Fighting Dirty

by Lori Foster

  “Poor Armie.” She put the softest of kisses to his throat. “Most think it’s because of your fighting skill.”

  “Trust me, the guys correct anyone who has misconceptions on the genesis of the meaning.”

  Her tongue took a damp path up his neck to his ear. In a seductive whisper, she said, “That’s so mean of them.”

  Wrapping a hand in her hair, he tugged her head back, then kissed the grin on her mouth. “I can tell you’re heartbroken for me.” Another kiss, and then another. It was so easy to lose himself with her. “Rissy...”

  “Mmm?” She didn’t want to leave his mouth and kept getting him off track. Her lips were full and soft, her tongue damp and warm.

  “I’ve never talked about that with another woman.”

  For a second she went utterly still, then he found himself flat on his back with Rissy stiff-armed over him. At first she just stared into his eyes, as if gauging the truth. But she must have liked what she saw because she gradually sank against him. “Thank you for telling me.”

  For some reason, he’d needed her to know. She might not realize the significance of him sharing in ways he never had with any other woman—but he understood, and for now that was enough.

  “Will you tell me something else?”

  Her hair fell around them, shielding her face and moving over his shoulders like an intimate caress. He used both hands to tuck it back. “What do you want to know?”

  She turned her head to kiss each of his forearms. “Why did you get these? Do the tattoos mean anything?”

  The laugh took him by surprise. He brought her down to his chest, hugging her. “They mean about as much as my goofy shirts or my ever-changing hair color.”

  When she struggled to lift up again, he restrained her until she settled against him. He liked her right there, her heart beating with his.

  “They mean I’m a little different.” He thought about it, and shrugged. “Also, if I see something I like, I go with it.”

  “Not me.” Her fingers played over his fevered skin. “You liked me, right? But you always kept me away.”

  His arms tightened. He’d liked her most of all and denying himself had been hell. “We’re here now, right?”

  Ignoring that, she asked, “And the tattoo on your back? The winged heart wrapped in thorns?”

  Breathing became a little more difficult.

  “It’s not colorful,” she said, gliding her fingertips up and down his forearm. “Not like these.”

  He wouldn’t lie and tell her it meant nothing, so instead he said, “It’s just different, that’s all.” And it was far too freaking personal to discuss with anyone, but especially Rissy. To keep her from digging, he abruptly turned, tucking her under him. He nudged her legs open and, damn, his dick aligned with her sex. They both went still, except that he felt Rissy’s nails on his shoulders, digging in.

  He liked that.

  “Your ankle is okay?” he asked.

  Eyes vague, she nodded.

  Seeing that particular lost look on her face pushed him past common sense. Though he badly wanted to, he didn’t enter her. Instead he slowly rocked his hips and with each pass his cock spread her wetness, gliding between her lips, making her pant with the friction to her clit.

  Fuck, it felt good moving against Rissy without any barriers between them. He watched her face, loving the slippery heat of her, how she squirmed and lifted into him.

  Yeah, she was already on the ragged edge and he wanted to push her over. Framing her delicate breasts with his hard hands, he lowered his head and licked at her nipples, nipped carefully with his teeth, alternately drew each nipple in for a soft, leisurely suck, then tugged carefully with his teeth.

  Her breath caught. She strained away before curling closer. Soft, desperate whimpers told him she was almost there. While drawing on one nipple, he scooped a hand under her ass and angled her up, tighter against him.

  A few more strokes and she came with a short, stifled cry, her willowy body bowing hard.

  Raising his head to catch every nuance of her release, Armie watched her, absorbed while also worried for her ankle—and his own sanity.

  Taking short, panting breaths and moving sinuously beneath him, she began to calm. “Mmm,” she purred. “That was...surprising.”

  She was surprising, in a million different ways. “Don’t move.”

  At Mach speed he rolled on a condom, settled back over her and slowly went deep. Urgency throbbed in his veins, but he made himself take it easy, giving her time to catch up again.

  And she did.

  Thirty minutes later, one of her hands fisting the hair on the back of his head, she groaned, “Enough, Quick,” mocking his name since he’d just dragged out the pleasure for her in an excruciating way.

  “Funny,” he whispered, watching her face contort with raw pleasure. “It doesn’t sound bad at all when you say it.” She broke again, and this time he joined her.

  Nothing seemed bad with Rissy.

  But in his heart he knew it couldn’t be this easy. Not for him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SEVERAL DAYS LATER, Armie wrapped up a stint of working on cage strategy with some of the guys Havoc and Simon had sent up. It had been a good deal for all; the guys new to the rec center had enjoyed mixing it up as much as Armie had.

  He only had four weeks left before the fight, and he knew he was in better shape than he’d ever been.

  There’d been nonstop promo to do, with radio interviews running into online chats and too damn many photo shoots and fan meet and greets for him to keep count. He understood the necessity, but that didn’t mean he liked all the fuss.

  There were plenty of fighters who loved the attention, getting off on all the praise. Since he wasn’t one of them, he was thrilled that the majority of the fuss was now behind him.

  Only a few people were left at the gym this late and already Armie looked forward to getting home to Rissy.

  Ever since he’d given her the key, she’d all but moved in.

  ’Course, her house was still there, comfortable, cozy. A real home.

  Waiting.

  At any minute she could walk, and for her it’d be seamless. It made him antsy to think about it. He didn’t want to jump the gun, but once he got past this fight—

  “Hey.” Denver, who’d still been around working with some high school boys, joined him now that he’d seen the last guy out the door. “Harper said you wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah.” That had been a couple of hours ago, before Harper and Gage left. “You’ve been busy today.”

  Denver winced as he stretched, flexing his shoulders and popping his neck—which usually came from frustration-based discomfort, not a workout. “You know that kid, Bray Huggins?”

  “Fifteen, shit attitude, shittier home life.” The kid was usually tired, and his clothes looked like they came from the laundry basket. “I’ve been working with him. What’s up? He piss you off?”

  “I wish that was it.” Denver folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the concrete wall. “He had some bruises.”

  Armie paused in the middle of putting weights back on the rack. “Where?”

  “Here.” Denver ran a hand over his own massive biceps. “Little bruises, like fingertips. And he has a cut on his nose and a scrape on his neck.”

  Ah, hell. Armie forgot all about the weights. “I don’t suppose he was in a fight?”

  “He told me to mind my own business when I asked, but I don’t think that was it.” Disgusted, Denver told him, “I think someone in his family is roughing him up.”

  “Damn.” He hated it, but Armie nodded. “I’ve had a few doubts myself. I asked Cannon about it, but he doesn’t know the family, either.” Which was unusual, because Cannon knew pretty much everyone in their small town.

  “I considered talking to Logan or Reese—”

  Detectives. Armie cut him off. “Bringing in the police should be a last resort. If the parents skate by, it could
just make them defensive and they might stop Bray from coming around.” Then they’d have no idea what was going on, and Armie knew that’d eat him up.

  As if he’d already come to that conclusion himself, Denver cursed. “He asked about you.”

  “Bray? Yeah, I’ve been working with him.”

  “He knows you’re prepping for a fight so he hated to get in your way—his words, not mine.”

  “You should have told me earlier.”

  “I tried. He was pretty adamant and if I’d pushed it, he might’ve booked.”

  “So instead you spent extra time with him?”

  “Yeah. Not sure if it helped or not, though. Bray’s not real talkative.”

  No kidding. “His specialty seems to be sullen disgust.”

  Denver grinned. “Pretty much.”

  To give himself a second to think, Armie went back to cleanup, putting the weights where they belonged.

  “You know you don’t need to do that now.”

  He glanced at Denver, who’d fallen into step beside him, doing his own fair share of end-of-the-day arranging. “I don’t recall you, Cannon or Stack dodging chores just because you had an upcoming fight, especially not a month out.”

  Miles, pushing a mop bucket, said, “You can both call it a night if you want. I’ve got this.”

  “Thanks,” Armie said. “But I don’t mind.” He checked the time. Rissy would be off work shortly, probably headed straight to his place now that she had some of her stuff there.

  She tended to peel out of the business clothes the second she hit the door. Around the apartment she favored pajama pants, big sweatshirts and bare feet. Rissy’s idea of sloppy comfort never failed to fire his libido in a big way.

  It wouldn’t kill him to be an hour late. Mind made up, he told Denver, “I think I’ll go by Bray’s house. Get a lay of the land, you know?”

  “I already checked.” Disgusted, Denver explained, “He’s in the worst part of town.”

  “Yeah, I know.” A lot of the kids that straggled in did so out of boredom, anger or need. Armie had a feeling Bray hit all three categories.

  It was a hell of a setup Cannon had created, a real way to help the neighborhood.

  And to help Cannon, Armie stayed up on everyone who came or went, especially the kids in need. “I wanted to ask you about something else, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” Denver did his own check of the time. “Cherry will wait another thirty minutes before she gets too impatient.” He said it with a big sappy grin.

  “Cherry Pie,” Armie said, knowing it’d irk Denver. “Did you give her hell for comparing bedtime stories the other night?”

  “Naw.” Denver sent him a man-to-man look. “Gave her some better stories to tell, though.”

  Armie grinned. Not that long ago, Denver had been denying himself, and although she’d put up a good front, Cherry was miserable about it. He was glad they’d finally worked out their differences. They both deserved the best.

  “So what’s up?” Denver asked.

  It was an awkward conversation and Armie wasn’t quite sure how to get started. “You’ve had first fights.”

  “Nervous?”

  Armie snorted. “You know I’m not.”

  “No, you probably aren’t.” Grinning, Denver said, “So spit it out.”

  “Fine. They’re paying me a shitload.” And he wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that. Until now, he’d mostly just ignored the fact. But that was the stupid way to deal with it and Armie tried not to be stupid—even about money.

  “I’d heard.” He clapped Armie on the back. “After you win, you’ll get a bonus. And I’m betting you get the fight of the night bonus, too.”

  Damn. The financial aspect of fighting for the SBC sometimes boggled his mind. He’d spent his life being frugal, but he’d never wanted for much, had always been able to afford what he needed, and he was comfortable. But now...

  It’d be a lot easier to just concentrate on Rissy than finances. But since he was here with Denver... “You’re still an accountant, right?”

  “I’ve kept a few established clients. Why? You need advice?”

  From behind them, Miles said, “When doesn’t he?”

  Armie flipped him the bird. “I’ve never really done the whole investment thing. I mean, I keep cash in the bank. And my finances are currently...fine. I can’t say I’m swimming in it, but I don’t have debt, either.”

  “I’d be glad to help out,” Denver said. “We can get together after the fight and figure out a plan.”

  “Great. I was also thinking about a house. You know, instead of paying rent?”

  Denver stared at him.

  “What?” Was the idea of him as a home owner so ludicrous?

  Miles sidled up, dragging the mop bucket with him. “Why would you want a house?”

  Scowling, Armie asked, “Why wouldn’t I want a house?”

  “Rissy already has one,” Denver pointed out. “That’s why.”

  “Since it’s her family home,” Miles added, “I doubt she’d want to sell it.”

  Well shit.

  Slowly, Denver grinned, then elbowed Miles. “Look at him. He’s caught, but not sure how caught, so he’s keeping mum.”

  “Seriously?” Miles scratched his chin. “You thought no one knew?”

  “He thought he was being all covert,” Denver said in a ludicrous stage whisper. “Real hush-hush.”

  “With the way Rissy looks at him now?”

  “And,” Denver added, “how he looks at her.”

  “Yeah. Almost made me blush a few times.”

  Armie reached for him, and Miles ducked away, laughing. “Take a breath, man. Relax. If we didn’t know you both so well, we might not have noticed. But we do.”

  “We do,” Denver agreed. “And you really do burn the girl up with how you stare.”

  Armie scowled. “Shut the fuck up.” But of course they didn’t.

  “Why all the secrecy anyway?” Miles asked. “It’s not like she’s still in high school.”

  “Or a virgin,” Denver said, pushing him. He turned to Miles. “You remember that other douche she dated?”

  “Steve,” Miles said with a curled lip. “No way was that guy hands-off.” He shuddered as if repulsed.

  “Hell, I’m guessing everyone will be glad you’re in the picture. It keeps creeps like Steve from crawling back in.”

  “So c’mon, buddy,” Miles said, placating. “Tell us all about your worries.”

  Armie had no idea how to explain, so he decided not to. “Fuck you both.” He was just glad that, according to them, most wouldn’t have noticed. Because it was definitely the outsiders that concerned him.

  Denver was gearing up to rib him more when a knock sounded on the front door. They all three turned to see a hulk of a guy, brown haired with three days of beard scruff, a crooked nose and a neck tattoo, staring through the glass door toward them.

  Miles was the first to speak. “Huh. It’s the guy you’re fighting.”

  “Carter Fletcher,” Armie said, recognizing him right off.

  “Chaos,” Denver said at almost the same time.

  Wondering at the visit, they all three walked to the door. Denver had the keys, Armie assumed Carter wanted to see him, and Miles was probably just nosy.

  Carter stepped in, hand extended. “Denver. Good to see you.”

  Looking more than a little bemused, Denver accepted the greeting. “Carter.”

  He nodded next to Miles. “Miles Dartman, right? The Legend?”

  “Trying to live up to that.” Laughing, Miles also took Carter’s hand in greeting.

  “All right,” Armie said, “if you ladies are done with the pleasantries, maybe Carter can tell me why he’s here.”

  Carter rubbed at the bridge of his nose, glanced at each man, then settled on Armie. “Jacobson. I was hoping to talk. In private, I mean.”

  What now? Seeing no alternative, Armie shrugged. “Sure.” He didn�
�t want to stay at the rec center. Closing time had come and gone. And Rissy might be at his place, so he couldn’t invite Carter there. “I was on my way out, but we can talk in my truck if you want.”

  “That’s fine. I won’t keep you long.”

  Armie shared a look with his friends. “Looks like you guys are going to finish up without me after all.” He pulled his cell from his pocket. “Give me two minutes, and I’ll be right with you.”

  * * *

  RISSY HAD ALMOST reached Armie’s apartment when he called to tell her he’d be pretty late. He didn’t say why, and she hesitated to question him. She wanted to be one of those “no pressure” girlfriends who didn’t smother him with lack of trust or clinging need.

  Girlfriend. Oh, how she loved the thought. Armie had never designated her as such, but she was all the same. She knew it. And despite how he tried to keep things private, all their friends knew she was staying with him at his apartment.

  Warfield, Ohio, was small, their neighborhood smaller, and their group of friends tight.

  Since all the women knew, that meant their significant others also knew. No one seemed to think anything of it. Heck, she’d even caught her brother smiling at her every so often. Whenever she’d ask Cannon why, he’d just shake his head—and go on smiling.

  She was pretty sure those smiles were about her and Armie. Her brother had never liked Steve, but of course he loved Armie. Everyone did.

  Her, most especially.

  It thrilled her to know they were exclusive.

  Armie had a very busy life as a fighter, but he always checked in with her to let her know if he’d be late or away from the rec center. He put in grueling hours on his career, and now, with the upcoming fight closing in, it seemed various promotions also sucked up a lot of his time. And still, he somehow managed to be there for anyone and everyone whenever they needed him. He ran nonstop and yet never tired.

  His energy level astounded her, especially in bed.

  She knew Yvette, Cherry, Harper and Vanity loved him as a friend. And the guys—well, they could only be described as family.

  The family Armie had never had.