“I don’t think you’re like him.” It took everything he had not to push up out of his chair and pull her into his arms, the need to comfort her vibrating through him. Comfort her and convince her that she didn’t have to hold herself hostage to her parents’ mistakes. The fact that she couldn’t see that ate at him.
She shrugged. “The apple never falls far from the tree.” Fresh guilt flashed in her eyes, but she kept talking. “I wanted to clear the air because we’re working together, and the way I left wasn’t right. And even more than that, I like you, Nick. I’d really like for us to be friends.”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and let out a heavy sigh, weighing his words before he spoke. “I think you know I want a hell of a lot more than friendship, Jules. I’d be lying if I didn’t make that clear.” He sighed. “But I’ll try.”
11
It had been two days since their talk and she was nervous about seeing Nick again. Jules had thought that talking to him would give her closure on their time in Chicago. But all it had done was bring to light the little things she liked about him. Only after their talk had she realized that a part of her had hoped he’d argue with her, or vent his anger at her. Do anything aside from being understanding and kind. Anything to make it easier to not miss him.
But that wasn’t Nick. He was sweet and warm—and sexy as hell. She stood in a back hallway off the gym watching him work out through a wall of windows. The walls were mirrored so that the fighters could watch their form as they trained, and this side . . . well, she didn’t know why her dad had installed two-way mirrors. It was a little creepy, but right now they were serving her well.
The muscles in Nick’s back and shoulders shimmered under a layer of sweat, bunching and flexing as he hit the bag in front of him. It shuddered on its chain and swung backward as he brought his left fist around to hit it again in a rhythm that held her mesmerized. He grimaced with the impact, his features fierce as he focused. She remembered when he’d been that focused on her pleasure. All that male energy centered entirely on her.
Her phone buzzed in her hand and she looked down to see a meeting reminder pop up on her screen. Fifteen minutes. Great. She’d spent five minutes drooling over Nick when her workday was packed. Shaking her head, Jules jerked open the heavy door and stepped into the gym. It smelled like leather, sweat, and plastic. Fast-paced music beat through the speakers, punctuated occasionally by male grunts and shouts as the guys worked out.
“Hey, Giannakis.” She grimaced at her own lame attempt to keep things casual. She had no idea what she was doing. Luckily, he hadn’t heard her and kept punching away at the bag. As she moved closer, she could hear the soft grunts of his breath with each impact, and something about the timbre of that sound made her blush. Walking around to the other side of the bag, she caught his eye and waved. His mask of concentration broke and he smiled as if he was genuinely glad to see her. She realized then that she’d miss him every day of her life.
“Sorry to bother you. Do you have a minute?”
He nodded and stepped off the mat to grab his bottle of water. “Sure.” He was breathing hard as he took a big swallow.
“There’s been a cancellation on Tim Colson’s show. They want to know if you can come on tonight.” She’d tried to book Nick on all of the sports shows so he could talk about the tournament and the WFC, but most of them had turned her down because they were all booked up for the next several months. Tim Colson was an NFL legend from the nineties who hosted a well-respected radio talk show. She’d been thrilled when they’d called.
“Tim Colson?” he asked, his eyes wide in surprise.
“You’ll have a ten-minute question-and-answer segment.”
“Tim Colson,” he said, his expression awestruck, and she realized what a big moment this was for him. “I grew up watching him.”
“So that’s a yes?” She smiled, feeling more relaxed as his face lit up. She moved forward and placed her hand on the leather bag, leaning against it as she watched him.
“Hell yeah, that’s a yes.” But he shook his head. “I don’t even know what to talk about.”
“They’re planning to talk a little bit about your career . . . what led you into MMA and how long you’ve been doing it. The rest of the time you’ll talk about the WFC and the tournament.”
He nodded and took another swallow of water. It occurred to her then that she didn’t know the answers to those questions about him and she very much wanted to. Had he grown up in the sport? Had he always wanted to be a champion? She’d been too busy avoiding anything personal in Chicago to ask. “Nick? Why did you get into MMA?”
He stared at her for a second, his gaze sweeping over her face in a way that was more personal than professional. It made butterflies flutter in her belly. “I started back in college. Alex started training and I tagged along.” He leaned a shoulder against the other side of the bag as he took another swig of water. She could smell him now. His sweat and his soap all mixed together in a way that had her muscles clenching. “Found out I was good at it, so pretty soon I started training seriously. I did all right in college, but it was never my thing. Changed my major three times and could never find anything that stuck. I’d always assumed that I’d take over my parents’ restaurant, but Alex was better at running it than I was. It was home, but it wasn’t me.”
“So MMA is your thing?”
He nodded, a lazy smile on his face as he watched her. “It helped me focus my energy to get through college. It’s gotten me this far.”
“You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself.”
“What about you?” His eyes became more serious and she sensed a subtle shift in the conversation. He was interested in her. Her instinct was to shut the conversation down and run away, but they were friends now. Friends talked to each other. “Have you found what you want for yourself?”
No, she hadn’t. She’d been too busy running from the things she didn’t want to focus on the things she did. That realization surprised her. It had come from nowhere, but she couldn’t deny how true it was. “No, but I’m trying to figure out what that is.”
He seemed stunned by the honesty. He paused before a gentle smile broke across his face. His gaze dipped down to touch her mouth before coming back up to settle on hers. “You’ll find it, Jules.”
“Giannakis. You’re up.” They both turned to see Omar Zahiri, one of Nick’s WFC-assigned trainers, standing outside a cage, suited up in sparring gear.
“On my way,” Nick called back. “I have to go,” he said when he looked back at her.
She nodded. “The show is on the East Coast, so your spot is at seven twenty tonight. I’ll email you the information with talking points.”
“Thanks.” Then he turned and followed Omar into the cage.
She hurried off to her meeting, afraid that if she stayed she’d get pulled into watching him again. She couldn’t get his question out of her head.
Have you found what you want for yourself?
She hadn’t been honest at all. Not really. Yes, she’d found what she wanted. She’d found Nick. The problem was she was too afraid to take him and make him hers.
Nick was in agony.
Two weeks. Two long, hard—emphasis on the hard—weeks since they’d agreed to be friends. Two weeks of seeing Jules on a pretty much daily basis and not being able to touch her, kiss her, or say any of the hundreds of things he wanted to say to her, and he was about to punch a hole through a wall.
He’d promised her he’d give their friendship a try, but it really wasn’t working for him. Every time she laughed, every time he caught that lavender scent from her skin, every time he fucking looked at her, he wanted her. She’d come back to life, but was holding herself just out of reach. Ever since she’d explained her reasons—her bullshit reasons—why they couldn’t be together, she’d been more relaxed around him, and now he was
faced with the Jules he’d fallen in love with every day. Her sly humor, her warm kindness, her quick intelligence. His self-control was like a rope, and every second he spent around her was like a saw, fraying him strand by strand.
Two weeks of pushing his body to exhaustion in the gym, of cold showers, of jacking off like a fifteen-year-old.
Two weeks, and he was still working through his anger. Pissed at her and wanting her, all at the same time.
He raised his fist and rapped his knuckles on the open door of her office. She looked up from the folder open on her desk, her blond hair falling around her face. His heart kicked in his chest, tension coiling low in his gut.
“Hey,” he said, stepping into her office. “I saw your email. What’s up?”
She stood and smiled, warmth radiating out at him from those gorgeous blue eyes. “We got the final proofs for the campaign.” She tipped her head at the folder. “I wanted to show you.”
Craig Darcy’s voice erupted from down the hall as he shouted at someone either in person or on the phone. Jules gave a small sigh and rolled her eyes. “Would you mind closing the door?” With a nod, Nick closed it gently behind him.
“So my ugly mug didn’t wreck your campaign?” he asked as he walked over to her desk. Her office was elegant, just like her, with a sleek cherry-wood desk and white leather desk chair. Two gray armless chairs sat facing the desk, sitting on top of the gray-and-white rug. Her desk was a bit messy, but the rest of the office was neat and tidy.
She laughed and shook her head. “We both know your mug is far from ugly. Come take a look.” She spread out the photos and he circled around behind the desk, coming to a stop next to her. She wore a dark blue blouse and a light brown pleated skirt that skimmed her hips and ass, framing her feminine curves. His palms tingled with the urge to slide his hands over her, pull her against him, bury his face in her neck, and tell her all the dirty things he wanted to do to her. Instead he folded his arms over his chest, digging the tips of his fingers into his skin.
He dragged his attention to the photos, and he could see why she was pleased. They were really good. Intense, moody, exciting. Dramatic while emphasizing the competitive athleticism of the sport. A surge of pride burned its way through his chest. She’d been in her element at the photo shoot, confident and creative, and the results of her hard work were right here in front of him. She’d done this, his Jules. She’d taken an idea and brought it to life.
She leaned closer, her arm brushing his as she pointed at one directly in front of him. “This one’s my favorite, I think.” It was a black-and-white action shot of Nick punching the bag. The look on his face was pure determination, the muscles in his body lean and flexing, his hair flying out behind him.
“It’s really good,” he said, nodding in agreement.
She glanced up at him, and her smile faltered. Reaching out, she traced her fingers over his cheek. “What happened?”
He sucked in a small breath, caught off guard at the sudden feel of her fingers on his skin. His cock twitched in his jeans, and he clenched his jaw.
He stared at her mouth, at those gorgeous lips, the bottom one fuller than the top. Her fingers moved over his cheek again, and he swallowed. “What?”
“You have a bruise here, over your cheekbone. It looks painful.”
“Training. It was an accident.”
She frowned slightly, biting her lip, and he almost groaned. Staring at her mouth, he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her. Feeling those lips all over his body as she tasted his skin. Wrapped them around his cock. His heart throbbed in his chest.
Her eyes filled with emotion that he couldn’t read. “Does it hurt?”
He took a deep breath, pulling in her warm lavender scent. His entire body tightened, and his gaze dropped back down to those gorgeous lips. “I don’t know. Not what I’m focused on right now.” It was the most honest thing he’d said to her in two weeks, and fuck, it felt good.
She sucked in a breath, but didn’t take her hand away from his face. Something in the air shifted, like a pressure drop before a storm. When he met her eyes again, they’d changed. Intense heat shone out at him, and the wall she’d kept carefully in place was gone.
In that moment, all she wanted to do was kiss him. It felt like the most natural thing to do. As natural as her concern when she’d noticed the bruise on his cheekbone. Nick was hers. When he looked at her like she was the only person he saw, no barrier she put between them could contain all the want and need trying to claw its way out of her. So she stopped thinking, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his.
His lips were soft against hers, and they parted eagerly. The brush of his tongue against hers sent an electric current through her entire body before it settled between her thighs. At the sensation, she jerked back from the kiss, conscious for the first time that she’d crossed the line. He exhaled in disappointment, a harsh, masculine sound that tugged the cord of need where she already ached for him.
She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, expecting to find frustration and anger, or maybe even confusion, but what she saw was so much more potent. Mixed in with the lust and a need that matched her own was hope. It was naked and untarnished by any of the horrible things she’d said and done to him. Somehow this beautiful, perfect man still wanted her. He still looked at her and saw something worth having. That alone was enough to crumble any resistance she had left.
“I need to touch you.” His voice was soft, textured with longing, and his gaze was hot enough to burn.
“Oh God, Nick,” she whispered as she leaned forward. Her hand, which had stubbornly refused to give up touching him, moved from his cheek to slide back into his silky hair. It was just as thick as she remembered, and she tightened her fingers in it to pull him close.
His mouth closed over hers and she opened for him, desperate to have any part of him inside her. His tongue skimmed over her bottom lip, drawing a gasp from her, before pushing inside to stroke against her tongue. She grabbed on to his shoulder, her other hand clenching tight in his hair, just to keep herself from crumpling when her knees inevitably gave out. But she hadn’t needed to worry, because his strong hands went to her hips and pulled them snugly against his.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel him everywhere. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, flattening her breasts against his chest as she pressed her hips against him, needing contact, needing friction, needing something more. He groaned but didn’t stop kissing her as he moved his hips in an echo of a thrust, pushing his thick cock against her hip. Her pussy clenched in response, pulsing with the need to have him inside her to ease the ache.
“Please . . . please.” She whispered the word over and over against his lips.
He didn’t say anything as he kissed his way down her neck, his teeth scraping against her skin before soothing the rasp with his tongue. His hands moved down her hips to her thighs and then stopped, his fingertips playing against her as he gathered the fabric of her skirt in his hands, inch by slow inch. Her entire world narrowed to only him. It had been so long since he’d touched her that she couldn’t breathe, and her blood rushed through her ears as she waited. When he had the hem in his hands, he paused, and she tightened her fist in his T-shirt. His palms touched her bare thighs and then moved up under her skirt. And he just kept on going, pushing his way up under her panties, stretching the thin cotton as he filled his hands with her cheeks and squeezed. She cried out, but bit her lip to stifle the sound. His palms were like a brand, claiming her as his.
“Shh.” The sound rasped over the shell of her ear, the heat prickling her skin and making her whole body tighten. “The door isn’t locked. Do you want me to stop?” His hands didn’t move. But his teeth scraped her earlobe, biting down just hard enough to make her tremble.
Her nipples tightened even more against his muscled chest, and she knew her panties were soaked. Her entire bod
y throbbed for him; if he stopped now she’d die. Even the threat of being caught couldn’t inhibit her need. In fact, it intensified everything. A tendril of excitement unfurled in her belly, edging her on, giving her the courage to take what she wanted. Just once more, then she’d be strong again and— Fuck. She didn’t know, but she didn’t want to think about it. She wanted him now.
“Don’t stop.” She barely recognized her voice, it was so breathy and raw.
He smiled against her neck, and she could feel the press of his stubbled cheek against her skin. He moved a hand between their bodies. His fingers traced down her slit, stroking her through her panties. She closed her eyes, trying and failing to control the shudder that moved through her.
“You’re so wet, baby.” His voice was husky with need. As he pressed the fabric against her, she could feel that it was soaked. He wedged a thigh between hers, opening her a little further, just enough to give him room to move his fingers back and forth over her slit. He dipped a fingertip slightly inside her. She pushed her hips against him, craving friction against her clit, but he kept his fingers lower, circling her entrance in slow strokes, intensifying her ache.
“I need more.” She turned her face into his neck, breathing in his smell. Citrus and spice and that intoxicating scent that was Nick. Only Nick.
She bucked against him, demanding more, and he relented, slipping his fingers beneath her panties and sliding a few short strokes over her clit before circling around it and repeating the pattern. A wave of tenderness welled up within her that he still remembered just how she liked to be touched.
Blood roared through her body. Her nerve endings felt more alive than they had since she’d left him. An orgasm was building in her; she could feel everything inside her coiling tight. His fingers moved against her swollen clit, but she wanted him to fill her up. She let go of his hair to move her hand down his chest to reach for him. Her fingertips had barely grazed the ridge of his cock through his jeans when he grabbed her wrist to stop her.
Dirty Boxing Page 11