Caged

by Lorelei James

  Maddox and Fee are hooking up in addition to meeting for secret training sessions?”

  Deacon stepped away from the bar. “And with that . . . I’m done.” He patted his crotch. “Whew. For a second there, I worried my dick had turned into a vagina during this conversation.”

  “You are a fuckwad.”

  “No. I’m a man who’s damn proud of my Y chromosome.”

  Beck laughed.

  Thankfully they were wrapping up the PR/party/event plans when Deacon and Beck returned. As soon as Molly acknowledged him, he tapped on his watch. He mouthed, Been forty minutes, babe.

  She mouthed back, You’ll live.

  Not the answer he wanted. He stood and reached for her. “Enough business talk.”

  “But, Deacon, we need her input,” Katie said.

  “Nothin’ will be decided tonight anyway, so it can wait. I can’t.” Without another word, he towed Molly away from the table and around the corner. He pressed his hands by her head above the wall.

  “What’s this? I thought you were taking me to the dance floor.”

  “I can’t dance to this shit.”

  “You’re in a mood.”

  “One that’s rapidly turning into a bad mood,” he said brusquely. He curled his hand around the back of her neck. “I wish we’d stayed in bed. None of this crap that’s goin’ on has anything to do with us.”

  “You are wrong about that, because this time next week we’ll both be in LA.” Molly hooked her fingers in the belt loop of his jeans and tugged until their bodies were closer. “But why the bad mood? You expected to be Black Arts MMA showcase fighter?”

  “No. Just some stuff Beck said got me to thinking.”

  “Maddox’s big announcement got all of us thinking too, that he and Fee are more than trainer and trainee. Not that Fee has ever hinted at anything in that direction.”

  “Fee and Maddox? In a relationship and shit? Never gonna happen.”

  His declaration seemed to annoy her. “And how are you so cocksure about that?”

  “One, because Maddox was married to a Brazilian woman and he’d never put himself through that hell again. Two, Gil.”

  “What’s Gil got to do with it?”

  “Babe. Think about it.”

  “Don’t babe me. And since when are you so perceptive about relationships and shit?”

  Such a smart mouth. “Don’t need to be perceptive when I’ve got eyes. Gil and Fee have been dancing around each other longer than we ever did. It’ll come to a head one day—sooner rather than later. And I hope I’m a fuck of a long way away when that happens.”

  “I never thought of that. I’m surprised there isn’t more hanky-panky going down between the instructors and students at Black Arts and ABC.”

  Deacon lifted his eyebrows. “Hanky-panky? Is that what we got up to in the training room?”

  Molly offered him a sultry smile. “That was too hot to be mere hanky-panky.”

  “So define hanky-panky, literal girl.”

  “Dry humping on the mats. Oral sex in the stairwells. Hand jobs in the—”

  He smashed his mouth to hers, stopping the flow of dirty scenarios. Damn teasing woman knew it’d get him hard.

  She laughed against his lips.

  “Speaking of hand jobs,” he murmured against her throat. “I haven’t forgotten our game of ‘get off, get gone.’ I know it’s my turn.”

  “With as often as you’ve been fucking me since our reconnection? I don’t see when you would’ve had time.”

  “And there’s that dumb ‘twelve-hour no payback’ rule,” he complained.

  “That would’ve been a problem for you this week, stud. How you’ve had energy to fuck me stupid morning and night with as hard as you’ve been training? I thought I might not see you much. But you proved to be a man of many talents and outstanding physical stamina. I’m lucky.” She pecked him on the lips. “And a little sore.”

  His concerned eyes met hers. “Have I been too rough?”

  “I would tell you, but you haven’t been. You’ve just been insistent, and I’ll never complain about that. I love the way you look at me. I love the way you touch me. I love that you’re obsessed with showing me how you feel about me so I don’t doubt what’s between us. I really love your kinky side, because it unleashes mine.” She slid her hands up his chest. “But we have no choice but to take a break because I bled that last time.”

  Guilt and shame punched him in the gut. “I fucked you hard enough to make you bleed?”

  “Don’t look so horrified. I got my period. That’s all.”

  Relief rolled through him, followed by utter cluelessness. “So, uh, yeah. Cool.” Cool? Really dumb-ass? You think it’s cool that she’s bleeding out her cooter?

  “Deacon. I know you’ve never had a girlfriend, so you haven’t dealt with this before, but it’s not a big deal. Five days and it’ll all be over.”

  “Five days?” he repeated. “Seriously?”

  “Five days out of every month.”

  Holy fuck.

  “Are you worried I’ll turn into a raging bitch?”

  “Fuck no.” He locked his eyes onto hers. “But do I need to stockpile chocolate and Kleenex?” He paused when a feeling of panic welled up in his chest. “You ain’t expecting me to go to the store and buy Tampax, Midol, and that feminine-product shit for you, right?”

  She briefly closed her eyes. “I swear I’m gonna look on eBay to buy the filter that your mouth is missing.”

  “Ha-fucking-larious.” He got right in her face. “Bottom line: What’s this mean?”

  “It means we’ll have to come up with something to do other than fuck for the next five days.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Cool.” Deacon smiled. “So you up for hitting the honky-tonk for a little two-steppin’?”

  Her brown eyes glittered. “Babe, I don’t even know what the fuck that means.”

  God, he loved this woman. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  MOLLY couldn’t believe she’d be in Los Angeles in less than an hour.

  Everyone else was cynical about flying, complaining about flight delays and the headaches of travel, but Molly thought it was really freakin’ cool she could hop on a plane in Denver and be in California in two and a half hours.

  The days leading up to the last-minute LA trip had been crazy. Amery and Ronin had flown out Thursday morning with Knox, Shiori, and Nuri on Okada’s private plane. Thursday night Katie, Maddox, Fee, Blue, Gil, Sergei, and Ivan had flown on Max Stanislovsky’s private jet. Molly and Presley had joked about being forced to fly “commercial” in lowly first class.

  They were the last ones to travel, along with Deacon, Beck, Blaze, Fisher, Jaz, Riggins, Zach, and Jon-Dean.

  Black Arts would have an imposing presence at the expo.

  Tonight was the big party sponsored by Black and Blue Promotions. According to what Amery had told her, Black Arts MMA and Black and Blue Promotions had spared no expense for this trip. They’d booked an entire wing in the swanky hotel next to the convention center where the expo was located.

  Since Deacon had slipped into his normal, brooding persona on the flight, Molly looked out the window and tried to imagine what the next three days had in store for her. She and Presley had obsessed over what to wear to the big party. Finally Chaz had come to their rescue and taken them to Natasha’s, an exclusive boutique with vintage—aka used—designer clothing.

  While Molly hemmed and hawed over the prices of the outfits, Chaz had reminded her they were called “special occasion” dresses for a reason. Not only that, but she had to look professional from the moment she stepped on the plane. Chaz had assured both her and Presley they could get by wearing a smart pantsuit while they helped finalize party preparations.

  “Why so quiet, babe?” Deacon asked.

  “Just following your lead, babe.”

  He kissed he
r cheek. “Smart-ass.”

  “Maybe I should ask what happened to your good mood.”

  Deacon snagged her hand and played with her fingers. “My dad called.”

  “I wondered who was calling so early.”

  “He forgets about the time change.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To tell me he won’t be at the Needham fight.”

  Her heart sank for him. “What? Why not?”

  “Evidently Julianne has to have surgery.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “No. She’s having it Friday afternoon. She needs someone to stay with her, and she insists on it being him.”

  “Deacon, I’m sorry. That sucks.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like I can tell him not to be with his wife.” Deacon looked at her. “You’ll be there.”

  “Of course. I’ll be wearing my CON MAN ROCKS MY FUCKING WORLD T-shirt.”

  His lips twitched.

  “Is there a chance Needham will be at this expo?”

  “Don’t care. It’ll be interesting to see where Maddox found practice space for us. Since he insists on closed practices.”

  “This close to a fight, it’s gotta be a full training facility, right?”

  Beck turned around in his seat. “I know where it’ll be. It’s one of two places.”

  “Where?”

  “House of Kenji has two affiliated dojos in LA. It’s private membership, so no public-access issues.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “I’ve taught in both places. Top-of-the-line facilities.”

  Molly listened to them talk. Her focus wasn’t on Deacon for a change, but on Beck. The man was deceptively good-looking. At first glance he didn’t appear to be anything special—not like the immediate, visceral punch of Deacon—but upon a more thorough examination, the man had it going on. A narrow face that broadened into ruggedly handsome when he smiled with those full lips. Wide green eyes that imparted tranquility. A flat nose—she’d yet to meet a fighter or a martial arts practitioner who hadn’t broken their beak at least once. Like any man whose livelihood depended on the strength and condition of his body, Beck’s physique could inspire female fantasies. But the most striking thing about him was his hair. The most glorious color of red—not orange, but cinnamon colored, with darker strands of mahogany, gold, and auburn. He wore it long—long enough to pull back and create a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

  “Molly?” Deacon prompted.

  Dammit. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her study of his Shihan. “Sorry. I’ve got a million things on my mind. What did you say?”

  “I’ll be at the hotel more than Deacon since he’s training, so if you need anything, call me.”

  “Is this a Deacon-approved offer?” she half joked. “Because he tends to get snarly if other men offer to help me. Or look at me.”

  “Like I didn’t know that,” Beck said dryly.

  “He’s the only one of any guys here besides Ronin and Knox I’ll trust you with,” Deacon said.

  “Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence. There goes me banging Sergei in the utility closet.”

  “Not even funny, babe.”

  Beck turned around.

  Molly looked out the window. Sometimes Deacon overwhelmed her.

  “Why’d you turn away from me?” He set his hand on her thigh.

  “I’m hoping to get a glimpse of the ocean.”

  “Really.”

  “Really. I’ve never seen the ocean. Seeing it from the plane might be my only chance.”

  “Molly, look at me.”

  “I don’t want to. So just . . . go back to not talking to me.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Mostly confused.”

  “About?”

  “About why you say stuff like He’s the only one of the guys here besides Ronin and Knox I’d trust you with. You have this crazy idea that all men lust after me, when it’s not even remotely close to true. If I even talk to another man—or heaven forbid a strange man talks to me—you turn into Deacon the Beast.” She paused. “I like Deacon the Beast in bed. I like Deacon the Beast in the ring. But I don’t like Deacon the Beast glaring and throwing down ultimatums at me and at his friends. Do you really think I’m looking at any of them when I could be looking at you? Do you really think when I’m out in mixed company I’m checking out other men as a possible replacement for you? I want you. No one else. The fact that I have you? I wouldn’t fuck that up. This—you mean too much to me.”

  Deacon kissed her shoulder. Then he stretched across the seat and kissed the side of her throat. “I fucking love you. I know it makes me a goddamn beast when I think of some guy trying to get to you like I get to you.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Molly dozed off for a while after that, and when she woke up, she saw Deacon staring at her.

  “Hey, beautiful. We’re about to land. Look out the window.”

  There it was. The ocean. “It looks so calm.”

  He chuckled. “Trust me. It’s not.”

  She stared until the plane banked and all she could see were buildings and freeways.

  Welcome to LA.

  • • •

  RONIN had sent two vans to bring them to the hotel. And since he’d rented so many rooms, the assistant manager escorted them all up to the twenty-second floor and handed out keys.

  The hotel was classy, done up old-glam Hollywood style. Mirrors, crystal chandeliers, marble, tones of gold, cream, and black. So she didn’t know what to expect when Deacon opened the door to their room. She stepped inside a suite. Glass windows overlooked the city. The space had a living room with a fireplace—in Los Angeles? And a wet bar, a dining room, a kitchen, a half bath. She headed down the hallway to the double doors and opened them to find a luxurious bedroom. A four-poster canopy bed on a platform, another sitting area, a full entertainment system. Another set of double doors led to a bathroom with a glass shower, a whirlpool tub, and his and hers vanities.

  Deacon hadn’t come along to explore the space. But when she returned to the living area to gaze out the windows, he came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. “So? What do you think?”

  “I think it’s the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in.”

  “It is pretty swanky. Good thing Ronin can afford it.”

  “Did everyone get suites?”

  She felt him smile against the side of her neck. “Nope. Everyone got their own room. Since we’re sharing, I told Ronin putting us in a suite was still cheaper than paying for separate rooms for us.”

  “Clever.”

  “Gives me lots more places to fuck you than just in a bed.”