“Really?” she asked excitedly, bouncing up and down and cheering her victory.
Aiden shook his head and averted his gaze to the ceiling. “Really, but only if you promise not to do that anymore, and you stay right by Kyle’s side the whole time. There’s going to be a lot of people here, not just our camp. It’s a big press night for the Cage Fighting Association—sponsors, fans, paparazzi, you name it.” If he thought he could convince her not to go, he’d have tried, but when that woman put her mind to something, there wasn’t going to be any changing it.
“I promise,” she vowed, placing her hands together like she was praying, all sweet and innocent.
Damn, looks were deceiving . . .
CHAPTER
4
Ryann’s plans to get to the party early and talk with Aiden privately were dashed the moment he arrived with his entourage. Women hung on him, men congratulated him, and paparazzi took so many pictures the room was aglow with flashing lights. The music was loud, the booze was flowing freely, and people were partying like it was 1999. Prince would have been impressed.
Everyone was having one hell of a time, except for her and the guy sitting two tables kitty-corner from her. She recognized him as Aiden’s sparring partner from the gym. Grabbing her Bacardi Limon from the bar, she swiveled in her seat just enough to watch the women approach the fighter who seemed solely interested in consuming his whiskey. One by one they sauntered over and practically threw themselves at the fighter, only to be shot down time and time again. Each time he sent one packing, the broody scowl on his handsome face grew darker. It was actually pretty entertaining, considering her alternative—watching women throw themselves at Aiden.
He’d arrived fashionably late with a stunning blonde at his side, though she didn’t appear very interested in staying there. When she’d tried to take off, he’d caught hold of her arm and dragged her back to him. His brows wrinkled in frustration as he bent close and whispered something in her ear. All the while, her gaze scanned the room as she nodded impatiently, agreeing to whatever he was telling her. Their interaction, although very familiar, appeared platonic. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the woman was his sister, but Aiden was an only child.
As soon as he released her, she was off like a shot, and then it was game on for Aiden’s attention. Women approached one after the other, hanging on him and posing for pictures. Ryann knew it shouldn’t bother her as much as it did. She told herself her misplaced ire was merely vicarious pity for the poor woman who happened to have the misfortune of being engaged to the flagrant playboy. Nearly an hour into the festivities and Aiden had yet to spot her at the bar or make any movement in her direction.
Even Regan ignored her, though she suspected that had more to do with the pale-haired beauty Aiden had arrived with than anything else. He was standing beside another guy Ryann recognized from the fight tonight, pretending not to notice the woman. As the small group chatted away like old friends, drinks in hand, the girl cast Regan an occasional glance from beneath the protective arm of the man standing on the other side of her. There was something in the way her bright blue eyes watched Regan that seemed . . . intimate, but the guy who was hanging on to her didn’t seem to notice as he kept talking to his friend.
Turning her gaze back to Aiden, she found him standing in a larger crowd, peeling off a woman who’d locked her arms around his neck as he tried to back away from the group. His infamous smile was devastating—flirtatious and gregarious. What woman could be expected to resist those charms? Well she, for one, intended to be the first. This was ridiculous. She had better things to do than sit here all night watching women grope him. They were just going to have to talk tomorrow—perhaps when he wasn’t so . . . indisposed.
Finishing her drink, she sat the glass down with a temperamental clap and was about to hop down from the stool when she saw him finally break away and walk toward her. He’d yet to make eye contact, but that didn’t stop her pulse from quickening at the sight of him. He moved with a fluidity not often seen in a man his size. She felt a sharp sting of disappointment when he veered left and slid into a seat opposite his surly sparring partner. Aiden waved the waitress over, and a few minutes later they each had a glass of whiskey in their hands.
Between the music and the crowd, it was too loud for her to hear what Aiden said to him. Whatever it was, though, the guy must not have appreciated hearing it. His scowl deepened and he drained his glass, then slammed it down on the table. Someone took their picture, and the fighter looked like he wanted to leap across the table and ram the camera up that paparazzo’s ass. Aiden finished his whiskey and held the ice-filled glass to his cheek as they continued to talk. The bruise looked sore, a bit red and swollen, but not even the wounds earned from his fight could detract from that man’s raw, masculine appeal.
He waved his drink-holding hand across the crowd, indicating the scores of people there, and she saw the glint of metal reflecting in the light. Holy shit, was that a piercing through his bottom lip? She squinted, trying to get a better look. It was . . . and another in his brow, too. Huh. The Aiden Kruze she’d seen in the photo didn’t exactly strike her as the kind of guy who’d pierce his face and ink his arms. But apparently he was that guy, and damn, it looked good on him—as if he wasn’t already hot enough. God have mercy . . .
As his gaze swept the room, his amber eyes locked on her—bold and unflinching. She felt the heat of that stare all the way to her toes, those stunning eyes holding her so transfixed she couldn’t look away if she tried. Keeping his gaze on her, as if he thought she might disappear if he looked away, Aiden gave his friend a parting comment and a friendly slap on the back. He rose from his seat with the fluid grace of a predator and moved toward her. By the time he approached, she felt thoroughly eye-fucked. How was it possible that a look across a room could be so devastating? Aiden slipped into the empty seat beside her and promptly ordered another whiskey and “whatever she’s having.”
“Did you enjoy the fight?” he asked in the way of a greeting.
The bartender handed her a fourth Bacardi. She probably should have stopped at her second, but Ryann accepted the glass and took a sip of her drink.
She couldn’t tell if he was fishing for praise or if he genuinely cared to hear her answer. At any rate, it was difficult to hold a conversation amid all the noise, and this was not the place for what they needed to discuss. Leaning closer to be heard over the thrumming bass, she asked, “Is there someplace more . . . private we could go?”
A look that seemed a lot like surprise and oddly, disappointment, briefly flashed across his face. The emotion didn’t make sense, and it was gone so fast, she couldn’t be sure she didn’t imagine it. In its place was that self-assured, arrogant, cocky grin. It was the same smile he’d given the crowd in the octagon tonight. Not the smile he’d given Ryann at finding her filling one of those empty seats, and not the genuine smile he’d gifted her with just a moment ago—not the smile that melted her heart, and damn her for wanting it again now.
No, this was a Disco grin, and although he was absolutely gorgeous wearing it, there was vacancy—a disconnect—in his eyes that left her cold. But before she could think any harder on it, Aiden grabbed her hand and pulled her off her stool.
“Sure there is, baby girl. I just figured you’d want a drink first.” He didn’t look back as he led her through the crowd at a determined clip that bordered on rude. She nearly had to jog to keep up with him, his grip on her hand firm and unrelenting. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d offended him.
Un. Fucking. Believable. Had he honestly thought this woman was any different from the rest of these cage bangers? And to think he nearly busted one of his best friends in the mouth over her. He must be going soft, spending too much time with Easton dealing with his lovesick drama. He hadn’t spent sixty seconds with this woman before she was asking him to take her upstairs and fuck her. Crissake
. . . that must be some sort of a record or something. He should really start carrying a stopwatch.
They reached the elevator and he jammed the Up button with his finger. The muffled sound of the party echoed down the hall. He didn’t try to talk to her again. What was the point? She wasn’t here for the conversation, so why waste his breath? The doors dinged as they slid open. He stepped inside and pulled her in behind him. There was another couple in the elevator or he would have just done her right here. He could make her come before they’d reach the fortieth floor. Save himself the trouble of getting her back on it. Shit, he hoped she wasn’t a clinger. He was tired. He’d fought his heart out tonight and could use a good night’s sleep—alone.
She stepped a little closer, looking like she wanted to say something, but she must have thought better of it when he shot her a not here scowl. Her movement, although slight, was enough to hit him with an earthy, floral scent that teased his nostrils. His cock began to swell at the sensory foreplay, and he ground his teeth in defiance to his body’s willingness to toss away his self-respect for the chance to get inside this woman who, in truth, turned out to be nothing more than a flagrant fan. The muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Is something wrong?” she whispered discreetly.
He arched his brow, glancing down at her, and then promptly discovered what a mistake that was. She was too beautiful, too innocent looking, to be such a whore. Because, yeah, Coach was right, that was exactly what these women were. He may not be paying them in coin, but they were getting plenty of compensation between the sheets.
“Why would anything be wrong?” He answered her question with a question—straight up lawyer style.
She shrugged. “You just seem—”
The elevator jerked to a halt, cutting her off. They exited the elevator before the other couple. Keeping his firm grip on her hand, he led the little cage banger to his suite.
Aiden didn’t give her a chance to speak. The moment the hotel door closed, he had her pressed up against it, his mouth coming down on hers with all the finesse of a hurricane—powerful, consuming, and destructive to her defenses. His tongue pushed past her lips, and the first contact of warm metal surprised her. Seriously? His tongue was pierced, too? How many more surprises did this enigmatic man have secreted away?
He tasted more intoxicating than she’d imagined—the dark burn of whiskey, a sinful bite as his tongue teased across hers, playful at first and then plundering. He shifted his mouth, adjusting his kiss as his hand fisted into her hair, angling her head so he could fully claim her lips. Every inch of Aiden’s impossibly hard body molded against hers, pinning her between the door and a wall of hard, unyielding muscle. His erection, grinding into the flat of her stomach, was impressively large and equally demanding. His hips rocked against hers, and his low growl sounded a mix of frustration and pleasure, as if he couldn’t get close enough fast enough. But their kiss seemed to be a pressure valve tempering his flagging restraint.
He consumed her. Every thought fled from her mind, completely shutting down to everything except the feeling of him against her, his spicy masculine scent, the taste of his tongue. Despite herself, she melted against him, and for a brief moment, he was just a man and she was just a woman, partaking in the most primal, ageless dance of passion.
“Fuck, you feel so amazing,” he growled against her mouth as he grasped her breast, squeezing to the point where pleasure and pain blurred. “So . . . real. So fucking perfect . . .”
For feeling so amazing, he certainly didn’t sound very happy about it. He took her mouth again, diving in for another breathtaking kiss as he trapped her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Exhaling a soft moan she was helpless to hold back, Ryann arched into his hand, pressing her tender nipple into his palm for more delicious torture.
Lord help her, he felt incredible. His energy was like a drug, his touch infusing her with an electrical current that lit up her nerve endings, all centering to the little bundle between her thighs. Oh, to have him there—touching her, filling her . . .
As if he’d read her mind, Aiden untangled his hand from her hair and slipped it down between her thighs. Rucking up her skirt past her hips, he groaned, his husky voice full of regret. “Why did you have to be like them?”
Wait. What? Be like who?
His hand slipped into her panties. Bold, skillful fingers parted the slick folds of her flesh, teasing over the bundle of nerves that had her crying out and bucking her hips against his hand.
“Damn, baby girl, I can’t wait to make you come,” he growled, fastening his mouth over hers again.
Still rocked from his confusing question, and now hearing him calling her that generic pet name, was like a cold bucket of reality on her Aiden inferno. No doubt, every woman he met was his “baby girl,” which slammed home the undeniable truth, that as much as this was new to her—because she did not make out with random men—she was nothing more to him than a quick fuck. And more than she wanted to admit, that hurt. Which really cooled her jets, because she had zero business getting close enough to this guy that he would have the power to emotionally affect her one way or another.
His fingers teased near her opening, but before they could enter and become Ryann’s final undoing, she reached between her legs and caught hold of his wrist. She tore her mouth from his, panting for air, but he didn’t miss a beat, dipping his head to the sensitive spot on her neck just below her ear.
“What’s my name, Aiden?” Ryann hated herself for the broken, throaty pant in her voice, giving away just how deep down the path of rapture he’d taken her.
Aiden tensed against her, as if just now sensing this was heading somewhere he might not want to go. But oh, he was good, and he wasn’t a quitter. No, not this fighter. Slipping a finger deep inside her, he teased her clit with his thumb. A helpless moan escaped her lips, so close to defeat, so close to coming . . . He sucked the flesh of her throat covering her traitorous, thundering pulse that gave away just how close she was to saying Fuck it and letting him take her to the moon.
Through her lust-filled haze, she realized he’d yet to answer her question, and that was all the push she needed to steel her resolve. “Aiden, stop. This isn’t why I’m here.”
Slowly, with deliberate ease, he pulled his hand from beneath her panties and she nearly cried out at the loss of his touch. Never before had a man made her feel like this. Never before had a man so masterfully played her body like he knew it better than she did. His lips hovered beside her ear, his breath hot, ragged exhales.
“Then why are you here?” His seductive growl held a hint of suspicion and was laced with an undertone of unease that sent a prickle of goose bumps racing up her arms.
Perhaps this was not the smartest thing she’d ever done, locking herself away with a fighter she truly knew nothing about. There was no one to hear her scream—in pleasure or in terror. But now that she had his attention, there was no going back. This was why she was here. She had a job to do, and the sooner she got it done, the better for the both of them. “Your mother sent me.”
He tensed against her. When his head snapped up, sparks of golden fury shone in his eyes, boring into hers with nothing short of cold, hard rage. “Get out,” he snarled.
Her heart missed a beat as it dropped into her stomach and then promptly began thundering wildly, making her nauseous. He couldn’t be serious. But Aiden didn’t even give her a chance to explain as she stood there frozen in shock at the complete one-eighty this man had pulled on her in a matter of seconds. With the speed of a striking viper, he slammed his fist into the door beside her head. She closed her eyes and flinched, knowing her first moment of true fear since meeting this cage fighter.
“I’m serious, Ryann! Get the fuck out. Now!”
He knew her name. The realization was so irrelevant in light of his outburst, and yet it resonated somewhere deep inside her. But how . . . ? He hadn
’t asked her, and she certainly hadn’t offered, yet he’d taken the time to discover it. Regan, she realized. Had Aiden sent him over to talk to her tonight? What had his friend told him and why had Aiden cared enough to find out?
Before she could think on it any longer, he reached for her skirt, still bunched around her hips, and jerked it back into place before grabbing her arm. Ryann winced at his biting grip, sure she’d be wearing the evidence of his anger tomorrow. Without another word, Aiden dragged her away from the door’s path, ripped it open, and shoved her out into the hall, slamming it behind her.
Seconds passed and then something crashed inside his room as Aiden roared. “Fuck!”
Ryann stood there a moment, stunned, trying to process what the hell just happened. Going from sixty to zero in that man’s arms in the space of a heartbeat left her dazed and confused. She’d figured he wouldn’t be pleased to discover the truth, but not once did she imagine he’d respond so violently. His rejection gnawed at her, which was ridiculous, because he didn’t mean anything to her, and she certainly didn’t mean anything to him. Why should it matter to her what he thought? The unsettling emotions were just the low after being brought so high—a natural response to the endorphins released by his touch and now leaving her system.
As the shock began to fade, a prominent emotion quickly began to take root deep in her gut—indignant anger. How dare that presumptuous prick bring her up here and just assume she was going to sleep with him? That took a lot of fucking nerve. Maybe she should have reminded him he was engaged while she was at it. As Ryann stomped toward the elevator, she grabbed her cell from the purse that miraculously still clung to her shoulder. Selecting her contact, she hit the Call button just as the elevator chimed and the doors slid open.
Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) Page 4