“Oh, my God,” she whispered breathlessly. “OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod!”
“Do you want to go?” He squeezed her hand to get her attention, when what he really wanted was to drag that asshole out back and beat him senseless for whatever he’d done to put that look of fear in her eyes. It didn’t matter he could hardly walk. He was a well-enough-rounded fighter he could still kick this guy’s ass.
Despite the burning desire to confront Katie’s demons for her, the need to take care of her proved greater. Katie nodded numbly, moisture rimming her eyes. He could tell she was fighting like hell to hold it together, and he was fighting like hell not to pull her into his arms. Bracing his hands on the table, he stood, slipped his crutches beneath his arms, and stepped between her and the bar, using his body to shield her as she slipped from the chair.
“Is there another exit? Maybe in the back?” He didn’t want her passing by the bar if it could be helped.
“Straight back.”
“I’ll follow you.” Cole grabbed his wallet and tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table to cover their tab. Keeping himself positioned between Katie and the bar, they weaved past the tables and made their way through the crowd to the back exit. He reached forward and held the door open as she slipped outside. Before leaving, Cole shot one final withering glare at the man whose gaze had never left them.
What the hell just happened in there?”
Katie’s hand shook so violently, the keys rattled as she struggled to put one into the ignition. Shit. Shit . . . shit . . . shit . . . If she hadn’t seen him with her very own eyes, she never would have believed it. How had he found her? She’d been so careful.
Cole reached over and steadied her hand. “Katie, talk to me.” He helped her guide the key home, and she turned her wrist, firing up the RAV. She let go of the keys, but he didn’t let go of her hand, slipping his fingers around hers just like he’d done in the bar. This time she pulled back. If she let him comfort her now, there was a good chance she’d lose it, dissolving into a puddle of tears. It’d taken every last ounce of her courage to keep it together in there—courage she must have drawn from him, because there was no way in hell she could have stood on her own two feet and walked out of there like she had without him.
Lord help her, that was close. What if he’d seen them? The thought struck her with paralyzing fear. Surely he hadn’t. If Carter had seen her out with another guy, he would have lost his mind. Then again, this was Cole Easton she was with, and crutches or not, he was one hell of an impressive male—not exactly the kind of guy you’d tangle with and live to tell about it.
Cold air blasted out of the vents, adding another layer of goose bumps to her already prickly flesh. She reached forward and switched off the fan blowing cold air at them. Her rapid breaths steamed the cab, bearing witness to her panic. The dash lights illuminated the sharp angles of Cole’s face, concern cutting his features into an apprehensive scowl.
“Katie, tell me what’s going on.”
She didn’t want to do this. Not here. Not now—with the bitter cold biting through her clothes to take root in her bones, or maybe that was the fear. Besides Uncle Marcus, no one knew about the hell she’d endured at Carter’s hands. She wasn’t about to take that trip down memory lane any time soon, and she sure as hell wasn’t doing it with Cole.
But he had the pit-bull tenacity of a born fighter, and wearing his opponent down with well-timed jabs was his MO. That iron-clad will of his reared its ugly head once again as Cole hit her with a one-two punch that threatened to obliterate her resolve. “I want to help you, Katie. But I can’t if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”
If she actually thought he could, she might have given in. Problem was, he couldn’t help her—no one could.
“Who’s the guy in the bar, Katie?”
She held his unwavering stare—so strong, so fiercely protective. What she wouldn’t give to have a tenth of the courage and strength that flowed through this fighter’s veins.
“Either you tell me, or I’ll go back in there and get the answers myself.”
She had no doubt he would do just that. It didn’t matter that his legs weren’t currently with the program. Something she’d learned about Cole in the short time she’d known him was that he was headstrong and determined, and when he said he was going to do something, he was damn well going to do it.
When she didn’t speak, he made a grab for the door handle, and Katie lunged to stop him. She grabbed his arm and was surprised to feel his muscles tense beneath her touch. “Please. Just let it go. He might not have even seen us.”
Cole canted his head, leveling her with one of those heated stares that should not have woken the butterflies in her stomach or stirred that ache between her thighs, a painful reminder of how long it’d been since she’d let a man touch her—but then his next words stole every last bit of heat from her body.
“Oh, he saw you. He couldn’t take his fucking eyes off you.”
Katie didn’t miss the deep inflection in Cole’s voice, or the growl that sounded a lot like possessiveness. The look on her face must have mirrored the terror ripping through her chest at this remark because Cole immediately swore. He started to reach for her, and then seemed to think better of it, scrubbing the back of his neck as if trying to ease the ache of sore, stiff muscles. “Shit, Katie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay,” she mumbled numbly.
“No, it’s not. Just tell me this, is that the guy who sent you those flowers?”
She hesitated to answer, but her lack of response told him more than she wanted to.
“Dammit, Katie, how can I help you if you won’t even talk to me?”
She could hear the impatience in his voice, sense his frustration, but he wasn’t the only one feeling it. “That’s just it, Cole. I don’t want you involved in this, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d just drop it.” It was bad enough he’d witnessed her floral meltdown and freak-out in the bar. She felt like a pathetic loser. This man was here to heal, to get back into fighting condition so he could hold on to his title—and his career. He most definitely wasn’t here to fight her battles for her. But what she didn’t understand was why he would even want to.
Before Cole could do something crazy like get out of the car and go back in there to confront the man who’d made her life a living hell, Katie put the RAV in gear and pulled out into traffic. She chanced a glance at Cole after checking over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed. He looked pissed. Why? Why would he care? He had enough on his plate without getting caught up in her drama.
Neither of them spoke the rest of the drive home. The minute they entered the house, each went their separate ways—Cole to the shower, and Katie to the kitchen. It wasn’t that she was some super domestic Martha Stewart type. In fact, her culinary skills were rather limited to microwaves and rice boiling. But considering it was her fault they hadn’t eaten yet, the least she could do was scrounge up something—scrounge being the key word, because it didn’t take a lot of effort to pull together a couple of BLTs.
She’d hoped the aromatic bacon permeating the air would be enough to bring Cole around, but as she set the plates and sandwiches on the table, and poured two glasses of milk, there was still no sign of the cranky fighter. A part of her wanted to slip into the chair and eat her meager supper before going to get him. She wasn’t sure she could stomach much more of his prying questions or judgmental looks.
It was obvious Cole confronted life like he did his opponents—fearless, bold, and in your face. And that was great, if you were the light-heavyweight champion of the world, but he didn’t understand she was out of her weight class. How do you begin to explain to a shark what it’s like to be a minnow? She didn’t want Cole’s pity any more than he wanted hers. He should understand that.
“Cole, supper’s ready!” Katie called from the kitchen as she drained the still-sizzling bacon grease into an empty coffee can she kept
under the sink. Turning the faucet to high, she ran cold water into the pan and added a squirt of Dawn. It sizzled and popped, steam billowing from the sink as she used the spatula to scrub off the burned bacon bits. When the pan was so shiny she could see her reflection—oh wow, she looked like hell—Katie used her shoulder to shove back a rogue lock of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail, and then rinsed the pan before setting it in the strainer to dry.
She craned her neck to look down the hall and scowled when she saw no sign of Cole. “Come on, Cole! Get your ass moving! Before supper gets co—oh . . .”
He emerged from the bathroom—clean shaven, his dark hair a sexy, towel-dampened mess. Her fingers itched to touch his shaggy locks, but instead, she nervously dried her hands on her thighs. His eyes were so electric blue they looked almost otherworldly. As they connected with hers, Katie’s heart stuttered in her chest. The little muscle in Cole’s jaw ticked as if he were grinding his molars. Obviously someone was still pissy.
She turned away, breaking his stare, and busied herself with the few remaining dishes.
“You may not look like your uncle, but you sure as hell sound like him,” Cole grumbled. “For a minute there, I thought I was back in camp.”
Katie wasn’t sure if he was insulting her or joking. She chose to assume the latter, hoping it would break some of the tension growing between them since they left the Sportsman. She wanted the comfortable camaraderie they’d shared BF—Before Freak-out. She shrugged and turned toward the table, taking her seat across from him. “What can I say? Motivational speaking is a gift that runs in the family. I considered being a drill instructor, but I decided on PT instead.”
He choked on a surprised laugh, looked at the BLT with wilted lettuce peeking out from the corner of his toast, and said, “I can see your culinary skills run in the family, as well.”
That teasing smile he shot her was a panty dropper if she’d ever seen one. “Hey,” she fired back, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I can also boil rice!”
Now he laughed—a deep, rich cadence she felt all the way to her bones—and in other places she didn’t want to think about. Picking up the sandwich, she took a bite, feigning orgasmic deliciousness. “Mmm . . .” she moaned, “this is sooo good!”
Okay, too far?
Cole’s laugh abruptly cut off with a strangled cough that sounded more like a pained groan. His cerulean eyes locked on her mouth, and the hunger banked in them stalled the breath in her lungs. She swallowed the bite, forcing it down her ash-dry throat, all the while praying she wouldn’t choke. Of course, then he’d have to give her mouth to mouth . . .
Yeah . . . so now would probably be a good time for a subject change. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she fixed her gaze on her plate and pretended to be really interested in a piece of limp lettuce, while definitely not noticing how in a spilt second, Cole had gone from teasing and smiling to looking like he wanted to leap across the table and have her for supper instead of this poor excuse for a BLT.
She waited for that familiar panic to grip her, the whitewash of fear that sent her heart racing and her vision tunneling whenever she so much as thought about being touched by a man. The tachycardia hit with record speed and she tensed, waiting for the inevitable terror to come. Her breaths quickened, the blood thundering through her veins sent a rush of heat into her chest—her nipples hardened. Wait. What? That wasn’t supposed to happen. But as that alluring heat continued to travel south, it melted her icy core. Moisture pooled between her legs, dampening the slip of cotton against her sensitive flesh, and confirming what she’d been trying to deny since the moment she first saw Cole at the airport—she wanted him. Well, she didn’t want him. Katie didn’t want any man. But her body was clearly having other ideas.
Oh, please . . . she scolded her inner goddess. You wouldn’t know what to do with a man like Cole Easton if he swept this table clean and tossed you on top of it. You’d probably panic the moment his mouth touched yours. Just like you nearly did in the gym today.
“Katie, are you all right?”
Why was he always asking her that? Because you’re fucking nuts. That’s why.
Shut up, Goddess! Who asked you anyway? “I’m fine,” she answered Cole. “Why?”
He shrugged. “You just looked like you went somewhere else for a minute.” Picking up his BLT, he took a bite and groaned—a rumble of pure masculine satisfaction that made her core contract with long-denied feminine need. “You’re right. This BLT is amazing!”
Katie’s own sandwich froze midway to her mouth as she stared at Cole, slack-jawed. Holy. Hell. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or just giving her shit. But he was damn convincing, either way. “Are you for real?” He stopped chewing and stared at her across the table. She was pretty sure he’d say What? if his mouth wasn’t full. “You actually think this is good?”
He finished chewing and swallowed. The bob of his Adam’s apple drew her gaze to his thick neck and the ropes of trapezius muscle stretching to his shoulders. The outline of his chest was visible through his threadbare black T-shirt that had CFA emblazoned over the chest. For probably the one hundredth time, she found herself admiring the impressive cut of his biceps, the carved lines of his triceps. If God himself hand-sculpted a man, he’d be hard-pressed to outdo the male sitting across from her right now.
“Well, to be fair, I probably burned a thousand calories this afternoon and I am starving, so a frozen turd would probably be appealing right now. And BLTs are on my list of five faves. Bacon’s not one of my diet foods. I honestly can’t remember the last time I ate a greasy piece of pork. This lettuce, on the other hand, leaves a bit to be desired.”
Wow, gorgeous and funny—who knew? “I didn’t realize you were dieting.” Which sounded like a really odd thing to say to a guy who must be tipping the scale at two hundred pounds. But there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on that amazing body, so whatever he was doing, it was obviously working. “We can go to the store tomorrow and you can pick up some food you’d like.”
“I’m not dieting anymore. I had to cut weight for the De’Grasse fight. As a general rule I try to eat healthy, but I’m not a freak about it.”
Good to know. “Why cut when you could just fight heavyweight?”
Cole shrugged. “I feel better at two hundred. And right now I think the best fighters happen to be in the light-heavyweight division.”
“Would you ever jump classes?”
He took another bite of his BLT before answering, seeming to take the time to chew in contemplative silence. “I don’t know. Don’t you kind of think that’s getting the cart before the horse, considering my career might be over?”
“You can’t think like that, Cole. You’re going to fight again.”
He didn’t look wholly convinced. “Are you always so optimistic?”
“Are you always so pessimistic?” she countered with a teasing grin.
“I wouldn’t say pessimistic as much as realistic. There’s a difference.”
“I guess that’s true. We should stretch you out after supper, so your muscles don’t tighten up. You worked them hard today.” She paused a moment, working up the courage to speak her mind. “Listen, Cole, I just want you to know—” Her phone rang, cutting her off. “Excuse me.” Her chair grated against the tile floor as she pushed it back and got up. The heat of his eyes followed her as she crossed the kitchen and grabbed her iPhone off the counter. The caller ID came up “unavailable.”
For a moment she considered not answering. It was rude to leave a guest and take calls during supper, then again, this was hardly supper and Cole was hardly a guest. Her parents were probably calling. More than likely her mom was calling to ask her to bring more orange juice in the morning. Her dad swore by that stuff and couldn’t get enough of it.
OJ was her father’s cure-all for any ailment. Whenever she’d ask “How ya feeling, Dad?” he’d always respond, “I’ll be fine. Just give me some orange juice.” It’d become a
joke in their family. Her dad was a rock—never sick a day in his life. So it had come as a horrible blow when she’d gotten that dreaded call. At the time, no one had known how bad it was, or if he’d even survive. Now, every time the phone rang and the caller ID showed “unavailable,” her pulse quickened with dread.
“Hello?”
“Katrina?”
Katie’s stomach lurched into her throat. She’d know that deep baritone anywhere. It was the voice that echoed in her nightmares. “How did you get this number?” her voice broke, barely above a whisper.
“It doesn’t matter. Baby, we need to talk.”
Oh, it mattered. It mattered a whole hell of a lot. For all she knew, he could be standing outside her door right now. The blood in her veins turned to ice as dread slowly licked up her spine. Her legs trembled with the urge to bolt, knees weakened by panic. If she didn’t sit down, there was a good chance she was going to fall on her ass.
Katie cast a quick glance at Cole, subconsciously seeking out his strength. He watched her intently, his dark brow raised in concern. He knew something was wrong. Then again, how could he not with the way her voice broke, her knees quaked with terror. She hated that he saw her like this—hated being weak—but most of all, she hated that no matter what she did or where she went, she couldn’t seem to escape this monster.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said under her breath as she left the kitchen to sit on the couch. “Please, just leave me alone.”
“I can’t. Baby, I love you. I’ve been a wreck since you left. And after seeing you tonight . . . I need you back, Katrina.”
The last sentence held the unmistakable note of warning. Exhaling a shaky breath, she said, “Carter, you were a wreck before I left. You can’t blame this on me.”
“Goddammit, Katrina! Can’t you see I’m trying here?” And just like that his switch had flipped. She held the phone away from her ear and winced, feeling that familiar rise of panic squeezing her throat like an invisible hand—Carter’s hand gripping her neck. She could still feel the bite of his fingers clamping onto her throat. She couldn’t breathe! “If you weren’t such a fucking bitch—”
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