by Lori Foster
In all honesty, she admitted, “I don’t look as good as you.”
His wicked grin and mussed hair only heightened his physical appeal. “Let me be the judge of that, okay?” And when she didn’t immediately start stripping, he sat up and drew her between his knees.
The man had no modesty at all, but then, looking like he did, why should he?
She, on the other hand, didn’t enjoy the idea of being exposed, especially with comparisons at hand: him looking like a God, and her oh so average.
In one easy, practiced move, he pulled her shirt up and off over her head.
Cool air touched her skin; the heat of his gaze burned her. “This is awful.” Even with his fascination plain, Audrey wanted to cover herself, to hide her purely functional bra and modestly sized breasts.
His attention smoldering, he asked, “What is?” Holding her shoulders, he looked at her from the waistband of her hip-hugger jeans to her belly, ribs, over her white cotton bra, to her shoulders and finally her mouth, and her eyes.
Audrey shook her head but couldn’t escape the lock of his intensity. A deep breath didn’t really help. “Wanting you like this. It’s not something I’m used to.”
“Yeah?” Spreading his fingers out, he trailed his hands over her chest, around her breasts—which exacerbated her need—down her body, around to her derrière and back again to the snap of her jeans. “How does it make you feel? Tell me.”
He expected her to think while he undressed her? To be able to speak? She wasn’t experienced enough for that.
Deciding she should be proactive, Audrey toed off her sneakers and started to shove down her jeans.
“Now, Audrey.” In one swift move, Brett turned her and tumbled her onto her back on the mattress. “Let me.”
He stood to the side of the bed but leaned forward and braced his arms on either side of her shoulders. He was so damn big, so tall, that he surrounded her with ease.
“First, though, answer my question.”
Never had a man looked at her like this, all concentrated and intimate and . . . connected. She couldn’t be this close to him without touching him, so she put her hands on his rock-solid shoulders, and she felt a deepening of need.
A master of understatement, she murmured, “I don’t feel like me.”
“What’s different?”
How to put it so that he’d understand? “I’m not a woman who gets this . . .” Turned on. “. . . Preoccupied. Or this bold.” He only waited, still looking down at her, until Audrey felt forced to elaborate. “I’ve never been completely naked in front of a guy before.”
Slowly, his sexy mouth lifted into a wolfish smile. “Let’s start there, then, okay?” He levered away from her to unzip her jeans and drag them, with her panties, down her legs.
Audrey gulped, but said nothing. If she got naked, they could finally get going. Without thinking about it, she said, “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”
His gaze shot up to hers. His nostrils flared. “Woman, I’m trying for a little patience here. But when you say things like that, well, you blow my control.”
Shifting her legs, almost squirming in her hunger, Audrey said, “But I don’t want you to be patient.” And then, because she couldn’t stand it, especially with how he looked at her now, she added, “I ache, Brett.”
All humor left him. He came down beside her and took her mouth in a kiss that almost did it for her. Man, oh, man, he knew how to use that mouth of his, kissing her in a way that made her feel the sensual effects of it everywhere.
Arching into him, Audrey tried to feel all of him against her. Still kissing her, Brett pressed her onto her back again. Against her lips, he said, “Let’s take care of this ache of yours, okay?” And then his hand was there, between her legs, exploring, prodding, every touch inciting her . . .
He opened her and pushed a finger deep.
Her short nails sank into his shoulders and a groan ripped from her throat. Never had she known this kind of arousal. It defied description, and in some ways, it scared her. Feeling like this left her vulnerable to hurt.
What if Brett was only playing with her?
What if this was a one-night stand? She needed to get her fill of him while she could. She needed memories to carry her through after he left her.
And right now, she needed reassurance almost as much as she needed release. “Brett?”
He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her throat. Lifting to watch her face, he worked a second finger into her. Heat flushed her skin and left her breathless. Smiling, he lowered his head to draw on one nipple.
Like a bundle of sizzling sensation, her body felt alive and sparking everywhere.
When his thumb came up to toy with her clitoris, every pleasure amplified and concentrated until she knew she would snap. Her body bowed, a raw groan reverberated from deep inside her, and her muscles all trembled.
The climax raged through her, ebbing and intensifying until it finally, by slow degrees, faded away, leaving even her bones lax.
Brett released her and moved away, but he was back in what felt like a nanosecond. His weight settled over her as he positioned himself between her legs. Holding her face to kiss her, he pushed into her.
She’d been celibate so long; she’d never been with a man like Brett. He surrounded her, covered her, slowly filled her, and she loved it.
Yes, this was what she wanted. Lethargy left her, replaced with rekindled lust.
While waiting for her to get with the program, he moved slowly, gently. After a shuddering breath, Audrey opened her eyes and saw the strain on his gorgeous face.
He kissed her. “You feel damn good, honey.”
Lacking the words to convey her emotions, Audrey wrapped her legs around him and squeezed him tight. Brett raised up to his elbows to maintain eye contact and accelerated his pace. As they moved in rhythm, his chest hair abraded her nipples and his warm breath quickened against her lips. Heat from their bodies mingled; his color deepened—and suddenly another climax took her. She couldn’t control the sounds she made, the way her body moved.
But it didn’t matter.
Her reaction pushed him over the edge, and he joined her with a harsh groan. Watching him come, knowing he was a part of her, nearly made Audrey cry with overwhelming sentiment.
Little by little, the maelstrom faded and Brett, still breathing hard, sank down onto her.
Her legs slipped away from him, but he didn’t move. She relished his weight as it pressed her down into the bed.
Stroking his sweat-dampened back, Audrey thought of her intimate relationships in the past. Sex had been something she’d indulged in out of curiosity and, on occasion, affection.
Before Brett, she hadn’t known this red-hot desire.
But now what? Should she excuse herself, get dressed, and leave before he asked her to go?
Drawing in a fortifying breath, she decided on being proactive again. “Brett?”
He kissed her shoulder, her throat, and worked up to his elbows again. More slumberous than she’d ever seen him, he searched her features and smiled. “You look great freshly tumbled, Ms. Porter.”
That made Audrey chuckle. “You always look great.”
Leaning down, he took a love bite of her collarbone, her shoulder—and fell to his back next to her with a hearty sigh. Eyes closed, unaffected by his nudity, Brett said, “I’m starved. You want to eat?”
“I don’t know.” She’d never really looked at a man after sex, with his erection softened, a spent condom in place. Brett’s naturalness fascinated her. “I don’t know what we’re doing here.”
He looked at her. “What do you mean?”
She licked dry lips. “You drove me here. I don’t have my car. I mean, I could take a cab—”
“No.” He frowned at her, and then asked, “Are you in a hurry to leave?”
Trying a different tack, Audrey asked, “How late did you want me to stay?”
That deepened his frown. He hesitated, b
ut then rolled up to one elbow beside her. “I get up at the crack of dawn to jog. I get back here around seven A.M., and then I only have a few hours before I head to the gym.”
If she stayed, it’d be a huge imposition on him. Audrey tried to make this easier for him. “Then we should make it an early night.”
In deep thought, he cupped her breast in his big hand. “Or you could stay the night and I’ll take you back on my way to the gym.”
He wanted her to stay! “I don’t have a toothbrush here.”
That blurted response amused him. “I think we’re to the point where we can share mine.” Kissing her again, he stroked his tongue over hers to accentuate his point. “But if you want to go home, I’ll take you. I mean, if you’re not comfortable here.”
The way he said that made her wonder at his meaning. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?”
“It’s not the best neighborhood.” Almost on cue, a police siren sounded.
Before Audrey could formulate a reply, Spice started scratching at the bedroom door, and Brett exited the bed in a rush. “Be right back.”
He left the bedroom door ajar, but Spice followed him. Audrey scooted up to lean against the headboard. She pulled the soft quilt up to cover herself.
Brett returned, sans condom, and went to the dresser to pull out a pair of dark, snug boxers. He sat on the bed beside her hip, and Spice leaped up to join him.
Smoothing a hand over Audrey’s thigh, he thought for a second and then glanced up at her. “I don’t want you to think that I stay here, in this cheap apartment, because I can’t afford anything better. Truth is, I get well paid for fighting. But I grew up poor, so in a lot of ways, I’m more comfortable here than I would be somewhere else. Especially while I’m training. But mostly I stay here because I’m socking away a lot of money.”
It pleased Audrey that Brett wanted her to know his thoughts, but it worried her that she’d somehow led him to believe that the material stuff mattered to her.
“I like you, Brett, wherever you live. You don’t owe me any explanations.” Where he lived would never be the issue. What he did . . . his participation in the bloody sport still left her floundering in conflicting emotions.
“I want you to understand, that’s all. I want you to . . . I don’t know, see me as more than a fighter, maybe.” He scratched the cat’s ears, prompting Spice to a loud purring that resonated in the small room. “I know how you feel about it, Audrey.”
For the first time, she regretted her attitude about his chosen sport.
Brett didn’t quite look at her as he defended his career. “I fight because I like it and I’m good at it. More than any other sport, it challenges me to be my best, physically and mentally. But it’s not who I am, it’s just what I do. I don’t want you to judge me as only a fighter. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so.” And because she really was starting to understand, Audrey added, “Fighters are individuals. They can’t be stereotyped. You can’t be stereotyped.”
Her statement lifted his scowl. “Exactly. I’ve met some who are bullies, and some who wouldn’t hurt a fly outside the arena. Family men, die-hard bachelors, partyers, and loners. Dropouts and guys with multiple college degrees. Mostly what successful fighters have in common is that we work hard and prefer being physical to sitting behind a desk. But that’s it.”
For Audrey, Brett was unlike any man she’d ever met, much less other fighters. Not that she personally knew any other fighters. “Most of them aren’t as talented as you.”
He gave her that quirky smile again. “You might not be the best judge of that. I’m good, and I know it. But in fighting, one mistake can give you a loss, and every fighter can get caught. I’m training with some guys now that are pretty damned good, and that helps. They’re icons in the sport, and I’m lucky to get to train with them.”
“But they’re excited about you.”
He laughed. “What makes you say that?”
“I overheard Drew Black and another fighter talking at the gym.” The fighter Drew had spoken with was gorgeous enough to render her awestruck. But he didn’t blow her away like Brett did. “They said—”
“No.” Already shaking his head, Brett stalled her. “Just forget anything you heard Drew say. You got that?”
Irritated, he set the cat aside and left the bed.
Before he could take more than two steps, Audrey scrambled out from under the quilt to stop him. He heard her and, still irked, glanced back. Slowly, he turned to fully face her again, and his expression changed from cool to hot.
With him now looking at her, she forgot whatever she’d planned to say or do.
Brett took his time studying her body.
Being naked in front of him was getting easier, mostly because of how much admiration he showed.
She shifted her feet in nervousness. “I’m sorry.”
His gaze shot up to hers. “For what?”
God, this was difficult. “I’ve never had a naked conversation before, Brett.” He said nothing to that, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
Scoffing, he went back to looking at her breasts. “I’m not upset.”
“You look upset to me.”
He let out a breath and forced his attention away. “Get some clothes on before I forget to feed you.”
Putting her shoulders back, Audrey stood her ground. He made her sound like a pet he had to care for, and she didn’t like it. “Maybe I should just go after all.”
Hands on his hips, his exasperation plain, Brett studied her.
The tension grew unbearable, and Audrey was just about to locate her clothes to dress and leave when he closed the space between them.
Without a word, he kissed her—and kept on kissing her.
She knew they should talk, but right now, more sex worked for her.
“Stay,” he requested in between soft, devouring kisses.
God, with him she was so easy. “All right.” Later, tomorrow or the day after, they’d sort through problems and conflicts. For right now, being with him was enough.
CHAPTER 11
WEARING one of Drew’s soft and faded SBC T-shirts and her panties, Gillian joined him in the kitchen. “You ordered the pizza?”
Barefoot, dressed in unsnapped jeans and nothing else, he leaned on the counter and took in the sight of her. “Yeah. Twenty minutes.” He tracked her every step as she went to his fridge to help herself to a drink. “You’re so damned stacked, you’re straining the front of that shirt. I can even see the outline of your nipples.”
Gillian glanced down. True enough. The shirt hung on her everywhere, except across her bountiful breasts.
Gazing at Drew over the top of a cola as she took a long drink, Gillian made note of his heated stare. Her nipples tightened, and in return, his eyes narrowed.
Over the last several hours, they’d had sex. Twice. Intimate places on her body continued to throb from extended, intense foreplay.
And still Drew looked at her like he couldn’t get enough.
He did that a lot, Gillian realized, and it never failed to flatter her. She was used to men treating her with ladylike respect. But Drew treated her as a sexual being, like a woman he wanted to do hot, nasty, pleasurable things with nonstop.
Before meeting him, in theory alone, she would have found that base concept appalling and unappealing.
But now, in actuality, well, being the recipient of all that heated male attention . . . she loved it.
Gillian closed the refrigerator and sauntered over to the table to sit. Propping her feet on another chair, she smiled at Drew. The shirt barely kept her modesty intact. “I’m a full-figured woman, Drew, but then, you already knew that.”
His heated attention took in the length of her legs. “Yeah.”
So much appreciation in one small word. Drew Black could be ruthless, as demonstrated by his altercation with Brett. A history of sexual conquests also proved his sweet-talking abi
lities; women fell all over him.
But in most things, and most situations, Gillian could never doubt his sincerity.
He made her feel sexier than she’d ever thought possible. “Down, boy.”
“Not likely.” He met her teasing gaze. “You’re too stacked for me to stay down long.”
She couldn’t help but smile. Drew was generally blatant about his feelings. What got him in trouble most of the time was the fact that his mouth worked in time with his thoughts, giving voice to anything that entered his mind.
In her case, most of what he said filled her with pleasure. But in other circumstances . . . he really needed to learn to censor things a bit.
One thought led to another. “Do you think you’ll be able to work things out with Brett?”
“Definitely.”
No hesitation at all. Drew didn’t know the meaning of uncertainty.
“It looked like he and Audrey Porter were involved. Isn’t that awkward?”
“I have no idea.” He stretched, a man without a care. “Their relationship was news to me.”
How odd; a fighter and a woman heading up a group against fighting. “Aren’t you worried about it?”
His rude snort let her know what he thought of that idea. “No.”
“Oh, come on, Drew.” That had to be a conflict of interest for Brett. Actually, for Ms. Porter, too. “You’re not even a little worried?”
“Hell no.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Why should I be?”
“What if he tells her something that she can use against the SBC?”
“Like what? There isn’t anything. Hell, we’re golden right now.”
Right, except for Drew’s volatile temperament and foul mouth, the arguments against the sport were diminishing.
He shook his head at her. “You act like we’re some underground blood sport, with fights to the death or something. For years now we’ve been a legitimate mixed martial arts sports association. We have the best athletes in the world.”
Warming to his topic, he pushed away from the counter and paced in front of her. “These guys all have extensive combat sport training. Hell, they train for up to six hours a day. We have State Athletic Commission approval for all fights, and we’ve never had a serious injury.”