It wouldn’t take more than the slightest turn of her head for her mouth to find his. And maybe that’s what he was waiting for, because the tension radiated from him. Mercy, she was tempted. There was something about this man that shattered her self-control, obliterated her reasoning, turning her black-and-white world into shades of gray.
“Maybe you could stay . . .” she hedged. “Just for a little bit.”
“If I stay, I’m not going to want to leave, Clover.”
His confession warned her to tread carefully. She could sense the fraying cords of his self-control. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths, hoping to clear her mind, but only succeeded in drowning herself in his intoxicating scent. Just one kiss, that inner voice pleaded. What will it hurt? Damn her, she was so convincing.
Vi parted her lips, moistening her bottom one with the tip of her tongue as she slowly turned her head toward his cheek. The scrape of his stubble against her skin electrified her nerve endings. The dichotomy of his hard, unyielding strength against her slight frame sent her pulse ratcheting with need. He tensed, perhaps in anticipation of her kiss, holding himself stock-still—waiting. She could feel the acceleration of his breath tickling the fine hairs at her temple. Her lips grazed the slight indent of the scar on his cheek. The low groan rumbling softly in his throat emboldened her. She inched closer to his mouth and was about to make contact when the shrill ring of her landline startled her. Violet jerked away, taking a nervous step back, putting some distance between her and the gorgeous fighter who seemed to be filling her kitchen.
“I umm . . .” She cleared her throat nervously. “You should really get some ice on that cheek,” she stammered, turning toward the refrigerator and ignoring the call.
“You gonna get that?” He moved over to the kitchen table and took a seat. She could feel him watching her as she opened the freezer door and grabbed a bag of peas.
“No.”
He took the veggies from her outstretched hand and humored her by holding them against his cheek.
“If it’s important, whoever it is will leave a message.” However, she hadn’t entirely thought that one through, because a moment later, Barry’s voice filled the room.
“Come on, Violet, answer the goddamn phone.”
Oh, shit . . .
At the sound of Barry’s voice, Nikko tensed. But to his credit, he didn’t say anything. Nope, he just sat there watching her, observing her reaction.
“I know you’re home, Violet. You can’t keep avoiding me forever, you know.”
Nikko’s brow arched at the sharp bitterness of his tone. Yeah, he’d heard it, too.
“You’re going to have to talk to me sometime, and I’m running out of patience.”
That questioning arch dropped to a dark scowl as Barry’s passive-aggressive threat hung in the air.
“I have something important I need to discuss with you, so, please, just call me back.”
The line went dead, and the disconnection hummed through the answering machine for several seconds before banishing them into silence—into awkward, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me silence. Of all the times Barry could have called, he’d have to do it when Nikko was here. She wished she could tell what he was thinking, but his expression was just like the man—hard and unyielding, all hint of emotion locked down tight. So it surprised her when he spoke, breaking the straining silence. She noticed there was a little more gravel in his voice than a few minutes ago. Otherwise he seemed completely in check.
“You know what he wants to talk to you about?”
“Besides getting back together . . . ?” Vi shrugged, going for nonchalant as she dropped into the chair across from him, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t pulling it off. “I wouldn’t know, nor do I care to find out. I’m going to speak with my attorney about getting a no-contact order.”
He lowered the bag of peas, and she gestured for him to put them back on his cut. His gaze shot toward the ceiling as if there were patience to be found there, and he raised the bag back to his face. “He givin’ you a hard time, Clover?”
His concern was genuine, and the sweetness of it moved her more than she wanted to admit. Other than Pen, Vi wasn’t used to having people in her life who cared. She shrugged noncommittally. “Not really. He just calls a lot. He’s in New York. The distance makes it easier to avoid him.”
Nikko nodded in understanding. “Your parents live in New York, too?”
“Yeah, Manhattan. That’s where I grew up.”
“Only child?”
“No. I have a younger sister. But I haven’t seen her in years, though.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a freelance journalist and travels a lot. She says she’s saving the world one story at a time.” Violet laughed to soften the snark of her tone.
“I take it you two aren’t close, then?”
“We used to be, but Quinn is”—Violet struggled to find the right words to describe her sister—“challenging. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death. But she’s very . . . strong willed. When she’s on a cause she can be quite passionate and determined. She’s also reckless and has little regard for her personal safety.”
“So she’s a lot like you, then?”
“Like me?”
His remark surprised her. Nikko’s top lip quirked up in a teasing grin, revealing a glimpse of those straight white teeth.
“Yeah.” His voice dipped to a husky rasp, sending a little shiver down her spine. “Any woman who’d approach a six-foot-four, two-hundred-twenty-pound MMA fighter for sex on an airplane can’t have a whole lot of regard for personal safety herself.”
Violet felt her cheeks heating, and that flush quickly swept all the way to her toes. “In my defense, I was drunk.”
His smile grew wider, more dangerous. “You weren’t that drunk, Clover.”
“And I didn’t know you were a fighter.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Considering she’d been about to go to work for a company that held the CFA contract? “Probably not,” she confessed, feeling a little breathless at the intensity of those silver eyes staring at her.
“Maybe you’re just better at hiding your wild side than she is?”
“I know what responsibility is, and sometimes you have to grow up.”
“And your sister hasn’t?”
“No. She lives life flying by the seat of her pants, and someday it’s going to catch up with her. You mark my words.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”
“Two years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“It is. Especially when your life is falling apart and you’re going through a nasty divorce and you just need someone to be there for you and tell you it’s going to be okay.”
Nikko’s gaze held hers, that cajoling grin turning serious as he studied her for a moment. He reached across the table and took her hand, swiping his thumb over the top of her knuckles—back and forth. Tingles rushed up her arm, giving her pulse a kick start.
“It’s going to be all right, Clover.”
The energy in the air charged between them. She wasn’t going to lie, the temptation to reach out and take what he was offering wasn’t easy to resist. If she didn’t do something to break this connection that was lighting her up like a live wire, she was going to get herself in trouble. Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand out of his, mumbling, “Thanks . . .”
If he noticed her discomfort, he was great at hiding it, keeping the conversation going with more questions.
“How many years were you married?”
“Five. Barry is also a psychologist. We met in college, then reconnected again after graduation and opened a practice together.”
“Why did you get divorced?”
Now they were starting to move into some sensitive territory. Violet stood and paced the small area between the fridge and the sink. Nikko watched her from the table, waiting for her to answer. Sh
e wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about this. For someone who spent their days talking to other people about their problems and getting them to open up, it felt strange being on the other side. Perhaps with a little prompting, she could get Nikko to reciprocate if she took the first step and opened up to him a little.
Settling back into the seat across from him, she unabashedly met his stare. “I caught him in bed with his secretary,” she answered, careful to keep her voice devoid of all emotion.
Genuine surprise lit in his eyes as they roved over her in disbelief, and he muttered, “Stupid fucker . . . And now he wants you back.”
She shrugged. “I’m not interested. Barry and I are over. He’ll accept that eventually.”
The look Nikko gave her told Vi he wasn’t so sure. Time to change the subject. “What about you?” she asked. “Tell me about your parents. Do they live near here? Do you have any siblings?”
“Laughlin. It’s ninety miles south of here. My mom lives with my sister and her two kids.”
“What about your dad?”
“He died when I was eight—Desert Storm.”
“I’m sorry . . .”
“For what? Good men die every day, Violet. That’s just the way it is. Seems the better you are as a person, the larger the target karma paints on your back.”
He stated it like it was a fact of life—with total belief and acceptance.
“But you’re still here . . .”
The pain that flashed in his eyes was so bone deep she felt it rock her very soul.
“Right . . .” His sharp bark of laughter held no humor. “So then what does that say about me?”
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that life didn’t work that way. It wasn’t that cruel. But she held her tongue. Through Nikko’s eyes, this was exactly how he saw it, and he was giving her a glimpse into his world. It gave her incredible, heartbreaking insight into this enigmatic man. She had no idea what he’d been through, what he might have seen or endured at the vicious hands of war, but there was zero doubt he was suffering from a serious case of survivor’s guilt. In that moment, something powerful gripped her heart, and more than anything she wanted to help him. But the question was, would he let her?
Seeming uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken, he cast a restless glance at the door, looking like he was preparing to make an escape. She got the distinct feeling he hadn’t intended to say as much as he did, and he was regretting giving her a glimpse into his world.
“Guess the tables have been turned, huh? Instead of you trying to scare me off, I’m the one scaring you off.” He noted the irony.
She was losing him. She could see him shutting down, his walls coming up. If she didn’t do something to take the focus off him, he was going to bolt out of here like a gazelle with a hungry lion nipping at its hooves. Impulsively, she reached for his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I don’t scare that easily, Nikko, unless of course you’ve got a hole in your basement with a bucket and a bottle of lotion. That would probably do it. Though you don’t exactly strike me as a it rubs the lotion on its skin type.”
He laughed at her Silence of the Lambs joke, the tension seeming to ease from his shoulders a bit. Whether he truly found her funny or not, he seemed to at least appreciate the effort.
“You know what goes really good with those peas?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“A beer. You want one?”
“Sure.”
His disarming grin did a number on the butterflies battering around in her stomach. She stood and turned toward the fridge, grateful for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Is Laughlin where you grew up, then?” she asked, switching to a safer subject. Vi opened the fridge and bent down to retrieve two beers from the door. She could feel the heat of Nikko’s gaze on her ass and bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
“Yeah. When my father was alive, we moved around quite a bit ’cause of the military. My mother hated it. When we planted in Laughlin after he was killed, she swore she’d never move again. What about you? Must have been a big change moving from Manhattan to Vegas.”
“It was,” she said, twisting the caps off the bottles and tossing them in the garbage. “Vegas is . . . I don’t know. It’s like its own little world. Did you know gambling is illegal in New York?”
“No, I didn’t, but I know that MMA is illegal there.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. Is that what you were doing there?—fighting?”
“No, I was visiting a friend.” He took the beer she handed him and read the label, arching his brow.
“What?” she said, unable to resist laughing at the look on his face. “What’s the matter? This beer too wimpy for you? Let me guess, you’re more of a dark AmberBock kind of guy.”
“If I drink this, I’m a little worried my man card is in danger of revocation.”
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she teased, giving him a wink as she slipped into her chair and saluted him with her Bud Light Lime.
“I hope so,” he grumbled. “Between you and Kill, I’m not sure how much more of a beating my manhood can take.”
She laughed again. Man, did that feel good. “Trust me, your manhood is in no jeopardy.” She wanted to call the words back the moment those rebellious syllables escaped her lips. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Maybe he’d let it go. Maybe he’d—
“Glad you noticed, Clover.”
Nope. No such luck. He lifted the beer to his mouth and smiled around the rim before taking a long pull. Her mouth went dry as she watched his throat work, thick cords of muscle framing the bob of his Adam’s apple.
Setting the bottle down on her table, he gave her a wicked grin and said, “Let me know if you ever want me to refresh your memory.”
“You’re terrible . . .” She shook her head.
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”
“I can see that.” She took a sip of her beer and wondered if she wasn’t going to need something stronger if she had any hope of holding her own with this man. “Selfless to a fault,” she teased. “Taking one for the team . . .”
Nikko leaned back in his chair, stretching out in a lazy sprawl as his bold gaze slowly dragged over her. “Wasn’t much of a sacrifice, Clover.”
Did he have any idea how sexy he was? He must. How could he not? “Why do you call me that?”
“What?” He took another healthy chug from the bottle.
“Clover. You did it on the plane, too. Why?”
He studied her a minute, maybe trying to decide whether or not to answer. Then he said simply as if the answer was obvious, “Because you’re so rare.”
Panties—hitting the floor. Right now. That was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. Something in her chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. Emotion surged up inside her—unbidden and unwelcome—threatening to spill from her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry . . . she chanted. Nikko began to blur. Shit!
“Clover?” His brows tightened with concern. He sat straighter, leaned closer. Thank God the table was separating them, or she was pretty sure she’d be in his arms right now. “You all right?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her vision was swimming. Was she seriously going to cry over a stupid compliment? But it wasn’t stupid, and it wasn’t just a compliment. Nikko couldn’t know what she’d been through this last year or the way those words would resonate inside her—the doubt, the shame, the beating her self esteem had taken because of Barry’s betrayal. How could this gorgeous, successful fighter, who could probably have any girl he wanted, think she, Violet Summers, was rare? It was the highest compliment any man could pay a woman, and he’d done it with such guileless ease she doubted he even realized the emotional knockout punch he’d just dealt her.
“Excuse me.” She shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor as it slid back. Covering her mouth to hold back the sob threatening to t
ear from her throat, she rushed from the kitchen before she said or did anything to embarrass herself any more—or worse, jumped this man sitting in her kitchen.
What in the hell just happened? Nikko watched her retreating form, wondering what he’d said to reduce this woman to tears. Goddamn . . . He was torn between going after her and ghosting the hell out of here. The latter option was holding a lot more appeal than the first. What did he know about soothing a woman’s emotions? He’d spent his entire adult life living with a bunch of guys who were hard-core killers. Hell, he was one of those men. Firefights—no problem. Recon ambush—sign him up. But stick him in a room with a crying woman and he was out of there, waving the white flag of surrender.
Nikko drained his beer and set the empty in the sink along with the bag of peas, thinking about how now was the perfect time to make his escape. So it surprised the hell out of him when his feet made a hard right when they should have been going left. Something in his chest cramped at the sight of Violet standing there staring out the picture window.
Running their conversation through his mind, he was having trouble reconciling the woman he knew and the woman standing across the room with her back to him right now. So far, his experience with Violet led him to believe she was refreshingly pragmatic. Her levelheaded intelligence was one of the things that attracted him to her. He didn’t do female drama and wasn’t about to start now. He’d had enough of that shit with Celeste to last him a lifetime, though he sensed no ploy or manipulation in Violet.
There was something to be said about a woman who had the courage to uproot her life and move halfway across the United States to start a new life. That took a hell of a lot of strength. No doubt about it, this woman was tough. Perhaps that was why the slip in her armor had caught him so off guard.
He’d seen that fire today when she’d stood up to him, an MMA fighter twice her size, and smacked him across the face for offending her. That was the woman he knew and admired—that was his four-leaf clover. This . . . ? Well, he wasn’t sure what this was. But fuck him if he didn’t care enough to step into the living room and find out. As he approached, she reached up and hastily dried her cheeks before meeting his gaze in the reflection of the window.
Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) Page 12