“Marcy.” She could hear the distress in Reid’s voice, but she pushed open the front door and just kept walking.
* * *
Marcy returned to her usual routine of days at the sporting goods shop and nights at the gym. Determined to put the problem behind her, she drilled her submissions to the point she could do them in her sleep, hauling anyone and everyone onto the mats to practice with her, but always, at the back of her mind, she worried. What if Jax was right?
After a few days as her grappling partner, Two Step offered to give her a new nickname, the Submission Master, but she refused. She didn’t want anything to change. She had always been his baby girl, and she wanted it to stay that way.
True to his word, Reid hired a new coach, a gruff, retired UFC fighter named Dan. After their first training session, Dan told her she needed to stop fighting so hard and relax into submission. She’d almost laughed at the irony. She was a fighter, and she needed to do what fighters did best. Fuck Jax and his suggestion that she needed time to work through the issue. She’d been doing fine before he’d come, and with Dan and Reid working with her now, she’d turn that four and oh record into a five and oh and win herself a place in the state championships.
But alone at night, with nothing to occupy her mind, Marcy had to deal with the emptiness eating her up inside. Silly, really. She had known from the start Jax was only sticking around for a few weeks. Nothing like the years she’d spent with Preston. And yet she’d felt a much deeper emotional connection to Jax and a much deeper pain when he left. Worse, her old doubts had returned. Not even long talks with Val in the sporting goods shop or a weekend with Two Step at the youth club could ease her anxiety or her deep-seated fear that she wasn’t cut out to be a fighter. Maybe her family was right, and there was nothing Marcy could do to earn their respect.
Still, it wouldn’t stop her from trying. Nor would a pesky issue with freezing in submission. And after two weeks of intense training, she felt ready. She even made weight the day before the event after a few late-night ice cream indulgences to soothe the ache in her heart.
Reid picked her up the morning of the ROC event. “You think you’re ready?”
She hesitated only a moment and then stiffened her spine. Doubt or no doubt, she still wasn’t about to throw away her dreams. “Hell, yes.”
A grin split his face as he pulled away from the curb. “You’ve done great this week. I think you’re ready, too. If you win this bout, you still might have a chance at the championship.”
Warmth suffused her body, pooled in her belly, and for the first time in weeks, a genuine smile curled her lips. “I won’t let you down, Reid.”
“I know you won’t. You’re a fighter. Always have been. Always will be. You can’t change who you are, but if something is holding you back, you just gotta find a way around it. There are different ways of fighting, different ways to win.”
There were also different ways to lose.
Eight hours later, Marcy sat in the ambulance outside the fight venue and wondered how she could have deceived herself to such an extent she’d deceived Reid, too. The fight had been a disaster. Just as Jax had predicted, she’d been paired up with a submission expert. She’d had to change her fight strategy on the fly when she realized her opponent was determined to get her down on the mat. Instead of taking the offensive as she usually did, relying on her strength as a striker, she was forced to defend from body slams and takedowns, backing into the ropes to avoid being drawn into a grappling match. And when she’d finally slipped up and her opponent had locked her in a quick kimura submission, she’d felt the familiar warning rush of confusion that always preceded the darkness. But this time, knowing what would happen next, powerless to stop it, she’d tapped out moments before she’d lost consciousness.
Of course, Reid hadn’t been pleased. He’d been even less pleased when the ring doctor insisted Marcy get checked over by the paramedics in case she’d left it too late. And after she’d received the all clear, he wouldn’t speak to her when she asked him to drop her at the after-party at Two Step’s house instead of taking her home.
But Reid didn’t understand. If she went home, she’d spend the night rehashing the fight in her mind, wondering what would have happened if she’d refused to be intimate with Jax until her professional issue was resolved. Could he have helped her? Even if he’d managed to do so, there was no guarantee she would have had a spot in the state championships. She’d needed this fight. But she’d needed to win. Now her record was tarnished, Reid would never support her in another event until the issue was resolved, and she was back to being alone and worried that she wasn’t cut out to be a fighter.
All in all, a bad decision. Just like Jax had said.
* * *
“Hey, baby girl, need another drink?”
Marcy took the proffered beer bottle from Two Step and joined Val on the barstools at his kitchen island. “Great party,” she shouted over the not-so-dulcet tones of Stereoliner. “But, as always, you invited too many people. I could barely get through your living room.”
Two Step laughed. “That’s what makes it a great party. And I’m expecting another wave of people now that Club Excelsior is closed for the night. Reid said he would round up any stragglers and bring them over.”
“No doubt I’ll know them all, and the ones who aren’t already hooked up will be gay or on the rebound,” Val muttered. “Seriously. I work at a sporting goods store owned by a bunch of hot fighters, and can I get some of that sugar? No. I’m stuck with accountants, middle managers, and paper pushers. If Reid doesn’t have a decent straggler for me, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”
Marcy grimaced. Reid was the last person she wanted to see, and when she’d heard he was coming to the party, she’d almost bailed until Val promised to keep her distracted with an endless supply of chili lime margaritas. So far so bad. Val hadn’t stopped talking about hot fighters since she’d walked in the door, and the only alcohol on offer had been the one drink she couldn’t stand, beer.
“You’d better get started on your margaritas.” Marcy gestured to the blender. “Reid can be a tad intimidating, but not as much as me when deprived of my promised distraction.”
“Heard you got dragged out to the ambulance. Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking,” Two Step said as Val slid off the seat and headed for the blender.
Marcy’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine. They said I was fine. And if ever there was a night I needed a drink, this is it. Jax was right. I shouldn’t have gone out there. Good thing he took off so I didn’t have to face him.” She took a sip from the beer bottle and cringed as the warm, bitter liquid slid over her tongue.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.” She took another sip and shuddered. How did people drink this stuff?
Two Step lifted an eyebrow. “I meant you and Jax.”
She snorted. “There was no me and Jax. That was something that ended before it began.”
“Sorry. Got confused the way you two were rolling around on the mats…”
“Training,” Marcy cut him off with a glare. “We were training.”
Two Step laughed. “Yeah. Training. If I had a girl who looked like you lying on top of me for hours every night, I’d tell her she needed more training, too.”
Marcy’s breath left her in a rush. “You don’t think…”
“Don’t ask me.” Two Step gestured toward the door. “Ask him.”
Marcy didn’t need to turn around. She sensed Jax behind her, felt his heat. But even if she hadn’t been so attuned to his presence, Val’s wide eyes and raised eyebrows would have given the game away.
“Hey, Jax. How’s that cup working out for you?” Val’s lips quivered with a repressed smile, and Marcy mentally crossed Val off her Christmas lists for the next ten years.
“Perfect.” His voice rolled over Marcy, deep and warm, bringing back memories of their night in the gym. She pushed away thoughts of that voice in her ear, filling her mind wit
h deeply erotic images of the things he wanted to do to her body. Instead, she focused on Val smirking across the counter, Two Step’s blank expression, the steady drip of the faucet, and the gentle rattle of bottles on the counter as the heavy bass of Slayer pounded through Two Step’s house.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Marcy picked at the label on the beer bottle while Two Step and Val exchanged a glance. Sure, she was being rude, but she had every right to be. Didn’t she?
“I saw the fight,” Jax said.
“So you came to hear me say you were right?” She stared straight ahead. Afraid to turn around. Afraid to meet his gaze. Afraid the sight of him would make two weeks seem like two minutes and she’d want him all over again.
“No. I came to speak to you about something else. Come. We’ll go for a walk.”
Marcy stiffened at Jax’s commanding tone. Did he really think she’d go anywhere with him after he’d walked away without a good-bye?
“I’m busy right now.”
“Marcy…”
“Busy.”
“Actually, we’re not that busy,” Val said, a smile curling her evil lips. “I was just about to whip up a pitcher of margaritas, and Two Step was about to do a walk-around with that case of swill he passes off as beer.” She dropped her gaze to a furious Marcy. “Maybe you should go talk to him. He’s looking kinda down. Not the cheerful cup-buying Jax we saw in the store.”
Kill you, Marcy mouthed at Val before turning around and glaring at Jax. “No walk. Just talk. You have five minutes.”
He gave her a curt nod and followed her out to the balcony, closing the glass door behind them. A cool breeze ruffled Marcy’s hair, bringing with it the faint kiss of the ocean and memories of happier times. Family times. She hugged herself against the chill and longing for the sister she hadn’t spoken to in years.
Jax’s brow creased in a frown. “Cold?”
“We’re only here for five minutes. I’ll survive.”
“You don’t have to just survive.” He shrugged off his jacket, and before she could protest, he had wrapped it around her. Marcy steeled herself as the residual warmth of his body seeped into her skin. No way would one chivalrous gesture undo the damage he’d done. She gave him a begrudging thanks and then shrugged. “Say what you have to say, Jax. I was having a good time until you showed up.”
He raked his hand through his hair and sighed. “I was an ass.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I don’t do this.” He swallowed and gripped the railing. “I don’t usually get involved. I move so frequently it’s difficult to sustain any kind of relationship.”
Marcy shivered despite the warmth of his jacket. “Is that really it, or do you move to avoid getting involved?”
“Maybe a bit of both.” He moved closer to her. So close she was surrounded by his scent, warm and rich, sensual. Her defenses began to crumble, and she was almost overwhelmed with the desire to wrap herself around him and hold him tight. Hold him here.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you before the event. You needed me, and I wasn’t there for you. I don’t know if I could have made a difference, but I could have tried. We all have different ways of dealing with challenges. Running away is mine.” He cupped her jaw in his warm palm, and every cell in her body heated, locking her in place even though part of her knew the best—safest—thing to do would be to walk away.
“But I came back this time. I was there for your whole fight. I was kicking myself the whole time I was cheering you on.”
“You grovel well.” She leaned into his touch, and he stroked his thumb over her cheek.
“I want you, Marcy.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “Like I’ve never wanted anyone else before. I fucking ache with wanting you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She tried to keep her tone light, cool, detached, but her words came out in a breathy whisper, betraying her desire.
“I tried.” He pulled her against him and bent down to brush his lips over her cheek. Marcy sighed, and he caught her breath in a searing kiss, parting her lips with his tongue to ravage her mouth, hot and demanding.
Marcy pulled away, breaking their kiss. “Not hard enough.”
He clasped her hand and skimmed it down his body to the bulge in his jeans. “Definitely hard enough.”
She laughed. “And here I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“Tell me.” Marcy pressed her hand against his erection and felt him harden under her touch. “Tell me something about you. Maybe if I knew you better, it would be easier to forgive you.”
His voice dropped, husky and low. “I was the bad kid in school until my mother enrolled me in a kid-friendly MMA class at a local gym. I found a focus for my aggression and a hidden talent for beating up local bullies.”
“Hmm. I like the idea of bad-ass Jax.” She stroked along his rigid length, moist heat flooding her sex as she imagined his thick cock inside her. “Especially because I was a bit of a rebel, too, except I was more of the head-banging, death metal, fuck-the-world kind. Tell me something else. Did you want to grow up to be a pro fighter?” She tugged open his fly, releasing his shaft, and then wrapped her hand around him. Jax groaned.
“Marcy … not here.”
With a wicked smile, she gave his cock a long, slow stroke, admiring the contrast of velvety softness over hard steel. “I’m waiting.”
His ragged exhalation tickled her cheek, and he grasped her shoulders as if to steady himself. “I enjoyed fighting, but I’d always been interested in psychology and helping people deal with problems. I had to give up that dream when my mom became ill. She didn’t have any insurance, and fighting was the quickest and easiest way to make money to cover her medical bills. And I was good at it. In the end, though, the money bought her a few years but not a cure.”
Marcy’s heart squeezed, and she quickly pulled away. “Oh, Jax…”
He covered her hand with his own and threaded his fingers through hers. “I need you. But not just like this. I want more. All of you, or at least as much as you’re willing to give. Submit to me.”
Wet, needy, burning with desire, she whispered, “Yes.”
* * *
Countdown to crazy hot sex.
Ten minutes of chit chat before socially acceptable to leave Two Step’s party without appearing: a) desperate; b) obvious; or c) horny.
Two minutes of driving before Jax demanded she remove her panties.
Three seconds to remove said panties.
Four miles of sheer terror mixed with dripping desire as Jax slid the fingers of one hand deep into her pussy while attempting to steer his car with the other.
Five flicks of Jax’s thumb over her throbbing clit as she ground against his hand and begged for release.
Six refusals dropping from Jax’s lips.
Seven curse words dropping from hers.
Eight floors to travel in the elevator between the parking garage and his hotel room.
Nine minutes before the building manager asked through the intercom why the elevator had stopped.
Ten fingers sliding under her shirt, unfastening her bra, cupping her breasts, and pinching her nipples until she moaned.
Eleven steps from the elevator to Jax’s door.
Twelve long seconds of waiting while Jax fumbled with his keys.
And then the door opened.
Before she could blink, Jax had her up against the wall, his hand on her sternum, his thick thigh rough between her legs. The door shut behind them with a bang, and then his mouth was on hers, his tongue delving deep before he tugged her T-shirt and bra up and over her head to reveal her breasts, already freed from their restraint in the elevator.
“Stop.” She drew in a ragged breath, then scored her fingernails down his shirt until she reached the hem. “What about yours?”
“Can’t wait.” With a sharp yank on her ponytail, he jerked her head back,
exposing her neck to the heated slide of his lips. Then he latched on to her left breast, drawing her nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping until she was writhing against him.
“Need to touch you, Jax.” She tugged at his belt, her little finger skimming over the steel of his erection beneath his fly.
With an irritated growl, he grasped her hand and tugged it away. “You don’t touch unless I say you can. Especially now. I won’t last if you wrap that sweet hand around me again.”
“What about if I do this?” She ground her hips against his jean-covered shaft, smiling when his cock hardened between them.
“My little fighter’s being a naughty girl.” His eyes gleamed in the dim light. “How should I punish her this time?”
Marcy stilled, scarcely dared to breathe, as he pulled yet another fantasy from the darkest recesses of her mind. “I thought you said you couldn’t wait. No time for punishing naughty girls.”
“Changed my mind. Turn around.” He spun her to face the wall. “Skirt off, then hands on the wall. Legs spread. I know exactly how we’ll keep you in line.”
His feet thudded over the carpet as he walked across the room, decorated in ultra modern white and more white. From the bedding to the curtains and from the carpet to the furniture, not a smidgen of color marred any surface, like an untouched canvas, a snow-swept montage.
Marcy slid her skirt down over her hips, kicking it off her ankles and toward the front door. Then she took up her position. For the first time ever, she felt totally and utterly vulnerable, exposed. But, curiously, not ashamed.
Moments later, Jax returned. She sensed him behind her, although she hadn’t heard his footsteps. He glided his palm around her waist, pulling her against the bare expanse of his rock-hard chest. Anticipation ratcheted through her, and she trembled.
“Do you want to play, Marcy?” he murmured. “We haven’t discussed limits, but I would love to see how you respond to a belt or a flogger.”
“God, yes.” She turned her head and kissed his cheek, shivering when his five o’clock shadow scraped against her heated skin.
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