by Abby Niles
He made no move to touch her. Fine. A spark of irritation lit her small fuse.
Her hand shot out and gripped his throat, squeezing a little more than necessary. When he stumbled backward, coughing, she realized what she had done.
She clapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
Dante’s eyes watered as he gasped for breath. He waved his hand. “You’ve got that one down pat,” he rasped. “We can move on.”
It took him a full two minutes to recover. The entire time he eyed her warily. “Did I piss you off?”
She about spit out the water she’d just sipped from her water bottle. She swallowed. “No, not at all. I didn’t realize how easily I could do that.”
“You ready for the final lesson?”
He sounded like he was ready to get her out of there. He had every right to be a little angry—she’d done that with way more force than necessary.
“Yeah, I promise to be more careful.”
He nodded. “The foot. Stomping is your friend.”
She moved close to him. At the same time Dante grabbed her hips, she lifted her leg. She teetered for balance but fell anyway, flailing her arms. She grabbed the front of his shirt. Fabric tore.
He scrambled to stop her descent then lost his footing. The soft mat cushioned her fall, but an oomph of air escaped as Dante fell on top of her. He landed on his forearms, his head directly beside hers, his long, dominant body stretched over the length of hers. A peek of tanned skin stared at her through the rip at the neck of his T-shirt. She fought the urge to shift her legs and bring him closer to the area now throbbing for his attention.
Dante lifted his head and stared down at her. She stopped breathing, his lips holding her mesmerized.
He muttered words distinctly sounding like “Fuck slow,” before his mouth closed over hers.
Not soft and teasing like last time, but hard and demanding. She went with it, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer. Dante tilted his head, deepening the kiss. The first feel of his tongue made her skin pucker in goose bumps. The entire time he ravished her mouth, a sense of disbelief gripped her.
He kissed her like he still meant it, like he still wanted to strip her bare and lick every inch of her body. The thought was thrilling.
“Dante ‘Inferno’ Jones, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mike barked.
Chapter Seven
Dante jumped off Caitlyn as quickly as a teenage boy turns off the TV when caught watching porn. Raking both hands through his short-cropped hair, he stared at the blue mat.
What the hell was he doing?
He glanced at Caitlyn, who’d pushed up onto her elbows, her eyes wide, face pale. He offered his hand. She stared at it before taking it. Her fingers shook as his wrapped around hers. He hoped she’d meet his gaze, but her eyes focused anywhere except on him as he helped her to her feet.
Damn it.
Amy had said Caitlyn wasn’t used to men like him being attracted to her. And the way Caitlyn clammed up right after she left his arms confirmed this, but the woman who came alive in his arms, the one who kissed him back fiercely, was another story.
Caitlyn was brimming with passion he’d only just tapped into, and it was begging to be released. And he could if they’d stopped being interrupted. Interruptions gave her time to think. Caitlyn didn’t need to think, she needed to let go and feel—with him.
He turned to face his coach.
Fury drew Mike’s normally relaxed features into harsh lines. Dante grimaced. There was nothing to say to justify his actions. He was wrong in starting anything here. Period. The tongue-lashing coming was warranted.
Mike stormed forward, pointing his finger at Caitlyn. “You. Out.”
Dante tensed and stepped in front of her with his head held high. Mike could speak to him anyway he wanted, but he sure as hell couldn’t speak to Caitlyn with any disrespect. “Watch your mouth, man.”
Furious eyes swung to his. “I’ll deal with you in a minute. First, I’ll deal with her.”
Caitlyn pressed against his back. “Jesus Christ, he’s scary,” she whispered.
He reached back and placed his hand on her thigh to reassure her. Wanting her to understand nothing bad would ever happen to her as long as he was around. He’d make damn sure of it. “Leave her out of this, Mike.”
The other man stopped and clenched his fist. “You’re right.” Through gritted teeth, he said to Caitlyn, “Would you please excuse us?”
“Absolutely,” she responded. No hesitation, no quivering, just a matter of fact “I’m getting the hell out of here” tone.
Dante turned to find her already across the mat, fumbling with her purse as she swung the strap over her shoulder. He stepped forward. A firm grip on his bicep stopped him.
“Don’t you move,” Mike said.
Caitlyn raced through the center, never looking back. Tinkling bells signaled her exit. The second the door closed, Mike spun on Dante. “What in the hell are you doing?”
Dante sighed. “Not thinking.”
His coach cuffed the back of his head. “Damned straight.”
“Look, Mike, I’m sorry. What I did was inexcusable.”
“This facility is not your personal bucking room. Do you understand?”
“It won’t happen again. I swear. I don’t think when I’m around Caitlyn. I react.” Reacted more to her than any other woman. And he liked it.
Mike groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The last thing I need is a fighter in training who’s distracted while he sniffs up some gal’s skirt.”
Dante stiffened, not pleased with his interest in Caitlyn referred to as “sniffing,” but he forced himself not to overreact. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s always like that.” Mike leveled him with a steely glare while he cracked his knuckles.
The action made it clear his coach was resisting the urge to literally knock some sense into him.
As far as Dante saw it, priority number one was the championship. That hadn’t and wouldn’t change. It didn’t, however, mean he couldn’t date Caitlyn in the process.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. I want this title. I’ve always wanted the title. She won’t change that. If anything, she’ll push me to work harder.”
“How so?”
“Would you want to lose in front of a woman you’re into?”
Mike groaned. “This isn’t good. I hope you’re aware of that. When I took you on, I did it knowing you took your training seriously. Your other coaches spoke highly of your concentration, claimed you were never distracted.” Mike pointed to the glass doors. “That’s a distraction. She’ll cost you this fight.”
“She won’t come between me and my training.”
“I can’t tell you what to do outside this facility, but you need to think about what you want. You’re less than a month and a half from the championship fight. A woman is only going to stir trouble. Trouble you don’t need.”
Dante stared at the double doors. Mike was wrong. Caitlyn wasn’t trouble. Oh no. She overflowed with passion she fought to keep contained. But she lost that battle every time she was in his arms. Now he wanted to make it explode. God, he loved a good fight.
Caitlyn Moore had met her match.
…
Unable to go home and face Amy’s twenty questions, Cait detoured to the Y instead. She grabbed her gym bag and hurried through the entrance. Taking the stairs two at a time, she headed for the women’s locker room. Only one place soothed her when she was as scattered as she was right now.
She ducked into a dressing room and closed the curtain. After stripping, she stared at her naked body. She had so much to be proud of. She wiggled her red-tipped painted toes. Toes she hadn’t seen in years.
Yet so much of her body still dismayed her. She pinched the fat around her midsection. A midsection that never got any tauter or flatter, no matter how many crunches she suffered through.
S
he wrapped a beach towel around her and headed to her sanctuary. As she stepped inside the sauna, clouds of hot steam rolled out. The humid air soaked her skin, welcoming her. She sat on the white tiled bench and inhaled the vapors.
She wanted Dante with everything in her. There. She’d finally admitted it to herself. She wanted him and she could have him, easily. So why didn’t she call him up and get things rolling?
She looked down at the towel covering her body.
One thing.
The door opened. A naked woman entered the steam room. Cait watched her through the foggy haze, fascinated at her confidence. The auburn-haired woman was short and far from skinny. If she had to guess, she’d put the other woman about sixty pounds overweight. Yet, she walked with a self-assurance that outdid that of most thin women.
The woman jumped when she realized she wasn’t alone. “Excuse me. Normally, no one’s in here at this time of day.”
Cait smiled. “Spur of the minute decision on my part.”
The woman folded her white towel on the bench then sat. “Do you mind?” She gestured to her body. “I can wrap in a towel if you do.”
“No, please, I envy your confidence.”
“Why be ashamed? It’s the body I have.”
Why, indeed?
Cait stared down at the wet floor tiles. “Can I ask you a question without you taking offense?”
“Sure, sweetie, ask away.”
“Have you always felt like that or did you have to learn to think like that?”
A thoughtful expression crossed the woman’s damp face. “I used to beat myself up over my body. What woman doesn’t?” She paused, as if thinking about her words. “I finally decided I’d had enough. It was time to believe in me, without shame. I still slip up and have doubts. But for the most part, I take pride in who I am.”
Cait mulled over her words, knowing they were the same things Amy and Paul had repeated to her over the last year. Somehow, coming from this woman, it felt different. Truer.
“What did you do to make it happen?”
“Small stuff at first. Nice clothes, got my nails done, bought pretty panties. Anything that made me feel good about myself. It wasn’t overnight. Like I said, I still struggle with it. I figure I will until the day I die. But I made a decision, and I plan to stick with it.” Then a wicked smile turned her lips. “And guess what?”
“What?”
“The men like the confidence, too.” She laughed. “I mean, really like it.”
The words reached somewhere deep into Cait’s soul. “Thank you.”
“You’re a pretty little thing. You shouldn’t be self-conscious.”
“I think you’re right.” Cait stood and started for the door. “I’ve made a decision.”
If she wanted to have Dante in her bed, and she did, she had to let go of her insecurities.
She grabbed the knot and let the towel drop away as she opened the door. The cool air kissed her skin.
The other woman clapped and hollered, “You go, girl.”
Cait closed the door behind her. Looking down the long corridor of lockers, she inhaled deeply. She thrust her shoulders back, tilted her chin forward.
Then, for the first time, she walked through the women’s locker room naked.
Surrounded by racks upon racks of nothing-there panties and bras, Cait fingered the black lacy underwear. The woman had said to buy things that made her feel good about herself. As she studied the thin wisp of fabric, the last thing she felt was good. She felt horrified. The images this simple piece of material created were something compared to a slasher flick—gruesome, grotesque, and terrifying.
“Oh Cait, butt floss? Really?”
She gave Paul a wry smile. She’d called him about twenty minutes ago to come and help her shop. “So even this horrifies you?”
“Two words. Hairy ass.” He shuddered. She laughed.
He plucked the panties from her hand. “This is so not you. I can’t even believe you’re looking at it.”
Paul stepped a little farther down the racks. “Now this I can see you in.” He held up a pair of pink boy shorts.
Cait eyed the material. They were cute. She’d never shopped for pretty panties, just reached for her old faithful, a four-pack of cotton underwear. She ran her thumb over the shorts.
Soft.
She liked.
As she drew her hand back, Paul snatched her fingers, staring at them in amazement. “Girl, did you get your nails done?”
“Don’t look so shocked.”
“Seriously?” He held up his hand, shaking his head. “Did you seriously just say that to me? I’ve tried for years to get you to go with me to get a mani-pedi. But you called it frivolous. Who’s being frivolous now?”
Words always had a way of coming back and biting her in the ass. “I have no problem admitting when I am wrong.”
She studied the shiny tips. She had thought it frivolous to get her nails done, but ever since she’d waltzed inside the salon and had her fingers pampered, she couldn’t stop admiring them. The French-manicured tips made her hands look feminine and pretty.
Paul narrowed his eyes as he studied her. “What’s going on with you?”
“What?”
“Cait Moore does not willingly go shopping.”
“Let’s just say I had a fairy godmother give me a little advice.”
“And what advice was that?”
She grimaced. “To accept myself for who I am.”
Paul gasped, his hand flying to his throat. “I’ve been telling you that forever.” He gave her a snotty look, then whirled and stomped off.
“Ah, Paul.” She ran after him and grabbed his arm. “I know you’ve told me that over and over again.” He crossed his arms, nose in the air. “It was good advice. It was just different coming from this woman. She’s been there. It was like talking to myself.”
“And it sank in?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He smiled. “It’s about damned time.”
“This isn’t going to be some magic turnaround. You understand that, right?”
“The fact you came here by yourself without any encouragement is a huge step and I’m proud of you.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her back to the underwear. “Besides, now I have a shopping buddy. Amy can be such a drag.”
Cait laughed.
“Does Mr. Ripples have anything to do with this, too?”
She should’ve seen that coming. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
“Give it time, Cait.”
Time. How much time did she really have? If he planned to go back home after his fight, she didn’t have much time and it was slipping away. Could she overcome her fear before it was too late?
She pushed the thoughts aside when Paul thrust a pair of red panties at her. Lingerie now, worrying later.
By the time they finished, she clutched six pink bags in her hands—a complete new wardrobe of underwear, ranging from sexy to fun. Each pair camouflaged enough of her stomach to make her comfortable, yet still feel flirty. What was it about panties that made a girl feel good?
At Paul’s urging, she bought a white camisole with his instructions to wear it with the pink boy shorts. Why, she didn’t know and really didn’t care. His taste was impeccable, and she trusted his judgment.
Cait smiled as she left the mall. She had a long way to go, but she was on the right path.
…
Dante knocked on Caitlyn’s door. A surprised Amy answered.
“Sorry to come by without calling first. I need to speak to Caitlyn.”
“No worries, come on in,” Amy said, waving him inside.
He entered. No sign of Caitlyn. He’d hoped to catch her by surprise, catch her with her guard down. Now Amy would traipse back to her room and warn her.
“Hey, Amy…” Caitlyn trotted into the living room and stopped cold.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. More of her skin than he’d ever been privileged to se
e was displayed before him. Silky pink boy shorts hugged her hips, defining their fullness with articulate care. The hem rode high on her thighs, revealing muscular legs. They weren’t beanpole thin with no shape, like some of the women he knew.
His gaze roamed the white camisole molding to her like a second skin, skimmed full breasts trying to spill out, traced along her delicate collarbone, then up her long neck before finally meeting her eyes.
Dante’s heart thudded, and he was perilously close to embarrassing himself like a thirteen-year-old boy. He took a deep breath, trying to control the blood roaring in a downward spiral.
Caitlyn grabbed a pillow off the couch and held it in front of her. “Dante. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Obviously.” Even to his ears, the words emerged like a croak. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
She moved behind the couch, blocking his view of her legs, the damned pillow still clutched to her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
An awkward silence fell around them. Amy darted glances between the two. “Well, this has been fun, but I’ve got to go.” She was out the door before either could say anything.
The temperature rose twenty degrees. He was alone, with Caitlyn, in her apartment. Everything he wanted, but her frightened fawn look kept him planted.
“I wanted to apologize for Mike.”
She waved, dislodging the pillow. She juggled, then righted the barrier once again.
“Put the pillow down, Caitlyn.”
“Ain’t no way in hell that’s happening.”
“Then change into something else.” He turned his back. Right now, a clothed Caitlyn was a much better idea than a partially naked one. Her exposed skin was too much of a temptation, and he doubted he’d be able to resist.
Who was he kidding? There was no way he could resist. He’d proven that this morning.
He heard her pad down the hall and when the door closed, he stepped into the living room and sank on the couch. The silence disturbed him. It brought an awareness of her he needed to keep under lock and key, at least for now.
Picking her up and taking her back to her room—or hell, laying her right here on this couch—wasn’t an option. Yet.