Alphas & Fairytales: A New Year's Eve Anthology

by Molly McLain

  The first thing I notice, as I make my way through the masses towards the main floor at the MGM Grand, is the size of the crowd. You could get lost in the sea of evening gowns and black tuxedos, disoriented in the haze of expensive perfume. Thousands of seats face the center of the room where the main event will take place in less than fifteen minutes. An octagon, which appears dwarf-size in comparison to the magnitude of the room, stands tall and ready for action.

  Being a native of Las Vegas, you’d think I’d have attended at least one fight at any of the premier venues our fine city has to offer for boxing or MMA events, but you’d be wrong. I’ve never had a desire to watch two grown men, enclosed in a cage, kick and hit each other until one falls down.

  I’m more of the wine and dine type. I prefer gourmet meals in a quiet restaurant. Nice ambiance and good company. A good-looking man who knows how to treat a lady, inside the bedroom and out. Throw in romantic gestures like candlelight and soft music, now that’s my idea of a date.

  Not an MMA fight on the biggest–and final–night of the year.

  Which is probably why I’m grateful to be flying solo on this particular New Year’s Eve. If I were going to experience my first cage match, I’d prefer to do it without a date beside me. Then no one will witness my mortification when I cover my eyes. And let’s face it; I will be covering my eyes. At the first sight of blood, I’ll be weak in the knees. My heart will start racing and my breathing will begin to labor. I just pray that, when it happens, I don’t pass out.

  Not that I had much choice in the matter at attending this evening. When my brother’s fiancée, Dani, called me up yesterday and insisted I take her ticket to tonight’s fight and charity gala, I couldn’t exactly say no. Oh, I tried, but Dani has this uncanny ability to charm the pants off anyone. She could sell ice to an Eskimo. Reid calls it her superpower.

  My older brother was Vegas’ most eligible bachelor until a few months ago. Was being the key word there. Reid is known for being a shark inside of the boardroom, and out. He is fierce, driven, and the savviest businessman I’ve ever known. Even better than our father. And the moment Dani reappeared in his life, bringing along the surprise son they share, he has become a better man for both of them. The best man.

  As I’m escorted to the floor, my seat is practically right smack in the center of the front row, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. Reid is a loyal contributor to many charities, VETSports being one of them. I’ve attended several different events at the local children’s museum on behalf of Hunter Enterprises, but never something like this.

  I’m anxious, but try not to let it show as I smile at the handsome usher and take the seat noted on my ticket. Gripping my clutch on my lap, I glance around, taking in the scene around me. An older couple, both in black, sits to my left, and a slew of twenty-something guys sit to my right. All around me, I’m surrounded by wealth and elegance. As I return my attention to the octagon, one empty chair remains beside me. I’m sure Reid and Dani didn’t purchase a singular ticket for this fundraiser, but it never really occurred to me to ask who had the other ticket.

  Until right now.

  My nerves skyrocket with possibility and worry of the unknown. While the location is familiar, this particular event is foreign to me. And that’s what probably rattles me most of all. I inherited several traits that mirror my brother’s, including a poker face that rivals those at the high-roller tables at the big casinos, as well as the ability to stay calm and cool under pressure. So why am I suddenly and completely filled with apprehension? I realize right away that I should have skipped the fight portion of the fundraiser and arrived for the charity gala that follows.

  The crowd is dressed to the nines for tonight’s big event. Evening gowns of every color and designer, custom tuxedos, and more money floating in the air than what probably passes through the floor of this very casino. What does surprise me is the age range in attendance this evening. There are just as many older couples as those in their twenties and thirties.

  Tickets to tonight’s main event were hard to come by unless you purchased tickets to the fundraising gala afterwards. Only in Vegas will they get dressed up in formalwear, watch grown men beat the crap out of each other, and then enjoy a gourmet dinner afterwards, while dancing and bidding on overpriced auction items. But I love this city and never want to leave. I couldn’t picture myself anywhere else. My family is here and a few close friends. You have everything you could ever want in Las Vegas.

  The lights flash and a live band starts playing music. I quickly realize that it’s not just any band, but In This Moment! I recognize the song, “Adrenalize”, right away as one on my gym playlist on my iPod. A heavy beat pulsates through the room and the lights flash off and on, revealing a large man with tattoos. He’s gorgeous in that rough and tough way. His glare is focused solely on his octagon and it’s fierce enough that I almost slide back in my seat a little.

  The crowd is going crazy as the man makes his way to the entrance to the cage. I catch the name Gavin from the announcer, but that’s all I get. He appears cool as a cucumber as he focuses all of his attention and energy on preparing for his opponent. If I were a guy standing across from him in the octagon, I’d be peeing in my fancy, satin shorts. Gavin is intense.

  Different music kicks in and the lights flicker once more. The opponent and his team are making their way to the octagon. The boos are deafening as he walks up the stairs and into the cage to stand across from Gavin. I can’t even hear the announcer over the thunderous noise. I have no clue what his name is, not that it really matters. He bounces around on the balls of his bare feet as he throws a few jabs at the air in front of him.

  Both men stand in the middle of the octagon, shooting eye-daggers at the other. The referee is speaking, though I can’t really tell what he’s saying over the noise. Not that I would understand it anyway. Suddenly, they separate and head towards their respective sides. A bell sounds, signaling the start of the match. I’m on the edge of my seat with nerves, fear, and maybe even a little excitement.

  It takes about two seconds before the first punch is thrown and I realize I’m going to have to endure watching these two men physically beat the crap out of each other a lot longer. I close my eyes momentarily and take a deep breath.

  I can do this.

  I won’t pass out.

  Opening my eyes, I glance at the action just as Gavin lands a solid fist to the face of his opponent. His lip splits open instantly, spilling blood down his chin. My stomach drops.

  This is going to be a long night.

  Red Is My Favorite Color

  Scott

  I hate running late.

  The bell is about to ring, signifying the start of the match, and I should have been in my seat well before now. I adjust the flawless knot on my red silk necktie as I bypass an usher and head down the stairs. This tie is my favorite, my go-to tie when I’m working a lucrative deal. I can’t say it’s my lucky tie, exactly, because it hasn’t brought me the one thing I crave more than anything else.

  Or the one woman, I should say.

  As a man who makes a living at keeping his cool when it comes to business mitigation and never showing any sign of weakness, it bothers me slightly that I’m so worked up over tonight. I’ve been unsettled since the moment I received the phone call from my boss and friend, insisting that I take his ticket for tonight’s charity fight and gala. Something about spending the evening with Dani, making up for lost time with their son, and blah, blah, blah. But it was the way he demanded my presence this evening that bothered me.

  Reid Hunter always makes demands; that is a fact. As the CEO of Hunter Enterprises, Reid is accustomed to calling the shots, and I’m used to following. But yesterday’s phone call was different. His no-nonsense tone and his ability to end any conversation as quickly as it started left me little room to negotiate. He didn’t care that I already had plans for New Years Eve, nor did it bother him that they were with the daughter of a certain ci
ty councilman who we’ve been trying to get onboard with the children’s museum expansion project we’re helping fund. He didn’t even offer the ticket to Jon, his right-hand man and the second-in-command of Hunter Enterprises.

  It was me. I was attending tonight’s function in his place.

  End of story.

  The fighters are standing in the center of the octagon, receiving their instructions from the official. Another usher stops me as I head towards the floor. Without saying a word, I produce my ticket. After a quick scan of the paper in my hand, the man gives me a nod and points towards the first row.

  No worries, man. I already know where I’m headed.

  Approaching the row that contains my seat, my attention is pulled towards a woman. A stunning blond in silky red sitting beside an empty seat. My feet stop in their tracks and my throat dries. It’s suddenly hard to breathe the perfume-laced and testosterone-filled air. The bell sounds and two men dance towards each other in the middle of the octagon, but I see none of it, hear none of the crowd’s cheers. I can only see this woman. And not just any woman, mind you, but the one who has starred in more dirty fantasies than I will ever admit out loud, especially in the presence of the man who signs my paycheck. Hell, the woman I’ve wanted more than any other since I was twenty years old. My friend and boss’s little sister.

  Tara Hunter.

  I start to feel a little hot under the collar as I stare at the long, silky blond hair that cascades down her slender neck, hitting just below her shoulder blades. Tara used to keep it in a shorter bob until somewhat recently. However, she’s been growing it out over the better part of a year. I know this detail, because, like a lovesick pussy, I remember everything about her.

  Everything.

  My pants start to tighten as memories flash in a rapid-fire sequence of that night at the beginning of the summer. It was the night of her nephew’s birthday party. I was late to the party, the meeting to take back control of Reid’s life running way longer than we anticipated, but eventually, we arrived. She was the first woman I saw when I stepped into the backyard. Even in the presence of Reid, we flirted shamelessly. We always have. I stole glances, committing every aspect of her slender body to memory. The way she laughed. The way she touched my arm when we talked. The way her hair smelled when I stepped up behind her and caught the most intoxicating whiff of peaches.

  Even now, my body tightens painfully, remembering vividly that night.

  When the party broke up, I found myself without a vehicle. Reid, Jon, and I rode over to the party in the Town Car, which meant we were all on our own for the return trip to the office to retrieve our personal vehicles. Why did we all ride with Reid, you ask? Because the bastard was wearing a rubber Batman suit, ready to grovel on his knees in apology to his son and the love of his life. And there was no way in hell I was missing that.

  While Steven, Reid’s driver, drove Jon back to his car, I conveniently stayed behind just a bit longer so that I was without a vehicle. Okay, fine. I told Steven to leave so that my only option was to catch a ride with Tara.

  And it worked.

  She drove towards Hunter Enterprises in silence, but the sexual tension was so damn thick, I’m surprised we could see through the windshield. I wanted nothing more than to pull over, throw the car in park, and ravish her right there in the driver’s seat. But my head was overruling my dick (which was throbbing in my shorts, by the way), and I remained a good boy in the passenger seat.

  When we arrived, she pulled up beside my car and parked. Those blue eyes turned towards me, hypnotizing and beckoning me to walk a bit on the dark side. And for a moment, I willingly went. I leaned in, without so much as a word of warning, and kissed the ever-loving shit out of my friend’s little sister.

  I’ll never forget the taste of her lips, the way her breath hitched as I slid my tongue along the seam of her mouth, the way her hands gripped my arms as if she was holding on for dear life. It was the perfect kiss. One that preludes into an unforgettable night of fanatical, wild sex.

  Sex that I couldn’t have. Not with her.

  So with superhuman restraint, I pulled back, ignoring the fact that her manicured hands were gripping both my shirt and my shorts, millimeters away from my throbbing dick. Her lips were swollen and wet, and I wanted nothing more than to forget every reason my head was telling me as to why this was a horrible idea. I wanted to throw caution to the wind, throw her over my shoulder, take her inside my office, splay her across the top of my desk, and not resurface again for days. Weeks. I wanted more, but I knew I couldn’t have it.

  I remember apologizing for the kiss–though I wasn’t sorry it happened–and spouting off some stupid BS excuse as to why it was a bad idea. Tara never said a word, but her eyes told me everything. She was hurt, and I was the bastard who did it.

  But I couldn’t and wouldn’t risk my friendship with Reid, nor would I risk hurting her more than I already had. And let’s face it, I would have hurt her. It’s who I am. Just like my old man. Use ‘em and lose ‘em. Fuck ‘em and chuck ‘em. Hit it and quit it. That was his MO for as far back as I can remember. It’s all I’ve ever known. And if anyone could make me regret my playboy ways, it would be her.

  Of course we’ve seen each other since that night. We’ve run into each other minimally in a few social settings; her on the arm of some douchebag wanna-be jackass, and me with a busty bimbo draped on me like an accessory to the designer tuxedo I was wearing. But it doesn’t matter who was on my arm during the event; she’s the one on my mind later that night. I’ve fucked a handful of beautiful women all while picturing her gorgeous face, usually on nights where we’ve been to the same function. Yep, I’m a Grade-A, first class asshole, I know, but it’s the only way I can quench the thirst I have for her, even when she’s not actually there.

  It’s all I can ever have.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye brings me back to the problem at hand. The empty seat beside her is designated for me. I’m not sure if I should be excited or upset. Excited because, fuck, I’m going to be close enough to smell her shampoo, see the aqua speckles in her eyes, and touch her incredibly soft skin, and upset for pretty much the exact same reasons. Because she is off limits.

  The red dress she’s wearing can only be described as sinful. It dips low in front with just a touch of cleavage. It’s tasteful and elegant, and nothing like half the money-hungry, spoiled brats in the audience tonight. Women dripping in more diamonds than you’d find on display at Tiffany’s or Harry Winston.

  An usher approaches me. I’ve been standing in the middle of the walkway for God knows how long, staring at a vision in red. Before he can say anything, I walk towards my seat. Those around me are screaming at the action in the center of the arena, eyes glued to the two men battling it out in the octagon. My eyes, however, are glued to the creamy, tanned outer thigh that is exposed by the world’s most alluring slit. It’s a tease, one that has my dick harder than ever and ready for action.

  I turn my body away from the audience in an attempt to conceal my pants and shuffle towards my seat. Thankfully, no one is paying me or my eight inch hard-on any attention. Tara is watching the fight, a look of worry and fear clearly etched on her face. As I sit down, I’m barely able to adjust my dick in my pants before she turns towards me. She’s not looking at me, per se, but more as doing everything she can to avert her eyes.

  And then it hits me. Tara can’t stand the sight of blood.

  In desperate need to pull her attention away from the punches thrown and the gut-striking kicks, I turn and face her. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like the sight of blood, I’m a little surprised to find you sitting front and center at a fight,” I holler over the screams of the crowd.

  Stunning blue eyes the color of the ocean finally land on me. I grin down, enjoying the way her sexy little mouth opens in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “It appears that I hold half of the pair of tickets assigned to one Reid Hunter.”
<
br />   “I got my ticket from Dani,” she states, disbelief still evident in the way her eyes follow my every movement.

  I’m shooting for casual here. I know this isn’t her scene. The gala afterwards? That’s Tara’s element. But this? No way. You can practically feel uneasiness and uncertainty seeping from her pores. Distraction is the name of the game here, and there’s no man better for the job than me, especially when it comes to the beauty at my side.

  “Well, it appears that I have the pleasure of your company this evening,” I state, moving towards her ever so slightly, bringing one ankle up and over my knee.

  “No date?”

  I casually shake my head in answer. “You?”

  She mimics the movement. “Convenient.”

  Tara’s slightly breathy as she skims her eyes from my designer suit, my impeccable silk tie that looks as if it were cut from her dress, and my freshly shaved jaw. When her eyes finally peruse up to mine, lust slams into me full force. My body tightens with need; the same need I see swimming in the depths of her eyes.

  “Very,” I reply, my voice deep, rich, and laced with sex. Because, suddenly, that’s all I can think about. Taking this woman to bed and worshipping her body all night long. Sure, I’ve thought about it before, but never acted. Well, except that kiss. Tonight, however, I’m ready to throw it all away just to have one little taste of her. I crave her.

  After a few moments, she turns her attention back to the action in the octagon. “I don’t even understand what’s going on here. They’re just kicking each other.”

  “That’s pretty much the gist of it, kitten.” Leaning forward until my mouth is beside her ear, I get a whiff of peaches, and suddenly, I’m reliving that kiss from six months ago. The same memory I’ve jacked to on numerous occasions. “See that guy there? That’s Gavin, The Ripper. That’s who we want to win tonight.”

  “We do?” she asks, turning ever so slightly so that her cheek grazes across my lips. Fuck, do I want to slip my tongue out and have a little taste. But I also know that I won’t be able to stop at one. I’ll need more. More tastes, more touches, more moans. I’ll want it all and there’s no way in hell I’ll settle for anything less than everything.