Legacy of Danger

by Jillian David

Vaughn's left cheek had already turned purple and sported an oozing cut, but his left eye was open. Linc, on the other hand, had one eye that threatened to swell completely shut. The cut on his brow dripped blood but didn't appear to impair his vision. He'd need stitches afterward, of course. By the way Linc was fighting, nothing would stop him from killing Vaughn.

  If the serious scowl of concentration on Vaughn's face was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

  Ten seconds remaining in the round.

  Vaughn's fists blurred in muscle-driven hisses of air as he pummeled Linc to the ground and kept pounding on the man. Mariah winced at the thuds of fist impacting flesh and bone. Linc's eyes glazed over. He stopped defending himself.

  Ref, call the fight. Dear God. Call it.

  As the ref lifted a hand, about to reach in, the bell rang. Vaughn jumped off Linc and strolled to his corner. Like he wasn't exhausted. Like he didn't have burning arms.

  Just another day at work for the guy.

  His massive chest heaved, and then slowed to a normal breathing pattern over about thirty seconds. Amazing.

  Linc still laid on the floor of the octagon, the ref talking to him.

  When the ref motioned to Mariah, her heart dropped—like off a cliff.

  The crowd booed.

  Linc sat up and waved off the ref, even as Mariah entered the cage. Her steps faltered at the sharp scents of adrenaline, sweat, and blood.

  "Check him out, Doc," the ref called to her. "I need an opinion."

  Sweat beaded her upper lip as she knelt next to Linc. "Tell me your name."

  He pulled out his spit-and blood-covered mouthpiece. "Lincoln fucking McDowell, dammit."

  "The month and year?"

  "October. 2014."

  Wrong answer.

  "Where are you?" She projected her voice above the shouts of the crowd.

  "In the octagon, about to fight again. So you'd better get out of my way, babe." His words slurred together, the consonants running over each other. His unswollen eyelid drifted shut, like he couldn't stay awake. He swayed back and forth where he sat.

  She fished for her penlight. "Look up here at me, please." Checking his pupils, she shook her head. "He's got a brain injury. Not oriented. Pupils sluggish to react. Not tracking."

  "Stop?" the ref asked.

  Visions of litigation if she failed to protect a fighter from permanent brain damage danced in her imagination. "Yes. Stop. Concussion."

  The ref jumped to his feet and waved his hands. "Fight's over. Medical stoppage."

  The boos and jeers escalated.

  Linc got up and staggered, off-balance, grabbing the ref's arm. "No," he screamed. "I'm fine. I can fight."

  The ref shook his head. "It's done. Medical stoppage. That's final."

  Linc spun around to her and threw the mouthpiece to the mat. "You did this!" His one open eye glowed red, and she recoiled from the acrid sulfur wave that blew past her.

  She froze.

  Time slowed. Light and motion and sound blurred.

  From the opposite side of the cage, Vaughn whipped his head up and lurched toward her as if pulled by a magnet, arms outstretched, mouth open in a yell.

  Before she could react, Linc grabbed the lapels of her blazer, lifted her off the ground and tossed her hard enough to crash into a padded cage corner. Her head banged off the cage beam, and all the air left her with burning, starving lungs. The roar of the crowd faded and stars sparkled on the edges of her vision.

  As a furious Linc closed the short distance with his fist raised, Mariah ducked her head behind her arms, shielding herself against a blow...

  That never came.

  Vaughn's massive frame slid in front of hers, and he grunted with the impact of the blow meant for Mariah. But he remained standing, vulnerable to attack, legs spread, arms extended, fingers looped into the sides of the octagon corner, so that he caged her behind his body. She peeked around his massive back.

  A thousand people took a collective breath.

  Heat radiated from Vaughn's sweat-covered torso. Funny, even though he didn't fold her into his arms, she still felt enveloped by him. This new stupid headache had to be from hitting her head.

  The ref, both corners, Angelo, and the inspectors poured into the octagon, yelling at Linc and pushing the raging man back to the opposite side of the ring. Police followed, and soon they had Linc hustled away, much to the glee of the fickle crowd. The audience who had hated her for stopping the fight thirty seconds ago had some sense of ethics and apparently drew the line when the fighter knocked down the medical personnel.

  The announcer, trying to regain control of the event, windmilled his hand in a frantic bid to get Vaughn to join him in the middle of the ring for the announcement.

  Instead, Vaughn whipped around, relocking his fingers into the metal mesh on either side of Mariah's head. The gold glinted in his eyes as his face contorted. He was ungodly fury on the edge of losing all control. She'd never seen anything like it.

  She suppressed a shiver for anyone else who got close to him right about now. That included herself.

  He sucked in a lungful of air. "Fuck," he exhaled, all heat and male sweat and wild adrenaline. Thousands of people surrounding them, and he ignored them all. After a few seconds of staring at her, he said, "Are you okay?"

  His sheer intensity made her weak in the knees. "I'm fine. Thanks for helping." She swallowed. "You should, um, go get your winnings. Get your hand raised. That was a great fight."

  "Not until you get checked out by another doctor."

  "I'm not hurt." On what level was this statement true?

  Like he clawed the words out of his throat, he growled, "I don't fucking care what you think. My mind will not function until I know you're okay." His Adam's apple bobbed. Cords of neck muscle flexed. Being the pinpoint focus of this much-concentrated power? Thrilling. Edgy. Sexy. Terrifying.

  Sometimes fighters got so buzzed on adrenaline they couldn't concentrate. Maybe he was dealing with something along those lines. "Not a problem. I'll have Dr. Brandeis do a quick check. See? All taken care of," she tried to soothe him. She licked her lips. God, Vaughn was only inches away. Heat poured off of him. "Now. We're making a scene, and I'm getting embarrassed."

  "Tough." He turned to the announcer and his corner guys. "Be right back," he barked. Then he held out a hand. "Allow me."

  "I don't need help."

  "Or I can carry you, which will be way more enjoyable for me, and I guarantee will make a hell of a bigger scene."

  Her belly quivered. She reached out, and he snugged his hand under her arm and drew her close to him as they stepped down the stairs out of the octagon to the audience's clapping. Her face burned. Great.

  Dr. Brandeis ran up to her.

  "Can you check on her?" Vaughn said.

  She mostly ignored the exam as Vaughn retreated, his posture rigid, muscles twitching. The announcer called the fight result, much to the wild enthusiasm of the crowd. As Vaughn exited once more, he paused in front of her.

  "I want to see you before you leave."

  The cold blast shooting down her spine had nothing to do with it being winter in Wyoming.

  Chapter 24

  After stitching up one of the guys from the last fight of the night, Mariah washed her hands and snagged her coat and bag. Angelo waited outside the medical room, a tormented expression plastered on his round face.

  Lifting a hand, she said, "These things happen. Not to worry."

  The corners of his mouth dipped. "But I do worry. That's my job. And you're like family here."

  He wrapped her in a bear hug, making her voice come out muffled and squished. "Aw, thanks."

  "Will you ever work for me again?"

  "Of course."

  "Maybe not," a low voice filled the hall, skimming over her nerves. Vaughn, freshly showered with his damp hair brushed back from his forehead, strode toward them. A whiff of spicy soap came with him, making her inhale deeply. "What'll happen to
Linc for that violation?" He lifted his chin toward Mariah.

  The fight promoter swallowed. "At least a year-long suspension. And I'll report this to all state athletic commissions. Even if he comes back after a year, I'm not sure who would let that loose cannon fight again. I sure won't." Angelo gave her one last squeeze and stepped back. "You did your job perfectly, Doc. I feel terrible about what happened. If you need any treatment or anything, I will cover the expenses."

  "No harm done. I'll see you in two months for the next event, right?"

  "No one I'd rather have working ringside." The promoter strolled away.

  In the empty hallway, she studied Vaughn. The skin under his left eye over his left cheek had swelled and turned a reddish purple color. Abrasions dotted his forehead, nose, and chin, and a few butterfly bandages closed the cut on his brow. But take away all that facial trauma and the man in the navy slacks and striped Oxford button-down shirt fit the part of a businessman on Wall Street. Except that the average financial analyst probably didn't have pecs that shifted when he moved.

  Good Lord, Vaughn looked good enough to eat.

  Jolting her out of her daydream, he blurted, "Why was Wyatt Brand here tonight? Near you?"

  Rocking back on her heels at his pissy tone, she said, "Why ask me? He's a creep. But beyond that, I have no idea why he showed up. It's a free country, I guess."

  "Bizarre, if you ask me."

  "How so?" She leaned a hip against the concrete wall and set her bag down. This might take a while.

  "Well, besides his family's feud with mine, he also has a weird thing for you."

  Oh really? She flicked a tooth with her nail. "So, you think it's strange some guy is interested in me?"

  "Damn it. That didn't come out right." He looked at the ceiling and then back down to her. "And no, it's not strange at all for a guy to be interested in you. Hell, every unmarried guy in the place tonight wanted you." Raising his hand at her sputtered protest, he said, "What I mean is, Wyatt is fixated on you. I'm guessing you being here, me being here—he couldn't stay away."

  "Good point. He did get too close while I was watching your fight." She rubbed her upper arm, but goose bumps still rose.

  "Wonder if he was working with Linc. Distracting you so Linc could do whatever he wanted in the cage." When Vaughn ran a hand over his bruised cheek, she flinched in sympathy. "You know Linc had illegal material in his gloves?"

  "No way."

  "Yeah, ran some fiberglass between layers of gauze before putting on his gloves. Hit like a brick sonovabitch, too."

  "You could have been seriously injured. That's dangerous."

  That grin molded his swollen face in a strangely endearing way. "Yup. Luckily, I've got a pretty hard head."

  "True." Awkward silence stretched. "So." She pushed off the wall. "I need to be getting back to Copper River."

  His eyes darkened. "Can I walk you to your car?"

  A frisson skated over her skin. She considered the nearly empty event venue. What if Wyatt or Linc waited out there for her? "Yes, I would appreciate that."

  He snagged the straps of her bag with the hand that also held his gym bag. He waited for her to put on her coat and then rested his free hand at the small of her back. Despite the layers of clothing, the warmth from his palm seeped into her skin.

  Light snow blew as the arena door closed behind them. The back parking lot had only a few cars left. Pulling her coat closed, she wanted to hurry to her car but at the same time linger in Vaughn's presence.

  Déjà vu hit as they stood next to her car.

  Right, because of the last unfabulous encounter in a parking lot.

  She turned and held her hand out for the bag, which contained her car keys. "Well, okay. Thank you."

  A shadow came and went over his face. "Screw that." He dropped the bags behind him and faced her squarely, nostrils flaring. She took a step back. "Do you even know how worried I was that you might have been hurt? Do you know how much I wanted to kill Linc for touching you?"

  "I—"

  In a fluid move, he backed her into the side of the car and took her face in his rough hands, not a hard grip but firm, insistent. With a low moan, he ground his mouth into hers. But not painful or intrusive.

  Oh hell, he could intrude like this any day of the week.

  He changed angles, and liquid heat pooled down low in her abdomen. His harsh breaths shot straight into her bones, and she purred.

  When he paused, she groaned in frustration and yanked him back down by his fancy shirt. A test nip to his lower lip, and his response went thermonuclear as he growled and pushed his hard groin into hers. His big arms snaked around her and pulled her even closer than she thought possible with this many clothes on. Trapped in a sensual prison, waves of throbbing need built inside.

  Normally confinement terrified her, but not with Vaughn. On a basic level, her body and mind responded to the reality that he was safe. Their connection pressed them, like two poles of a magnet, together. Tight. Melded.

  He separated the seam of her lips and tangled with her tongue in a rhythm to match the roll of his hips. Her knees wobbled, and he tucked her more firmly against him.

  "I won't let you fall," he breathed against her lips, before using his mouth for more than talking.

  Frigid temperatures weren't a problem, encased as she was in the circle of his arms. Dampness and heat bloomed between her legs as her hips went loose.

  He came up for air, cupping the back of her head.

  "Shit. I want you so badly," he gritted out, resting his chin on the top of her head.

  Things like carpe diem and YOLO raced through her head. Could she be with Vaughn even if they had no guarantee of a long-term relationship? What about her own fears? Could she risk the same rejection she'd experienced before?

  The moment he ran a hand over her jacket-covered breast, her breath caught in her throat. Logic and mapping out life didn't fit this situation. She had to make a leap of faith.

  "I want you too." Licking her lips, she rose on tiptoes to kiss him. Thank God he obliged by lifting her to meet his mouth. Barely touching the ground, held in his arms, beneath the sweet onslaught of his kisses, Mariah was flying.

  She didn't want to return to Earth.

  He pulled away and let her slide the inches back to the asphalt; his chest pulled air in and out. For a guy with amazing aerobic capacity, he sure breathed hard. "You sure?"

  "Yes. I am."

  "I don't want to drive back to Copper River."

  "Me neither."

  "Well." A brief, boyish grin softened his hard, bruised face. "Casino hotel?"

  "Sounds like a good plan to me." She kissed him again until neither of them could see straight.

  Chapter 25

  For the love of God, how long did it take to check into a hotel room?

  Vaughn blindly signed the forms and handed over what he hoped was a credit card. No idea what room they got. As long as the room had a lock on the door and a bed. Or some chairs. On second thought, a room where the door locked would be dandy, and he would make any furniture work for his needs.

  In almost a run, he ignored his aching muscles, grabbed the bags in one hand, and with his other hand tugged her to the elevators. He counted the seconds until the doors closed, and then dropped his mouth back down on hers, savoring, licking, nipping. Each kiss stung his bruised lips, but he didn't care. Vaughn wanted to imprint her taste in his memory forever. God help him, but he would never get enough of this woman. She was some kind of mind-altering drug and he'd become an instant addict—the second he had met her pretty green eyes in that emergency room, if he was being honest about it.

  His damned power totally dug whatever she was doing to him. The ability wanted to surround her. Just like he wanted to surround her in a literal and much more biblical manner.

  Exiting at whatever floor he had selected, he hurried down the hall like a desperate rodent in a maze, checking each room number to see if it lined up with the one on
the electronic card in his hand. At the end of the hall, he swiped the card in a door slot and came damn near to passing out with relief when the green light blinked.

  Hotel room. Big bed. Desk, chair, couch. Standard items. Check. He flipped on a lamp.

  Couldn't give a fuck about the spa-level amenities in the bathroom or if the towels were spun out of gold threads from a Burmese silk spider's ass.

  All he wanted was this woman naked and beneath him, pronto.

  He paused. Maybe he should be using something like finesse or foreplay or some other tool besides his current drive to bury his cock as far into Mariah as humanly possible so he could lose his entire mind and sanity in this woman.

  How about sweet nothings? Damn. He should be saying something nice to her instead of gaping like a land-based goldfish. Think, damn it. Say something romantic.

  Forget it. His brain had nothing but penis-in-vagina available for preview.

  Shit.

  The color on her cheeks flared red as he stared at her like a drooling imbecile. She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the floor.

  "I—" he started. "Um. Food? Anything?"

  She frowned. Oh, no. Bad. Why the hell did he ask a question? No distractions. Backpedal, dammit.

  Plan B was to dive back in for a second taste of her sweet mouth, but she beat him to the next step as she shrugged out of her coat and licked her lips.

  Then she slid off the blazer, leaving her in a trim, button-down shirt and those sexy business pants. Her petite, toned body made him want to throw her on the bed and pounce on top of her.

  "Room service? I can order you something," he stammered.

  She grabbed his shirt in two hands and pulled him toward the bed. "Oh my gosh, why are you still talking?"

  "Hell if I know."

  She leaned into him, and he gladly toppled backward, pulling her down on top. Her slight weight felt beyond perfect stretched out over him. As for his battered body? What bruises?

  "Scoot up. We're hanging over the bed," she said with an impish wrinkle to her nose.

  As he shifted up and rested his head on the pillows, with her still perched on top of him, he grinned. "Are you always this bossy?"