way his body responded to the image she’d painted. She was fucking with him, she had to be, and she was enjoying every damn second of it, while he was floundering. Never had he felt so outmatched by an opponent. Gayle just kept throwing one surprise punch after another, and all he could do was cover his face with his gloves and wait for the round to be over. Desperate to get the topic away from anything sexual, he cut his gaze to the picnic basket.

  “What’s in that?”

  She ran her palm over the top in a slow back and forth motion as she pressed her body against the side of the counter. “Wouldn’t you just love to know? It’s a surprise. One I think you’ll really enjoy.”

  The woman was going to be the death of him. He pinched the bridge of his nose
. When she chuckled, he shot her a dirty look. She pressed her lips together and twisted her face into such an outrageously innocent expression, a bubble of laughter tickled his chest. From irritation to arousal to amusement. All within the span of mere minutes. She was driving him mad!

  “Whatever,” he said, exasperated. “Do what you want. I’m going to my room.” As he stalked toward the door that led to the hallway, he threw “alone” over his shoulder as a precaution.

  “Aww, you’re no fun, handsome,” she called after him. “I had so many naughty things planned for us to do.”

  The husky chuckle trailing her comment was like a kick in the ass and he hustled for escape, wanting nothing more than a locked door between him and Gayle and all the erotic innuendo she kept tossing at him.

  Just as he was about to reach the staircase, a movement from outside the front door caught his attention. Pausing, it took him only a moment to realize it was Piper and Skylar climbing the steps to the porch. Everything clicked. He rolled his eyes at himself and groaned. Mother. Fucker.

  Gayle must have been eating up every second of their encounter, thinking him a damn idiot. No wonder she had been so outrageous with her suggestions. She wasn’t even here for him. She was here to watch Skylar. And he’d looked like an arrogant asshole while also proving himself to be the curmudgeon she accused him of being. Damn infuriating woman.

  Cursing himself, he opened the door before Piper knocked. With a pink pig clutched in her arms, Skylar pushed past him and immediately clomped up the stairs as fast as her eight-year-old legs would take her.

  Familiar blue eyes rounded. “Oh. My. God. Mac Hannon. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Piper embraced him in a tight hug that he awkwardly returned, then extracted himself and offered her a stiff smile.

  “Piper. Good to see you.”

  Unlike Lance, Piper had changed. Her once long, straight, blond hair had been cut off into a very short pixie, which she pulled off well. And it was no longer blond, but a deep raven color. Thick cat-rimmed glasses were perched on her nose. The woman who’d always dressed in chic clothing was now sporting loose jeans and a tight baseball style T-shirt.

  “What’s with the getup?” Mac asked. “Halloween was months ago.”

  The jest just slipped out and took him aback. Wow. Time didn’t change all things, it seemed. He used to kid around with Piper like this all the time. Anytime he saw her, he picked something and made some sort of snarky remark, which usually got him—

  “Ha. Ha.” She stuck out her tongue.

  Yep. Exactly that reaction. He fought back a smile.

  She grabbed one side of her glasses. “It’s different, right?”

  “Definitely, but it suits you.”

  She grinned. “I found me, Mac. It took a while after Lance and I separated, and he thought I was going through some kind of personality crisis, but I was getting to know myself.” She waved her hand at him. “Hell, you know, we’d been together since we were fifteen. I had no identity outside of him. Now I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  The emotion rolled off her in waves. Piper had always been a giving, loving person, but there was a new freeness about her that he envied.

  “I’m happy for you, Pipes. You deserve it.”

  “You do, too.” Her expression sobered. “Is Atlanta treating you well?”

  “It’s doing right by me.” The raw edginess he always got when people started asking him personal questions had him shifting his feet and looking around the room.

  “You’re doing great in the CMC. I watched your last fight. You dominated the other guy.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged.

  “Have you got yourself working in a kitchen anywhere?”

  “I’m retired from the kitchen, remember? That means I’m not returning to it.” A chilly bite he couldn’t stop crept into his tone, warning her she needed to steer to a different topic.

  “Well, that’s a shame,” she said, without reacting to his icy response. “Your food was always so delicious. At least tell me there’s a special someone in your life.”

  Goddammit. He hated being back here. None of these people respected his boundaries. He openly scowled at her. “No. The last thing I have an interest in is dating, much less finding someone special.”

  This time the pure hostility that saturated his words couldn’t be ignored, making the air heavy and silent. Piper studied him for a very long, unnerving moment, then she sighed and slowly nodded. “Okay. I see how it is.” She peered over his shoulder. “Is Gayle here yet?”

  “Back in the kitchen.”

  “Skylar! Come on.” Seconds later, the little girl came bounding down the stairs with the pig and now a doll.

  As they moved around Mac, guilt kneed him hard in the stomach, which was crazy since he never felt that way when it came to getting people to back off their Q&A, but there it was, laying thick. He turned around. “Hey, Pipes?”

  When she faced him, he grimaced. He’d kept his emotions bottled up for so long he was uncertain how to express what he needed to say.

  “I’m sorry about that.” He rubbed his hands together, then cracked his knuckles. “It— It’s been an adjustment.”

  Compassion softened her gaze and he wanted to turn away from it. Those looks had been one of the reasons he’d left in the first place. Everyone had gazed at him with it. Everywhere he’d gone. All he’d wanted was privacy. Instead, he’d become a specimen under a microscope. Blinking, he quickly glanced away and cleared his throat.

  “Mac.”

  He resented her intrusion. Wanted her to leave him be as he fought for control, but he bit his tongue and forced himself to meet her eyes.

  “It’s time to heal. You’ve been carrying this for far too long. You couldn’t have saved her.”

  Why did everything come back to Ally? His wife was dead. He hadn’t been there to save her. End of story.

  “Couldn’t I?” Bitterness darkened his tone. “If I’d been there like I should’ve been, the outcome would’ve been a hell of a lot different.”

  “Why torture yourself with that? You weren’t there. You can’t change that. Now you need to make peace with it.”

  Without another word, she and Skylar walked down the hall into the kitchen. Mac ground his teeth as resentment spiked hard and fast. Everyone was a damn armchair psychologist filled with helpful advice about what he needed to do.

  To hell with them all. He was doing just fine on his own.

  Shaking his head, he shoved all the festering emotions aside. He owed Gayle an apology for his behavior. He might as well get it over with before he went upstairs.

  As he strode into the kitchen, Piper was heading out. She laid her hand on his forearm. “Remember what I said.”

  He managed a nod, but all he wanted to tell her was to mind her own damn business. As she proceeded down the hall and out the front door, he pushed out a breath and turned to Gayle, who was standing in front of Skylar by the kitchen counter.

  She put her hand on the basket and said, “I brought the makings for homemade pizza for lunch. What do you say we roll out the dough while we wait for your daddy to get home?”

  “Yeah!” Skylar jumped up and down.

  Heat crept up Mac’s cheeks. And now he was an even bigger asshole.

  “Hey, Uncle Mac, would you like to help?”

  Instinct pushed him to immediately say no, but the hopeful, excited gleam in the child’s green eyes froze the word on his tongue as a slice of pain tore across his chest.

  “Yeah, Uncle Mac, what do you say? Want to roll some dough?”

  The challenge in Gayle’s voice jerked his attention to her. Her gaze was steady. Knowing. Mocking. He clenched his jaw. Okay. He deserved that. He’d made himself look like an idiot, which gave her the advantage. For now.

  “Sure,” he grudgingly agreed.

  Her lips twisted into a cocky smile. “Good.”

  With the agreement, an awkward silence fell in the kitchen—or maybe it w
as only awkward to him. He spent his social time in a gym with fighters. Men. The rest he spent in solitude. He didn’t remember how to chat up women or interact with little girls.

  Running his hands through his hair, he flicked his gaze toward the hall—toward escape—as pressure started to build in his chest. A ridiculous reaction. But Gayle scared the ever-loving hell out of him, and Skylar—well, that sweet little girl was just a little too hard to look at.

  “We’re not going to bite, handsome.”

  Damn it. His gaze shot to Gayle. The arched brow and amused lips sent anger blasting through him. Okay, Hannon. Time to bring The Snake into action. Treat this like you would when meeting an opponent in the cage.

  Wiping his face of emotion, he squared his shoulders and started toward the counter.

  That brow notched up another fraction. “Impressive. I take it the cage fighter is among us now, and not Mac.”

  He froze. Jesus Christ. The woman called him on every damn thing he did and left him fumbling for footing. He hated every second of it.

  She shrugged and started pulling things out of the basket. “Whatever you’ve got to do, handsome.” She shoved a bag of flour at him. “Take this and measure out four cups. You can handle that, right?”

  It was his turn to lift a brow. So, she had no idea about his past career. Good. “I think I can handle it.” He glanced down at the bag of all-purpose flour. “Bread flour would’ve been a better choice.”

  As she stared at the package in his hand, her nose scrunched in confusion. “That would make bread, right?”

  At the outright bewilderment she didn’t even try to hide, a laugh tickled his chest. Covering it up with a cough, he shook his head. “Never mind.”

  He grabbed a measuring cup and a bowl from under the counter and scanned the ingredients Gayle had pulled from the basket. He tried not to scowl at the assortment of canned items. He made a killer homemade marinara sauce, but it would go unappreciated by an eight-year-old. His eyes landed on the table salt. Nope. He twisted, grabbed the kosher sea salt from the counter behind him, and switched it out with the other, which Gayle didn’t miss.