She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, we’re good.” He dropped his hands, and she immediately felt the absence of his touch. If she didn’t have an English paper due, she’d have been tempted to ditch class. It would be nice to spend the afternoon with him. They were moving into uncharted territory here, and she was more than a little excited to see where it would go. And she could use the distraction after the week she’d had.
She’d responded to the notification letter as requested by the DOC and stated her intention to petition against the early parole of Sean Campoli. As of yet no date for the hearing had been set. It could easily be a few months before the case went before a judge. But even hearing his name, seeing his face on the news, had opened a lot of old wounds she’d worked hard to heal from. No question she was in for a long haul with this, and with no end in sight, she needed her support systems in place. She needed Regan.
He might have sensed the turn her thoughts had taken, because concern heightened the intensity of those stunning green eyes boring into her. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Not really. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I feel like I’m about to come apart inside. But this was not the time or place to discuss the bastard who had ruined her life.
Regan didn’t appear convinced. He put voice to the thoughts she’d had only moments ago. “Come on, Willow. Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. We’ll spend the afternoon together. Just like old times . . .”
Just like old times. How many times had she ditched school when she was younger—too emotional and caught up in her grief to sit through another class? Regan had been there every time to pick her up, writing notes to excuse her absence and covering for her with Kyle. She had been so much more fucked up than her brother ever knew. He was devastated himself, and Willow had tried hard to hide her brokenness. But Regan knew. He’d seen her at her worst, seen through her bullshit, and stood by her side when she wasn’t sure she could go on. “Old times” for them were bittersweet memories.
She forced a laugh from her throat, attempting to lighten the sudden sobriety heavy in the air. “Look at you trying to get me to play hooky.” She tsked, shaking her head in disapproval. “You are a bad influence, Regan Matthews.”
He chuckled. “Been trying to tell you that for a long time now.”
“You’re not training today?”
“I ducked out early. Kyle’s at the shop, working on his car, so—”
“So, you’re a delinquent too.”
His sexy grin flashed a row of perfect white teeth. “You got a thing for bad boys, don’t you, Willow?”
“Only one.” She moved closer, a flare of feminine satisfaction rising inside her when his body tensed in response to hers. “I’ll have to take a rain check on your offer. Got a paper due in about fifteen minutes.” Unable to resist, she rose to her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to the hard angle of his jaw and whispered, “See you tonight.”
She slipped past him and started down the hall, a grin tugging at her lips as she left Regan standing there, his heated gaze burning into her ass. Head held high, shoulders back, she gave herself a mental high five. He’d finally done it. After all this time, Regan had finally told her he loved her. Albeit, he hadn’t looked happy about that fact, but it was enough that he could admit it—for now.
Before she turned the corner, she cast a parting glance at him over her shoulder. “You know you’re wrong, Regan. There’s a lot that makes you a good man.”
Surprise registered, and then his brows narrowed as if he wanted to disagree, but she didn’t give him a chance to tell her she was wrong about him. She knew she wasn’t, even if he didn’t. Regan’s worth was not the sum of his past. You couldn’t pick your parents. Sometimes you just got the short straw, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. It had zero to do with who he was as now, or his value as a man—though she knew he would never see it that way.
With a final wave, she hurried off to class.
Regan watched her go, unable to tear his eyes off her perfect heart-shaped ass. The way her skirt swished with each step, flirting with the tips of her polished toes . . . his cock strained against his jeans. But the pressure coiling in his groin was nothing compared with the tightening in his chest. Had he really thought to convince himself he didn’t love her? For crissake, what was not to love? Willow represented everything he wanted in a woman. She was sweet, innocent, and kind—beautiful and selfless. What man wouldn’t fall in love with that?
Maybe he should give himself a break and stop beating himself up over something he had no control over. Then again, maybe he should stop trying to justify betraying his best friend.
Willow rounded the corner and disappeared with a finger-fluttering wave. Exhaling a breath, Regan leaned against the wall and closed his eyes as what the fuck did I just do? raced through his head. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one with that question because, a moment later, his thoughts were put to voice.
“What are you doing, man?”
Regan opened his eyes to find Romeo in his grill. Seriously? Dude better back the hell off, because he was not in the mood for this shit right now. And what happened to the whoa, let’s not piss off the MMA fighter routine? An act for Willow’s benefit? Possibly, because right now this guy didn’t look like he gave two fucks that Regan made a living kicking ass. It’d been a long time since someone had stepped up on him. In fact, the last person to do it had been his old man.
“Who the hell are you?” Regan asked with bored interest. He was not going to let this little prick know how close he was to pushing Regan’s “Go” button. Well, “little” was kinda figurative, because the guy was maybe an inch shorter than he was, minus about fifteen pounds of muscle mass.
“I’m the guy who’s going to take your girl if you don’t get your shit together.”
Wrong answer. Regan grabbed Romeo by the shirt and swapped positions, slamming the little shit up against the wall. Now who was in whose face? His top lip curled back in a snarl he reserved for the cage, but Willow’s puppy bared his own teeth, looking like he was ready to bite back—a Doberman against a Golden Retriever wasn’t going to be much of a fight.
“Let’s get something straight right now,” Regan growled. “Willow is mine.”
“Then you better step up or step out of the way, because that girl’s heartache is my siren call. You do this a lot, don’t you? Huff and puff around any guy that might get close to her. Well, I’ll tell you what, Big Bad Wolf. My house ain’t made of straw. You aren’t going to blow it down.”
“We’ll see about that. You cross the line with her, and I’ll sure as shit knock you the fuck out.”
Romeo gave him another flash of teeth that wasn’t even close to a smile. And he’d be damned—that dog did have a set of fangs, after all.
“Maybe, maybe not . . .”
Chapter 7
The door opened before Willow could dig her keys out of her purse, and the bags of groceries were lifted from her arms. “Regan? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
Without a shirt on? Something in the way he regarded her made the butterflies in her stomach come to life. Nervous energy flittered through her as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Kyle home?” She cast an anxious glance toward the living room. Maybe they’d been lifting weights or something.
“No, he’s still at the shop.” Regan turned and headed toward the kitchen, giving her a view of broad shoulders and his sculpted back. “Rebuilding that engine is taking a lot longer than he thought it would. I called him to see if he needed a ride home, but he said Dougie was dropping him off. He might be a little late.”
They were alone? Her stomach did another excited little flip. This was ridiculous. She and Regan had been alone tons of times, but this time it felt different. Her heart beat a bit faster as she followed him into the kitchen, trying for nonchalant but sure she wasn’t pulling it off. Her palms were starting to get kinda sweaty.
“I know.” She stood by the table, watching him, admiring the expanse of his back and the way it veed to his trim waist. His pants hung low and loose on his hips, but his ass filled out those dark-wash jeans like they were made just for him.
He must have felt her staring, because he paused mid-reach into the cupboard and turned. “What?”
The smile he gave her was a panty dropper. Willow wasn’t used to being the recipient of it. Usually it was careful smiles and fleeting glances when he didn’t think she was looking—none of this unguarded charm. Just a whole lot of awkward tension. But this man feasting his eyes on her right now was the Regan she wished he would always be with her. She’d be lying if she said the abrupt change of heart wasn’t making her head spin. Had he finally decided to stop fighting it and give into whatever this was between them?
“You all right?” he asked when she didn’t answer him. After closing the cupboard door, he walked over to her, and that’s when she noticed a fine white powder on the shelf of his shoulders and a sprinkling of it in his hair.
“What is this?” She dusted his clavicle and tried not to notice the heat of his hard, muscled flesh beneath her fingertips.
“Come here.” His brow arched mischievously as he held out his hand.
Hesitantly, she placed hers inside his, and Regan’s strong fingers immediately enveloped her hand. A jolt raced up her arm, which jump-started her heart, kicking it into a wild rhythm as he led her toward her bedroom.
Wait. What is he doing? Excitement warred with anxiety. She wanted Regan, no question about it, but this . . . this was moving kind of fast—wasn’t it? What had happened to all his doubts? His concerns about Kyle?
She knew he was used to quick hookups with women. Was he expecting the same from her? Unfortunately, she’d overheard the boastful stories from the guys at the gym, laughing about how they’d take bets when they went out, setting a stopwatch to see how long it’d take some cage-banger to try to pick Regan up. So yeah, she knew he moved fast. But this was like speed dating on crack. She hadn’t been home for five minutes, and he was already half-undressed and pulling her into her bedroom.
“Umm . . . Regan, wait. Do you think maybe we could, you know, talk first?”
“Talk?” He sounded as if the idea was absurd. “About what?” Then his steps faltered, his brows narrowing. “Wait a minute. Why do you think I’m bringing you in here?”
She didn’t need to respond. The flush staining her cheeks was all the answer he needed. One plus one equaled two pretty damn fast. He cursed, scrubbing his hand over the top of his head, making it rain white powder. What the hell was that?
“You think I’m bringing you into your bedroom so we can hook up?”
Well, he didn’t have to look so disgusted by it. Talk about your confidence booster . . .
Regan dropped her hand like it was on fire, but that would be her face. Embarrassment burned up her cheeks.
“Holy hell, don’t you know me at all? And you were still going to come with me?” he accused.
“You’re half-naked,” she said in her defense. “And you said you were waiting for me. And you were pulling me into my bedroom. What was I supposed to think?”
“And I told you this afternoon that I wasn’t going to do anything about it.”
All right . . . those were fighting words. Now she was pissed. Indignation rose inside her, drowning out her embarrassment and sparking her temper just enough to make her reckless. “And I told you I was.” Willow reached up and began unbuttoning her shirt, starting at the top and working her way down. Regan’s eyes grew wide and then dropped to her breasts, the absinthe brightness darkening to emerald. Her nipples hardened under the intensity of his stare.
“What are you doing, Willow?”
Was that anxiety she heard in that tough fighter’s voice? “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re taking your fucking clothes off in the hall. Stop it.”
Half the buttons were undone, exposing the shell-pink lace cups of her demi bra and her generous swell of cleavage. She had great boobs. They were one of her best assets, and in just a minute, Regan was going to find that out too. Not going to do anything about it, huh? Well, they’d see about that.
“Willow . . .” Tension filled his voice, now husky and raw, but his eyes didn’t leave her chest—not even to blink. He looked a mix between mesmerized and panicked. Was this the mighty Regan Matthews? “Cunt Conqueror,” his friends teasingly called him. The only thing he looked capable of conquering right now was a panic attack.
This shift in power between them made her bold, and frustration made her careless—a dangerous combination when it came to Willow Scott. She released her last button and let her top fall to the floor.
“Willow, I mean it,” he warned.
She took a step toward him, and he countered with one back, slamming into the wall. Tucking her lips between her teeth to hold back her mischievous grin, she taunted him. “What are you going to do about it?”
She couldn’t believe she was doing this—taking her clothes off in front of Regan. This wasn’t her. She’d barely ever kissed a guy, let alone undressed in front of one. But she’d set them on an emotional game of chicken, and she’d be damned if she backed down now and risked losing all the ground she’d gained with him this afternoon.
Giving him a daring smile that held a lot more confidence than she felt, she reached behind her back and slipped her fingers beneath her bra clasp. Regan flinched. He knew what she was about to do. Hard-core lust flared in his eyes, stealing some of her bravado. There was a real possibility she’d just stepped into the deep end of the pool—without a floaty.
She’d heard the rumors whispered by the cage-bangers loitering around the gym and at the CFA-sponsored events. Regan and Aiden were fan-club favorites. So was her brother, but that was just—eww . . . Some things a girl just didn’t need to know about her brother.
Unfortunately, in this business, she learned more than she ever cared to know about the sexual appetites of Marcus’s fighters. Cole never hit the same hole twice, Aiden preferred them two at a time, and Del Toro never touched ’em, which spawned speculation that he might be into dudes. But she didn’t think so. He was just broken—in every way. Kyle . . . not gonna go there. And Regan, well, Regan was known for his ravenous appetite. And that wild, untethered hunger in his eyes right now told her she looked like a gazelle to this lion.
Breathless seconds kicked by, eyes locked, and muscles tensed. Was this what it was like to face him in the cage?—focused and ready to strike. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stood there, frozen. With the slightest flick of her fingers, her bra would come loose, dropping to the floor. If she could just summon the courage to do it.
She didn’t have a chance. Regan lunged for her. Mercy, he moved fast. She let out a startled squeak, expecting his mouth to come crashing down on hers as he lived up to his reputation. He was going to possess her—consume her.
But instead, he grabbed her arm, pulling it away from her bra clasp. “Stop taunting me, Willow. You’re not going to break me,” he growled, spinning them to pin her between the wall in the hallway and his wall of hot, muscled flesh. His lips were achingly close to hers. She wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, her or himself. The tension firing between them was electric, his need palpable as he fought his beast into submission. She could see the war raging in his eyes, and it thrilled her—watching his will battling his emotions and wondering which one would win, because there was no doubt in her mind Regan wanted her.
She knew she wasn’t playing fair, but Willow was past fair; she was playing for keeps. “Maybe not, but
it’s only right if I do since you’ve broken me.”
He looked at her in question, eyes narrowing over brows drawn tight in that infamous Rapscallion scowl.
“You ruined me for every other guy, because the only one I’ve ever wanted is you. I’m almost twenty-one years old, and I don’t even know what it’s like to really be kissed. How pathetic is that?”
“You’ve been kissed before, Willow. I’ve seen it.” As if the confession conjured the memory, Regan’s expression darkened possessively.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the kind of kiss that makes you lose your breath. The kind of kiss you can feel all the way to the toes. The kind of kiss where you become your partner’s next breath and you feel like you’re going to die if he doesn’t give it back to you.”
The mixture of surprise and empathy reflecting in his eyes made her feel foolish for speaking her heart. With a sad curl of his top lip, he gently reached up and brushed his thumb over the arch of her cheek, frowning at her with the pity of someone about to deliver devastating news. “Sweetheart, that kind of passion you’re talking about, those feelings, that’s a fairy tale. They don’t exist. Trust me. I know.”
She certainly didn’t need that reminder. Regan’s vast experience only made her feel foolish and inadequate—childish even. But still, she wouldn’t let go of the dream she’d held so close to her heart all these years. He was wrong. It would be like that with him. She knew it. Refusing to let him destroy her dream, she notched her chin defiantly.
“Maybe that’s because you haven’t kissed the right woman yet. If you’re so sure, prove me wrong.” She issued the challenge, knowing he’d be hard-pressed to back down from it. “Prove to me that what’s between us isn’t anything special. No harm, no foul, right? Kyle doesn’t have to find out. It’s just a kiss. And once we know the truth, maybe we can both get over this infatuation and move on with our lives. Perhaps you’re right, and all these years of dreaming about this moment have made it into an unattainable fantasy. Maybe the Regan in my dreams is so much better than the one standing in front of me right now.”
Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 7