Not Huntley.
She forced her body to relax against him. In turn, Bracken relinquished his hold on her, letting her slide down his body and onto her feet.
Before she could fully regain her balance, she hooked one foot behind his ankle, then thrust her bottom against his leg with all her might, sending him backward and down onto the mat.
At the last second, he’d looped an arm around her waist and took her down with him, with her ending up sprawled out on top of him.
She tried to turn so she wasn’t on her back.
He hooked his arm beneath her leg and the other tugged her tightly against his chest. Then he flipped them both, grappling with her briefly before his big body pinned her belly down onto the mat. Vying for a way out of this position, she maneuvered her arms out over her head in a Superman pose that was anything but flying, more like grounded and about to be pounded. No way out.
She tried to buck him off, knowing he could make her tap out if that was his intention. Sweet hell, for a boxer, his wrestling moves were solid.
And that wasn’t the only solid thing about him.
He seemed to realize it about the same time she did. “Jesus,” he said in a low voice. Not snarling or barking orders like he’d done all day. But very much like the lover she’d grown to care about.
She wiggled her bottom against him, and was rewarded with his groan.
There’s more than one way to win this battle, she thought. Bracken was long overdue for a lesson in manners.
“Move your ass like that one more time, and I’m going to yank those sweatpants down to your ankles and take you right here on the mat. That what you want, Huntley? Me to fuck you in front of all these punks? Or you want them to take you seriously as a fighter?”
She froze, feeling like the entire Warehouse had wandered in and was watching the grapple-fest taking place on the mat.
“Get. Off. Me.”
“That’s right, Creampuff. Keeping it real.”
Oh, how she itched to give him a taste of real. Huntley-style.
He climbed off of her and offered her his hand. “For what it’s worth, nice move. Just need to work on what happens next.” He sounded curt. All business. Like he hadn’t been about to fill her with...himself. She glanced from his face—expressionless, and so very unaffected—to the large bulge outlined in his sweatpants.
Not so unaffected after all.
She glanced up and licked her lips. She stepped closer, lifted herself up on to her toes, and reached her lips upward.
His entire body stiffened, like he was preparing for her to attack.
Lightly, like a whisper, she pressed her lips against his.
“What the fuck are you up to, Huntley?” he said, his lips moving beneath hers.
She kissed him once. Twice. A third time until he returned her kiss.
“Keeping it real, Bracken. Keeping it real.”
Chapter Thirteen
Huntley threw three well-placed jabs, an uppercut, and her infamous heel hook and in all of ten seconds, another Russian was eating the mat.
A real Friday night lights-out slugfest.
Bracken tensed, watching the crowd’s astonishment, wondering if because of his selfish, personal desires—this time to see Huntley in the Octagon cage kicking ass—he’d made a strategic mistake. The goal was to use her as a way to endear the fighters to him. Not rip their balls off while they’d been having a Huntley-induced wet dream. He should know—his cock wept at the very thought of her. Yet, despite the foreign silence that grabbed hold of the Hall, and despite the shaky start with the Russians, Bracken was hard-pressed to keep the smile off his face.
Nine days. That’s all it’d taken Huntley to punch like a champion boxer.
Not that he shared that with her. Fuck, he couldn’t afford to be that sentimental.
Yet he wasn’t the only one smiling. Huntley’s broad grin, which lit up her face and added a bit of swagger to her walk, settled deep within his bones, and within the boner that’d sprang to life at the sight of her blissful expression. A look he planned on waking up to, just before she screamed his name.
Jesus. His objectivity was shot to shit with her around. Maybe this was a good sign, proof he didn’t need her sucking the testosterone out of the room in three jabs while he got the job done.
Cheers erupted, riding through the Hall like light foam on a wave.
They fucking loved her.
He strode forward from his place by the stairs and wrapped a towel around her shoulders. The sweaty aquamarine athletic bra did nothing to hide her perky nipples or the red flush of exertion that spread between the valley of her breasts, across her stomach, leaving a trail beneath the hot pink sweatpants hanging loosely around her waist. A path that taunted him, daring him to trace it with his tongue.
As they exited the cage, a new fighter—another Russian, judging by his brown and black tracksuit—grabbed Huntley by the arm, ready to pull her into a congratulatory hug. He glanced at Bracken, froze, then dropped her arm and stepped back.
“Prostite,” he apologized, giving Huntley’s arm a squeeze before pushing his way back through the crowd that now surrounded them.
“What was that all about?” she asked, casting her fawn-colored eyes, ones that hid the tough-as-nails lioness inside, up at him.
He shrugged.
“Well, what do you think?”
What did he think? Jesus. The problem was, he was thinking too much about her, the way her lips lifted into a smile. The way she cocked her head at him. The way she fucking smelled, apples and earthy sweatiness that had him ready to bust out of his pants.
“What on earth is the matter? Did I do something wrong? I thought my punches were solid. Much improved...”
Dumbass. “You did fine. Let’s get the hell outta here.”
Huntley stood a bit straighter, firmly rooted in her place. “Fine? That’s all you have to say?” She peered around at the men gathered around them. “At least they appreciate my handiwork.”
That did it. He grasped her beneath the elbow and tugged her along, plowing through the fighters when he should have been working the crowd, milking them for all they were worth. Getting in and getting close to them.
Not getting in and closer to her.
He snatched her duffel bag from where she’d dropped it in the corner of the room.
“I need to use the restroom. I warmed up hard and now I’m drenched.”
Mother of god. Bracken was boiling hot. On fire. “Be quick,” he snapped. He had to get outta here, fast before he did something stupid. Like get in the cage himself. Or find out how wet she really was.
“Yes, McBadass.” The cheeky woman saluted him and stalked off, unaffected by his sour disposition.
He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and settled back to wait. His interest was immediately snagged by a group of men in brown tracksuits huddled a short distance away.
A perfect opportunity.
Sauntering forward, he approached the men. They stopped talking and looked at him.
“She’s something, huh?” he asked, casually.
The dangerous air surrounding the group vanished. “No one cared too much about Anatoly losing. Poppy cock.”
“No, pompous cock, Vladimir,” a younger guy corrected.
“Yeah, he seemed too hyped up, unnaturally. Like he’d taken a little something to get him pumped. I’ve know all about it, having dealt in some shit. But I don’t like it when another guy takes advantage of my girl.”
That got their attention.
“You part of a gang?”
“A club, Vladimir. An MC,” the younger guy corrected him again. “Doesn’t have a patch but I bet he’s a one percenter.”
Bracken smiled at the man. Game on.
And without him having to ruin a good leather jacket with a lame-ass badge, even if it announced to the world he was part of the one percent of bikers knee deep in criminal activities? Hell, if the Russians knew what the patch signified, they likely had connections with bikers. Coincidence? No fuckin’ way.
“Naw. It’s just me and my bike. On my own, and looking for any opportunity to make money.”
The younger man nodded, and the men’s eyes seemed to narrow on him more thoughtfully.
Balls to the wall, he added, “For a price, I’d push about anything.” There you go, motherfuckers.
The leader, Vladimir, pinned him with a stare, shooting for intimidating but falling short. Bracken wasn’t about to humble himself for this perp. After a few seconds, the man leaned in.
“You fight?”
The guy was smarter than he looked. “A bit,” he responded, careful to keep his voice neutral when all he wanted to do was wrap his fingers around the Russians’ throats and shake them.
“Good. Come back next Friday night, and ve’ll see.” He waved a hand. There was no need to turn to know who he was gesturing at. His words confirmed it. “Pretty girl you got there.”
Shit. Huntley’d been quick. Too quick.
“Bring her with you,” he finished, and walked away, his entourage hot on his heels.
This was the goal. Get in and get close.
Not far, far away. Whittling away bits of wood while on the porch of his cabin. At peace and far away from Reno. Vegas. Flagstaff. Experience had him feeling wary, told him not to assume everything was as it seemed. Experience told him that in his line of work, one loose pebble could turn everything into one hell of a clusterfuck.
* * *
The pounding on her apartment door woke Huntley up with a jolt. She rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock. Five twenty-two a.m. Frowning, she headed into the living room and peeked out through the eyehole. Though Bracken had informed her when he’d dropped her off last night that today was a recovery day, she wasn’t that surprised to see him standing outside her door.
What was more surprising? He looked different. Clean cut in his blue jeans and tight black T-shirt, his hair smoothly combed back and his beard neatly trimmed.
“I know you’re standing there, Huntley. Open up,” he demanded.
Yep. Same old Bracken.
She removed the chain, unlocked the double-bolted door, and opened it.
He didn’t immediately enter, just stood there, raking her from head to toe with his gaze. Self-conscious, she tugged the hem of her new baby doll nightie lower—another rash purchase made during her shopping spree with Kaleigh. He’d seen her in far less, seen her naked, up close and personal. Still, a warmth spread across her skin.
Like a big puma contained within a well-licked and perfectly groomed body, he stepped inside, his eyes fixed on her. Intent.
Nervously, she asked, “What are you doing here? I thought we were taking a breather today.”
“That was the plan.”
“So you woke up early and decided to make a new one?”
He rubbed the whiskers on his jaw. “Thought it would be a good idea for us to take a ride to Vegas.”
“At five a.m.?”
His lips lifted at her tone, and her heart twisted into a knot. His trimmed beard accentuated his high cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, his full, kissable lips. His beauty.
Even the slight curve of his once-broken nose, a reminder of his rough and tumble ways, turned her on.
“Bad decision. Seems I’ve been making a lot of them with you around,” he said softly, breaking eye contact and stalking farther into her apartment, putting some distance between them.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she responded. Leave it to his brutal personality to bring her back to reality. “You show up at this ungodly hour on an off day to what? Harass me? Couldn’t we resume with your bossy ways tomorrow? And, how did you know I didn’t have plans for today?”
His eyebrows narrowed. “Is that why you’re dressed like that? In that see-through nightgown, your deep pink titties flush against the material, begging to be suckled, and little pink panties I wanna rip off with my teeth? So fucking sweet you make a man lose his mind.”
Her breath hitched deep within her throat. She didn’t know if she wanted to rip off her nightie and show him how innocent she wasn’t, or throw a swift kick to his kidney. He sounded almost jealous. Like he cared. And just like that, she decided to throw caution to the wind.
“Maybe I was waiting for someone...”
His eyes flashed. The air seemed to leave the room in one deep swoosh.
Hooking her pinkies into the elastic around her panties, she wiggled her hips and tugged them down her legs, kicking the free with a bare foot. “Maybe I was waiting for you,” she murmured, arching her head to the side as she finished her open invitation.
“Jesus, Huntley.” He cursed beneath his breath. “I came over to take you and your brother to Vegas. This...” he waved his hand at her bareness, “...can’t happen. I’m not the guy for you. I never will be.”
He was rejecting her. Kindly, with the promise of helping her and Aiden.
She blanched, feeling naked in more ways than just physically. How could she scoop up her panties, slide them back on, cover herself while she keep her dignity intact? Jeez, he hadn’t been inside her apartment the whole of two minutes and she was throwing herself at him.
“Look—”
“—don’t.” She held her palm up as if to ward him off, even as he stood positively still, studying her. “You don’t need to say anything. I get it. You don’t do relationships. A few good fucks and it’s time to call it quits. Yeah, yeah. Like you’ve said, strictly business. You train me, I win, we part ways.” Good. The more she spoke, the angrier she became. “I won’t hold you to the bet, either. If you just stick to your promise of helping my brother...”
Bracken grabbed her wrist, and with a firm tug, pulled her in close, then scooped her up into his arms. Carrying her into the kitchen, he set her on top of the snack bar. The cool tile pressed up against her warm bare bottom. He wedged himself between her spread legs. Placing both hands on either side of her, he leaned in. “I’m not an honest guy. Never have been, never will fully be one, though I’m trying.”
His tone was so deep, raw and full of something that sounded like pain, it sliced through her to the core.
“But God’s truth, let’s get one thing straight. There is nothing on this earth I want more than you, Huntley. Up inside of you. You slick and hot around me. You fucking crying out my name as I make you come over and over.” He paused, and inhaled sharply. “You in the Octagon cage, fighting me at every turn.”
“Sweet Mother Mary,” she whispered, shocked, her heart beating double time. His expression was tight, pained. Like he was on the brink of crossing some precipice and battling to stay in control. Like he hated himself for wanting her. “What’s stopping you?” she whispered. “I want you too.”
“You’re being naïve, Huntley. Someone like me could easily take advantage of that. Manipulate you. I’m a liar. A first-class conman. You need to remember that.”
She reached up and cupped his jaw. “Call me naïve. Call me what you will. But I trust you. Completely.”
He jerked his head back and her hand fell to her side. “Jesus. Don’t.”
“You’ve done everything to help me. My punches are solid, though I’ve yet to pay you a dime. My brother will be getting the help he needs. You let me handle the fighters myself, given me room to be independent and free.” She paused and then added, “Not overprotective, for the most part.” Except for the way he’d marched her out of the Hall last night, overprotective as hell. Though she kind of liked the fact that her interactions with these new fighters seemed to drive him nuts. “I could
go on and on,” she finished softly, reminded that his actions spoke volumes.
She sucked in a breath as he grimaced, straightened slightly, then grazed her inner thigh with his fingers. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” His touch was light, such a contrast to his harsh words. Drawing her in as he warned her away. Proving just how conflicted he was.
Sitting up taller on the bar, she drew in closer. “What do I need to know?”
“You’re going to get hurt.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of my own emotions?”
“I’m talking physical pain, Huntley.”
She glared at him. “My whole life, people have been preparing me for this hurt, trying to protect me from things that will never happen. And things that happen to every healthy individual. I don’t need a protector. I can take care of myself.” She flexed her thigh against his hand. “Is this the touch of someone about to hurt me?”
He withdrew his hand as if her thigh had burned it.
“You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me.”
“Fuck, I can’t.”
She wiggled her bottom to the edge of the countertop, preparing to gracefully launch herself off and head into her bedroom to change. Her baby doll nightie had a different idea, shifting up on her hips. Leaving her exposed, and open, when all she wanted was to cover herself up.
Something in the way he moved, a slight shifting of his feet. Or maybe it was the humming noise he made deep within his throat; whatever it was, gave her pause.
Her eyes widened at the sight of what he pulled out of his pocket, but before she could fully grasp the abrupt change in chemistry between them, he’d unbuttoned his pants, kicked them free, and was rolling the condom over his massive erection.
He stalked forward and grabbed her beneath the thighs, pulling her up around his hips.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, his movements quick and unhesitant.
“The hell if I know. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He looked stunned, as surprised by his actions as she was.
His thumb rolled over her clitoris. Once. Twice. Before moving down between her legs. Plunging deep inside her before sliding back over her nub again. A wave of molten lava moistened the emptiness his thumb had left behind.
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