Dirty Boxing

by Harper St. George

  Even though they’d only just met, he knew she was someone he wanted to know better. Just knew it, like some undeniable truth.

  She successfully sank a shot and gave a triumphant little jump, and he couldn’t help but laugh along with her. Her happiness was completely contagious, and damn, it felt good to get swept up in it.

  “Again?” he asked, and she nodded, her cheeks flushed. He racked the balls, lining them up, and she leaned her hip against the table beside him.

  “Unless you need to get back to your friend.”

  Nick glanced up and saw that Alex was completely occupied with a cute redhead. “He’s my brother, and he’ll be fine.”

  She followed his gaze and laughed. “That’s Katie. My . . . um, wingwoman.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and Nick laughed.

  “Your wingwoman, huh?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to ask you to show me how to play, and she offered to . . . help.” She cleared her throat and pushed away from the table. “I’ll break this time.”

  “Are you trying to pick me up?” he asked, and she ducked her head slightly.

  “I don’t know. Is it working?”

  He winked at her, and she blushed again. “Yeah, Jules. I’d say it’s working.”

  She lined up her shot. She tried unsuccessfully to break, the cue ball spinning weakly toward the others, and she let out a frustrated grunt. “Why can’t I break? I’m doing everything you showed me.”

  “Here.” He moved around behind her, jumping on the chance to get closer. “Line up your shot.” She bent forward, her cue in hand, and her ass pressed against his hips. The contact sent a current of electricity sparking through him, and he swallowed thickly, wrapping one hand around the end of her pool cue, the other coming down on top of her hand, which seemed to be half the size of his. “Your stroke isn’t quite right.”

  She pressed against him just slightly and he bit back a groan. “And you’re going to help me with my stroke?” She glanced up at him over her shoulder, heat sparking in her eyes, which were definitely blue. He smiled, loving the way she was playing with him. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling around her, and fuck, it felt good.

  “Mmm. It’s all about hand position.” Slipping his fingers between hers, he adjusted her grip on the cue, putting her index finger on top of it. “You want a tighter grip. Better control.”

  He took a deep breath, fighting desperately against the erection threatening to make an appearance. Her hair smelled like rosemary and mint, and he wanted to dip his head and inhale again. “Don’t move your hand,” he said, fixated on the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “Only your arm.” He took his hand from the bottom of the cue and traced his fingers down her arm, watching as her skin erupted in goose bumps at his touch. Something hot ignited deep in his gut, and he inched closer, wanting more of her.

  “Tight grip, control of the stick . . . those are the keys to a good stroke?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless.

  “Mmm-hmm. You also want to widen your stance a bit.” He edged one of his feet between hers, easing her feet apart and settling a hand on her hip. The tiniest shiver ran through her, and he smiled at the knowledge that she was just as affected by him as he was by her. “Focus on keeping the cue straight. Look at the spot on the cue ball you want to hit. Go slow at first.”

  “I should stroke slowly at first?” she asked, and he lost the battle against his erection.

  “While you’re warming up, yeah.”

  She sighed. “I’m already feeling pretty warm.”

  He dipped his head, his lips grazing her ear. “Probably because you’re the hottest fucking woman in this bar.”

  She made a soft whimpering sound before dropping the cue on the table and spinning around, her breasts pressed into his chest, his arms caging her against the table. Their eyes locked, and for a second, he couldn’t do anything but stare.

  It didn’t matter that they were in a crowded bar, surrounded by people.

  Let them watch.

  He dipped his head forward and closed his mouth over hers, a surge of satisfaction coursing through him when she sighed softly and opened for him immediately, her tongue brushing at his lower lip. Before he could deepen the kiss, she pulled away, just a fraction of an inch.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you.” She threaded her hands into his hair and skimmed her lips over his jaw. “More than kiss you, if I’m honest.”

  He kissed her again, dipping his tongue into her mouth, tasting and savoring her, drinking in the sounds she made for him. Her body was soft and warm, and he slid his hands around her waist, pulling her tight against him. Something about the way her curves pressed against him . . . she just fit. Perfectly and easily, as though this was exactly where she belonged.

  He deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking against hers in a slow rhythm, and heat flared through him, melting the cold, hard lump in his chest he hadn’t even realized was there. Her grip on his hair tightened, and she nipped at his bottom lip, soothing the tiny bite with her tongue. He groaned and somehow managed to break the kiss.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed, and he managed to make a low murmuring sound in agreement.

  “We’re not finishing this game, are we?” he asked, resting his forehead against hers. Her blue eyes were bright, and she slowly shook her head.

  “Not unless you want to.”

  “Let me show you what I want to do.” He pulled away and threaded his fingers through hers, leading her through the crowd and toward the hallway at the back of the bar that led to the kitchen and the bathrooms. Normally he had so much control, but something about the feel of Jules’ mouth on his had broken him open.

  They rounded the corner into the empty hallway and he pressed her back against the wall, his mouth crashing into hers in a hungry, demanding kiss. “How is it possible that you feel so damn good?” he asked, his voice a low growl against her mouth.

  She rocked her hips into him and moaned softly. “I was just wondering the same thing. It’s like . . .” Her voice faltered as he dragged his lips up her neck. “It’s like you touched me and I . . . Oh fuck,” she whispered when he scraped his teeth over her earlobe. “I want you so much.”

  He kissed her again, hard and deep, not caring when someone walked by and cleared his throat. All he cared about was the sexual chemistry sparking between him and this woman who made him feel like liquid gold. She traced her hands up his chest, and he basked in her touch, shivering heat spreading over his skin.

  Fuck sexual chemistry. This was an explosion, waiting to happen.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said, tracing a hand up her ribs and along the outer curve of her breast, wanting to hear her say it. She took a shuddering breath, her eyes closed. When they opened, they were bright with lust, and they held his as she spoke.

  “I want you to take me home and fuck me senseless.”

  Yes. The single syllable charged through him, anticipation curling over him, hot and tight.

  “Get your coat. I’ll get a cab.”

  4

  Chicago—Three Weeks Later

  Jules ran her fingers over the front of her hair, hoping to tame any flyaways as she smoothed it down. She knew it was fine, though, because she’d checked it in the cab on the way over. Nick just had a way of making her nervous in the very best way. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, which scared the hell out of her. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t let this become anything more than fun, but here she was rushing over to his place right after work, anxious because this would be their last weekend together.

  Just thinking about going home to Boston and not seeing him anymore made her breath catch. Her clients had a big meeting with their potential investors Monday morning and she’d promised to stay through that, but her flight home was already booked for Monday afternoon. Their time together was coming to
an end, and she wanted to spend every free minute she had with him. She hadn’t even taken the time to go to her hotel after work to pick up a change of clothes, but if this weekend was anything like the last one, she wouldn’t need them. Knocking on the heavy, metal door, she found herself smiling when he called, “It’s open.” The sound of his voice caused a pleasant warmth to begin between her thighs.

  Pulling the loft’s door open, she stepped through and latched it before turning to face him. He was in the kitchen, which was tucked into the corner of the spacious room, steam rising from the shrimp he’d just dumped into the wok in front of him. A breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, so she could only see him from the waist up. His broad shoulders stretched the limits of an old T-shirt he’d thrown an apron over. He looked up briefly, his thick hair falling over his forehead as he gave her a lopsided grin that took her breath away. God, he was gorgeous.

  She waited a moment for the sizzling to die down before she teased him. “Aren’t you worried about the murderers and rapists roaming the city? You should lock your door.”

  “Nah, I can handle them.” He tossed the shrimp and returned the wok to the heat, but he didn’t look back up at her.

  It was small and probably insignificant, but she couldn’t help her growing sense of uncertainty. She’d spent the past few days trying to convince herself that it wouldn’t hurt to go back home, to leave him. Trying, and failing.

  She didn’t want their last weekend to be strained, so she forced a smile and told herself that she was being silly. “It smells delicious. I didn’t know you cooked.” Walking to the breakfast bar, she dropped her purse on a barstool and leaned against the counter.

  “I made you breakfast,” he reminded her, his dark gaze caressing her face before meeting her eyes and making her breath catch.

  Last Sunday morning. She’d awakened to faint sunlight streaming across the foot of the bed, bouncing off the exposed brick walls of his bedroom. His hands had been on her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples. “Good morning,” he’d whispered against her neck as he’d pushed his hips forward against her, his cock rising up hard against her ass. That’s all it had taken to make her throb for him. He’d slid her thigh over his and they’d made love for what had to be approaching the tenth time that weekend. When she woke up again, he had brought her breakfast in bed, a spinach omelet with bacon.

  “Yeah . . . you did.” She smiled at the memory, and he grinned as if he knew how the simple reminder made her ache before looking back down at the wok.

  “My parents are great cooks. Taught me everything I know. It’s tough to cook for one, though, so I don’t do it much.”

  “That’s right, you mentioned they own a restaurant. Greek, right?”

  “You do remember. And here I thought you only wanted me for my body.” He winked.

  As she watched him slide the cooked shrimp into their bowls of angel-hair pasta, her stomach churned with a sudden pang of guilt. She did want him, and for far more than his body. He was funny, and kind, and smart, and sometimes so intuitive about how she was feeling it scared her. He was perfect. Too perfect, and that was what was so fucking terrifying. He made her want to forget her no-relationship rule and everything she had promised herself to keep her heart safe.

  She couldn’t afford to let her time with Nick be anything more than fun, and she’d thought he felt the same way. Except over the past week he’d given her the impression that he was hoping for more, and she was so stupid and heartless that she hadn’t said anything to convince him otherwise.

  But they didn’t have a future. He had a family, a full life that she had no business wanting to be a part of. After her parents’ horrible marriage and divorce, she had no illusions about that sort of life for herself, so she made a point of never letting herself get in deep with anyone. Ever. It wasn’t worth the pain in the end.

  She had a career and stability, and she’d worked hard to get it after a childhood that had been anything but stable. She wouldn’t give it up and lose herself in someone. She was afraid she wouldn’t survive the devastation. Just the thought of the last time her mother had called her, strung out on vodka and pills, was enough to snap her out of her foolish fantasy of having anything more than a fling with Nick.

  He untied his apron and flung it on the counter as he walked toward her. God, she got lost in his eyes every time she let them catch hers. They were so warm and deep that they melted her.

  “Come here.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her against him. “I’ve been wanting to do this since you walked in.” His mouth crushed hers and she opened for him, craving the taste of him. Her hands ran up his arms to his shoulders, loving how solid and hard they were beneath her palms, before her fingers settled in the thick, short hair at the back of his head. As his tongue stroked hers, his hands moved down her hips to the hem of her short skirt, nudging it up as they moved up her bare thighs. He stopped when he came to the crease where her ass met her thighs, his fingers pushing up just underneath the lace of her panties, stroking the sensitive skin there. She immediately began to throb for him, and groaned softly when he pulled away just enough to take a breath.

  “I know, baby.” His voice was husky with need, and her whole body tightened in response. “But we need to eat. You’ll need your energy for what I have planned tonight.”

  “Can’t we do this first?” She pressed into him, his cock already hard against her belly.

  “Anticipation.” He kissed her nose and pinched her ass, his grin devilish as he stepped away to grab their bowls. “Grab the salad. I’ll get the wine.”

  Deciding to just go with whatever he had planned and not let her thoughts ruin it, she shrugged out of her suit jacket and left it with her purse before grabbing the wooden bowl with the tossed salad and taking it to the table. “It smells delicious, but I’m surprised you cooked pasta. I thought athletes avoided carbs.”

  He laughed as he pulled out the wine’s cork, but it seemed strained. “I like to live dangerously.” He took the seat across from her and poured the wine, but he didn’t look at her again, not even when he offered her the grated Parmesan. He seemed pensive as he sprinkled the cheese on her pasta.

  “Thank you for cooking. No one’s ever done this for me before.”

  That made him look up. “Really? No one?”

  She shook her head and stabbed a tender shrimp with her fork. “I told you, I don’t date much. When I do, we just go out.”

  He broke her gaze and looked down at his food, taking in a deep breath. Her stomach clenched, but she ignored it and ate. The food was delicious, perfectly cooked and seasoned. Why couldn’t she just enjoy this night with him instead of feeling like her doom was just around the corner? Not everything had to end badly.

  He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw and glanced back up at her, as if he wanted to say something. “Jules, I—”

  “God, this is so good.” They both started at the same time.

  “Thanks.” He wound some pasta around his fork, but paused before lifting it.

  Her heart jumped up to her throat, because when he looked at her again, his heart was in his eyes. Fuck.

  “Jules, I know you leave on Monday.”

  Please, no. No, Nick, please don’t do this. Please let us have this last weekend.

  She wanted to say something to stop the horrible thing she knew was about to happen, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, not even when her fork fell out of her fingers and clattered back to the bowl.

  “The past few weeks with you—well, they’ve been great. I’m pretty sure you feel the same.” He kept his gaze locked on hers and pressed on as if he didn’t want to give her time to interrupt, as if he was uncertain of what she might say. He had every reason to be uncertain, because she’d never given him any indication that she wanted more. “And I don’t want this weekend to be our last. I wanna find out where
this is going.”

  “Oh, Nick.” She finally got that out, but had to swallow around the lump in her throat to try to force out something more. He jumped in before she got the chance.

  “I know. I know long-distance relationships are shit, but I think we have a shot. I’ve already looked into gyms in Boston. My friend trains there, and—”

  Relationship? “Oh, God, Nick.”

  His brow furrowed as the hopeful look in his eyes shifted to wariness. “Don’t worry, I’d stay with him. But I could go there a few days every other week or something, and you could come here some weekends.”

  Oh, God. The words echoed in her head, but it was only after Nick stopped talking that she realized she was whispering them over and over again. Shaking her head, she forced herself to stop and pushed to her feet. “I . . . have to go.”

  “Jules?” He rose when she did, brows raised in surprise. “What do you mean, go? What’s wrong? I thought—”

  She cut him off. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much. I never meant for this to happen.” She walked backward, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug as she grabbed for her jacket and purse. “But this—us—we can’t happen. This was a fling. It can’t be more. I don’t do relationships.” She fled toward the door, but when she reached for the handle, he beat her to it, holding it closed with one big hand.

  “What the fuck, Jules? I’m not saying I want us to move in together. I just want to keep seeing you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, and the heat from his body warmed her back as his scent enveloped her. “I’m sorry, Nick. That can’t happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  He didn’t say anything for a minute, but his gaze on the back of her head weighed her down, and his hand didn’t move from the handle. “Turn around and tell me that.”