Out for the Count

by Michele Mannon

“I’ll let you know if you win.”

  “No.”

  His eyebrows rose quickly. “No?”

  “You heard me. A deal’s a deal. I want to know if it’ll be worth it.”

  “Oh, it’ll be worth it, Creampuff.”

  All it took was that one word. Thoughts of kissing him shifted to the sudden desire to nail him in the head with her elbow. The arrogant jerk was going down. Humble pie, that’s what was on today’s menu. She’d do whatever it took to beat his ass. “The only dish you’re getting out of me is my victory handed to you on a silver platter.”

  “Let’s loosen a tire for you.”

  Her cheeks reddened, but not from embarrassment. “Ready? Go!” she hollered, and sprinted toward the pile. A quick glance over her shoulder renewed her determination to kick ass. The arrogant man was still standing there, watching her, and laughing.

  Ignoring him, she thrust her hip into the second tire from the bottom. The tower shifted. Perfect. If her calculations were correct, the force of her body might just be greater than the stack’s weight and enough for the tire on top to fall forward but avoid hitting her. Momentum, that should do the trick.

  Jogging a good distance away, and ignoring how he was carefully watching her every move, she counted to three, then took off running. Opening her arms, she threw her entire body weight against the tower at mid-level. It gave and toppled forward, taking her along with it. Tires rained down, and she covered her head, just in case her calculations were wrong.

  They weren’t.

  She heard Bracken cursing a blue streak, but whatever his problem was, she left it—and him—in the dust. Jumping to her feet, she struggled with the tire closest to the mountain base until she finally managed to upend it. With a mighty push, she sent it rolling forward.

  “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” she yelled, and sprinted off, the sound of his laughter spurring her on.

  Halfway up the mountain, her arms turned to jelly. Still, she was well ahead of Bracken, who was hidden behind his tire and from the looks of things, seemed to be walking up the mountainside.

  Digging deep within, she picked up the pace, pushing the tire and having it roll back, pushing it again, it rolling back, and over and over and over.

  Three quarters of the way, he crept up on her side. But unlike her brothers, who were fond of tormenting her, he kept quiet. For a brief second, their gazes locked. Hers full of fierce determination. His full of...admiration? Or something close to it—he seemed pleased.

  Good. Maybe he realizes he’d underestimated me.

  Close to the top, the steep climb leveled off. Sucking in a huge, hell-bent breath, she forced her legs to quicken into a slow sprint, pushing and rolling the tire ahead of her.

  Bracken’s tire rolled out ahead of her own, his push more forceful. He ran up beside her and waited for it to return.

  The top was close.

  He was going to win.

  He probably thought he was going to win.

  She gave her tire a push that would have knocked a hardened fighter onto his bottom, then jogged out ahead, her eyes on his returning tire. Timing it perfectly so she’d be in position and Bracken would be clueless of what she was about to do, she ran up alongside his tire as it rolled back his way. One. Two. Three. She trust out her hip and jammed it against the hard rubber. His tire wobbled, then toppled over.

  Bulging biceps or not, it was going to be brutal straightening it back into place after rolling it up this mountain.

  “See ya up on top,” she shouted over her shoulder, her hands in place in time for her own tire’s return.

  Her whole life she’d played by the rules. But the surprised look on his face told her that breaking them had been well worth it.

  * * *

  Man, she was a beautiful piece of work.

  Bracken spotted her perched on top of her tire, waiting for him to finish, her gaze fixed on his face, probably wondering at his reaction to her little stunt back there.

  She’d pulled back on the white hooded sweatshirt that had been tied around her waist, covering up the bright pink sports bra that’d been driving him nuts for the later part of their run. The sweatshirt was unzipped, framing the finest abs he’d seen on a woman, grimy and sweaty and so freakin’ sweet, he’d like nothing better to do than run his tongue along each chiseled groove. A beautiful piece of work was right.

  He tried to keep his expression blank, to mess with her. Hide the fact that he was impressed. Beyond impressed. Amused by her antics. Surprised by her cunning. Bowled over by her audacity. Thankful she was someone capable of strategizing, and anticipating her opponent’s moves. Thankful she had brains. Fuck knew, she might need to rely on them.

  Relieved, if he was honest with himself. Huntley might look like an angel but she had moves a devil like himself could be proud of.

  “What took you so long?” she shouted, cocking her head to the side.

  “Seems I had to upend a tire,” he replied sarcastically, knowing he should keep things professional yet ignoring the rigid rules he lived by. “Hip toss as a fighting move is one thing, but that was fuckin’ brilliant.”

  “I aim to please. So what’s the prize?”

  Man, as fatigued as his body was, his cock was rock hard. Prize—he’d like nothing better than bend her over the tire he’d dropped and sink himself deep inside her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Fuck. Was he that much of a freakin’ open book? Next he’d be reciting poetry to her. “And here you wanted to tackle four tires.” He gestured toward the bottom of the slope they’d just climbed.

  “Let’s get something straight. I’m nobody’s wuss. And I’m not a quitter.” She shifted on the tire, straddling it and grabbing hold of the hard rubber as she leaned back. Nonchalant, determined, stubborn—so similar to his own hardheaded ways. “I’m just not budging until I get my prize.”

  Her abdomen flexed tight, the fitted sports bra pulled snuggly across her tits, her nipples perking up as her body cooled down. A dusting of the same dirt that covered her abdomen was speckled over her chin, the swell of her chest, and her long, taut legs. Slowly his gaze raked back over her, pausing on her hardened pebbles before shifting to her face. Her hair was wild, half in, half out of a pony tail. A smudge of dirt coated her cheek. Her eyes were full of life and as clear as the morning air.

  So fucking beautiful. Her on the Harley. Her sitting astride a muddy tractor tire.

  She was watching him with her chin thrust out. Pleased with her victory, and unaware how she poked the tiger inside, one barely restrained, one anxiously anticipating the slightest provocation.

  Common sense, the kind that carried him through many fucked-up situations, rolled away, like one of the tires recklessly careening down the mountain, gaining momentum until it bottomed out in one mind-blowing crash.

  Then, she licked her goddamn lips.

  He stopped thinking altogether. Pure male instinct kicked in, driven by fuck all desire.

  With slow, methodical movements, he unhooked the worn, leather hip holster from around his waist—no fucking way was this thing close to being a fanny pack. Ballsy minx. He removed his wallet, then slid out a foil packet from inside it and tucked it into his pocket. Securing his wallet back inside next to his gun, he set the pack carefully on the ground. Ignoring the urge to rush, maintaining a fraction of a thread of self-control.

  Huntley still had that winner’s glow about her. Good. Little did she realize the prize audacity claimed. Little did she know he was about to make her whole body glow.

  He stripped off his T-shirt.

  Her eyes widened. Yep, she was catching on.

  He swiped the cotton material across his brow, wiping the dirty sweat from his skin before tossing it on top of his holster.


  Huntley made a sound deep within her throat.

  He stalked toward her before he could change his mind. Stepping a leg inside the tire, he folded his arms across his chest and gazed down at her.

  Her head angled upward, her body arching back onto her elbows as she refused to cow down to him. “No.”

  “Yep.”

  She blushed prettily. “No, I meant before we take this any further, it’s only fair you tell me what I’ve won. I was thinking more along the lines of a free boxing lesson. Not this,” she exclaimed hoarsely. Myriad conflicting emotions were reflected in her tone, but he was pretty fucking sure desire was one of them.

  He sat down facing her and leaned forward. “What’s fair? You wanna know what a sly woman, one who admittedly plays dirty to outsmart her opponent, wins?”

  “Yep,” she whispered, every emotion within her voice vanishing except for one that counted. The one he wanted to hear the most.

  “I’ve got a cabin in the mountains. Someday, I’ll show it to you.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, mirroring his own reaction to his own damn promise. What the fuck?

  “Is it near Lake Tahoe?”

  He scowled. Even the lamest of detectives knew one slip of the tongue could get you killed. And here he was blabbing away like a moron, lured in by a pretty face. No, a downright beautiful face, a body men dreamed about, a downright feisty, balls to the wind spirit that gave him a raging hard-on every time she challenged him. Like now.

  “I’ve never been, even though it’s basically right over this mountain range.” She sat up on the tire, excited by her reward.

  His lie—that’s all it’d be. Fucking conscience. At least he could give her this.

  He placed a hand on her arm. With the other, he wiped the dirt off her cheek. Moving his hand behind her head, he pushed her back onto the tire, covering her body with his own.

  “Your punishment for playing dirty,” he murmured against her lips.

  He kissed her hard, felt her giving in to his demanding tongue as he claimed her mouth as his own. Fuck, she was hard muscled yet soft in all the right places.

  She groaned into his mouth, impatient.

  He was going to get inside her fast, and find out if this good girl had any more naughty moves to pull on him.

  Breaking away, he pulled her up to a standing position. “Strip off your shorts.” He didn’t wait for her response before shedding his own long sweatpants and sports briefs, kicking them free. His cock sprang to attention, thick and heavy.

  Her gaze roamed across his nakedness, and fuck it all, she licked her bottom lip again.

  “Shorts,” he reminded her.

  Her chin shot outward, such a mixture of insolence and temptress.

  Reaching out, he snagged the elastic band on her shorts and tugged them down over her hips and long legs. “Step,” he directed.

  Placing one hand on his shoulder, she silently did as he bid.

  His pulse raced as he took her in, standing before him naked from the midriff down, the sweetness between her legs ready for his touch.

  Reaching out, he pushed one hand beneath her sports bra and rolled an erect nipple between his fingers.

  She exhaled sharply.

  He slid his free hand along her taut belly, felt her heat beneath his palm as he moved lower, across her smooth mound and between her moist folds. Slowly, he rolled his fingers across her slickness, coating them, then slid one deep inside her.

  Huntley moaned. Thrusting her hips forward, she closed her eyes and tilted her head backward, a look of pure pleasure on her face.

  Jesus, she was tight. And hot as sin. Passionate. Fucking eager.

  He pinched her nipple and her eyes flew open.

  Thrusting deeply, he added a second finger, filled her up good, before sliding back out. “Lie down on the tire,” he demanded, feeling the cool morning air on his palm as he withdrew. He didn’t want to leave her but first things first.

  He felt her watching him as he retrieved the condom out of his pocket. Quickly, he ripped the foil open with his teeth and rolled the rubber over his erection. Huntley gasped. Yep. Still watching him. “Get a move on it,” he ordered, turning and raising an eyebrow at her. That did the trick.

  She tugged off her white hooded sweatshirt, wrapping it around her exposed bottom before she reclined backward on the thick tire. Her tight body spread out before him. Her knees up and her legs wide open. Her teeth biting down on her lower lip, giving her an innocent air.

  For a second, it made him pause. Alarm bells loud enough to be heard in Nashville sounded in his head. This has nothing to do with the job before you.

  She widened her legs, inviting him inside. Inviting him home, a place that never really existed for him until now. A naughty smile spreading across her face. Fuck the bells. Fuck the job.

  He wanted her, to get up inside her. To hear her scream. To possess her, entirely.

  Fuck it all.

  His mind made up, he didn’t hesitate. Swiftly, he lowered his body, grabbing her beneath the knees and wrapping her legs around his waist. Licking a finger, he rubbed it over her button in a few quick spirals.

  “I’ve been needing to fuck you since the first time I saw you,” he told her. Freakin’ confessed, but before he could examine his motives, he positioned the head of his cock and thrust deep.

  “Holy effin’ hell,” she murmured, then moaned as he pushed deeper.

  It took every ounce of strength to withdraw from her tightness, slowly, rubbing the moist tip of his hardness up against her hood. Her back arched up off the tire. Greedy with need. But he was greedier.

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her into a seated position, his cock nestled back inside. Relaxing his hold, he let her slide down his body, taking him deeper until he could barely breathe. Fully seated inside her, he jerked his hips sharply...

  “Say my name,” he demanded, before pressing his lips to the side of her neck and taking the soft skin in to his mouth.

  “Sweet hell,” she groaned, tightening around him.

  Jesus.

  Guiding her hips, he lifted her up, then let her fall. His felt his cock thicken within her, his climax quickly approaching.

  “Say it,” he growled against her ear. Taking her lobe between his teeth, he gently nipped her. “I want you to scream my name as you come.”

  Her body shook against his chest as he once again lifted her. “I’m...”

  Holding her in place, he arched up into her until her core clasped around him so tightly, he struggled for control. A second later, she peaked.

  “Oh. My. God,” she cried out, shaking hard.

  His grip on her waist relaxed as she rode the full length of him down.

  He groaned. His cock throbbed as he pounded into her. Over and over until he came, hard and fast. Intense. In a fucking mind-blowing orgasm unlike anything he’d experienced. Jolt after jolt of pleasure pumping out of him. Losing himself in the pure fucking bliss of it. So much so, he almost missed it. Almost.

  “Bracken. Oh, Bracken,” Huntley gasped, shattering around him a second time.

  He tugged her in close, wrapping his arms around her, savoring the feel of her as waves of pleasure caused her to tremble in his embrace. Enjoying the sound of his name coming from her lips.

  And, damn it to hell, liking her too much for his own good.

  Too much for her own good.

  Chapter Ten

  Huntley’s legs barked in protest. Her arms felt as if fifty-pound weights had been attached them. What she’d done with Bracken occupied her thoughts and made it hard to concentrate on work.

  What was this guy, an unfamiliar fighter from the new crop that’d filtered into the Warehouse, saying?

  “Pardon?” She
shook her head, trying hard to refocus on the task at hand, serving this guy his vodka and providing polite, tip-producing, chit-chat.

  “If I’d known you worked here, moy droog, I’d have shown up for battle sooner.”

  “Battle, huh?” she murmured, her back to the fighter as she straightened the bottles of liquor on the shelves next to the cash register. This newbies sure could talk the talk as far as MMA went. They made it seem like every sparring match, no matter how minor, was major warfare. Though she’d put the word out about picking up some bouts for herself, it was clear by the lack of offers that she still wasn’t being taken seriously as a capable fighter. How many Preppys did she have to tap out before they got the message? Yep, these new guys had massive egos, outweighed only by their thick heads. Sexist jerks.

  “You vanna come into the Hall and cheer me on? I could vuse a pretty woman like you for expiration.”

  Hell’s bells. How about a quick jab to the solar plexus for expiration or better still, inspiration? The bottle of Stoli chimed against the Johnny Walker as she placed it on the shelf. She’d had enough of being shelved, plunked down next to a smooth operator like scotch, only to be underestimated and overlooked. Especially by a goomba drinking cheap vodka. She moved on to straighten the stack the highball glasses, hoping he’d disappear.

  “Don’t talk much, medovy miska? Vell, if you change your mind...”

  “Not when you call me a medovy miska. What does that even...”

  “She won’t.”

  Huntley froze, her palm pressing down on top of the wobbly tower of glasses to steady them. She hadn’t expected Bracken for another hour, at closing time.

  “Mind your fucking business, moy droog,” Thickhead snarled.

  “I’m her friend, not yours. Now beat it.”

  The silence that followed was fraught with tension. It echoed the silence that had accompanied their sprint back to her apartment after they’d...

  Her gaze lifted to Bracken’s tight face. Angry. Dangerous. With an undercurrent of violence just below the surface. Something you sensed like an storm crossing the high desert. A chill in the air no matter the temperature. So different from the man who’d brought her close to heaven and back.