by Lori Foster
“If I hadn’t,” he continued evenly, “if I’d been thinking only of you instead of me, you wouldn’t now be a target.”
The knocking of her heavy heartbeat rocked her body. Frantically she searched his face for a way to change his mind.
Outwardly, he looked unaffected, calm. Determined.
But in his dark eyes she saw so much. Armie cares, she told herself. So many times she’d felt his caring.
Damn him for being a misguided martyr!
Knowing him, loving him, she understood that he wouldn’t relent. Armie was the type of man who would go to any lengths to protect others. He honestly believed he’d brought the trouble to her doorstep and that by walking away, he’d take that trouble with him.
What she did next, how she handled this, might decide their future together.
She thought of how he’d protected her at the bank, literally putting himself in the path of a bullet. He would have died for her. She knew it, accepted it.
Unfortunately, he didn’t realize she felt the same about him.
She’d probably never be in a position to prove it to him, but she could stop adding to his angst. She could spare him her excesses of upset and show him that what he thought, what he wanted and needed, was important to her. Instinct told her to throw herself at him, to beg him to see things her way. But Armie deserved better than that. Right now he deserved her strength.
She slipped off the bed and stood before him. When he started to speak, she put a finger to his mouth. “The last thing I ever want to do is make things more difficult for you.” She couldn’t control her shaking or the quaver in her voice.
But she didn’t cry.
“So whatever you need me to do,” she promised, “I’ll do it, even if it means staying away from you for a while.”
“Rissy—”
“No, don’t try to convince me that this is permanent. I promise you, Armie, this whole discussion will quickly tank if you say we’re over for good.”
He wisely closed his mouth. Brows gathered together, he watched her warily.
Continuing, she said, “Personally, I think I’m always safer with you than without you.” She rested her palm over his chest, slid it up to his shoulder. “I think, together, we can handle anything.”
His gaze darkened—with guilt? Pain?
She couldn’t tell. “But this is your rodeo, your first fight, your dad, your past.” And your future. “If you think keeping your distance is the right move, we’ll play it your way.” She lifted her lashes to give him a direct look. “For now.”
“Rissy—”
“You have so much going on.”
He caught her hand and held on to it. “I don’t care about any of that.”
She waited, hoping he’d say it was her that he cared about, but the words never left his mouth.
Deciding not to push him, she released a tight breath. “You know that’s not true. You care about Bray. You care about others being hurt by past lies. And I think you care about winning the fight, whether you’ll admit it or not.”
He hesitated, dropped his head for only a moment before meeting her gaze again. “It’s starting to matter.”
His admission lightened her heart. For so long Armie had stayed contained by a wall of resistance, as if he somehow wasn’t worthy of all the love sent his way. He joked it off, teased and involved himself in sexual situations that could never possibly be intimate.
She wouldn’t fool herself; Armie indulged in wild sex because he liked it. But the outrageousness of it also shored up his superficial lifestyle.
Any small crack in that wall of denial might help to crumble it for good. Everyone who met Armie cared for him. He needed to accept that. He had to know that he deserved the best of everything, and that it was okay to want it.
If it started with him making a splash in the SBC, she’d be okay with that. “I’m glad.”
He put his forehead to hers. “I don’t want you hurt.”
Joy expanded. With Armie, that might be the closest he came to explaining his real motives in sending her away. “I know.” Enveloped in the heat of his body, she kissed him. “Let’s get through your fight debut, and then we’ll discuss this again.”
“It’s not going to go away.”
Neither am I. She forced a smile. “To make this easier on you, I’ll go without a fuss. But you have to promise me something first.” She spoke quickly before he could deny her. “If it’s not me, it’s no one. No other woman. You don’t get to push me aside out of concern, and then drag another woman into the—”
Armie hauled her in for a hard kiss. His big hands cradled her head; from thighs to chest, his hard body pressed to hers. His mouth moved over hers until her lips parted, then she felt the glide of his tongue and melted under the sensual onslaught.
Armie knew how to take pleasure—and how to give it. His kiss was nearly enough to make her forget everything else.
That is, until he turned her loose to ask, “You actually think I’d do that?”
His tortured voice broke her heart, and his ragged breath matched her own.
“You’re used to variety, to…bulk.”
He blinked at her, then his mouth twitched in unison with his eyebrows, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused. “Bulk?”
She flagged a hand. “Multiple women.”
Gently, he reminded her, “Not since you.”
She believed he hadn’t, but did he miss it? “If you’re tempted—”
“Are you asking me if you’re enough?” He kissed her again, softer, hotter. “Because, Rissy, I can promise you, you’re more than enough.”
Her lips tingled. So did select body parts. To keep from grabbing him for another taste, Merissa stepped back—and he let her go. She licked her lips, watched his gaze burn brighter, and she struggled to speak normally. “I just…just wanted it on record.”
“Duly noted.” He watched her. “But unnecessary.”
Needing to lighten the mood, Merissa smiled. “So you’re telling me the infamous Armie Jacobson can keep it in his pants?”
Taking the proffered olive branch, he shrugged. “I have a hand.”
Her smile slipped. “Armie!”
“Everyone does it, Stretch. You included.” He stepped closer. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind watching that.”
A prudent time to point out the obvious. “That’d be difficult since you’re sending me away.”
A priceless expression fell over his face. He turned from her, saying, “Damn it.”
So he didn’t like his decision any more than she did? “Forgetting your own rules?”
“It’s not a rule, it’s a necessity.”
“Says you.”
He faced her again, and now he looked very uncertain. “Leese is at your place now.”
“Yup. No reason for you to worry about me.”
“I’ll worry if I want to.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You two are cozy, right?”
“As good friends, yes.” Was he jealous? If so, it served him right. Or surely he didn’t hope for her to hook up with Leese? Growing suspicious, she asked, “Why?”
“You’re comfortable confiding in him if you need to. At night, I mean.”
Merissa gave him the truth. “If I thought someone broke in, I’d have no qualms getting Leese out of bed. But if it wasn’t anything dire, I’d just call my brother.” She was well used to leaning on Cannon, at his insistence, for much of her life.
Armie nodded. “You won’t be unprotected. Ever.”
Meaning he’d help keep watch? “I know that.” You’re mine, Armie. “I’ll miss you. A lot. But I’ll be okay.” Before she broke down, Merissa started around the room, gathering a pair of jeans, her bra, a shirt. “As soon as Cannon drops off my car, I’ll be on my way.” Silence met that declaration, so Merissa glanced back—and found Armie looking so lost, she almost couldn’t take it. “I love you, you know.”
His eyes flared.
“Always have.”
Thunderstruck, he whispered, “Rissy—”
“No, don’t say anything. If it’s not what I want to hear, it’ll just be too awful. And even if it is, right now, I’m not sure I’d believe you.” She lifted one shoulder. “I just wanted you to know.” Taking her clothes, she strode out of the room.
She’d be back. Soon.
She had to believe that or she’d never have the strength to walk away.
*
THREE LOUSY DAYS.
Armie hit the heavy bag hard enough to make Simon frown.
Three days that felt like a lifetime since Merissa had walked out of his apartment.
He threw a series, followed up with a kick, then another.
“That’s enough.” Simon got between him and the bag, backing him off. “You don’t want an injury this close to the fight.”
Simon had no real idea what he wanted. Hell, Armie was starting to wonder himself. “If I can’t do this without getting hurt, how the hell do you expect me to go three rounds in the cage?”
Simon studied him. “Is there a specific reason why you’re hell-bent on pushing yourself?”
Yeah. He missed Rissy, missed her so bad it was like someone had torn out a vital organ. He ached for her all day, and nights were almost unbearable. Armie turned his back on Simon and headed to the corner to get a drink.
“Ignore him,” Cannon said. “He fucked up and he knows it and now he has to live with it.”
Great. So Cannon was done letting it slide?
Armie snorted at himself. Cannon hadn’t said much to him at all the past few days, but he’d sent him plenty of narrow-eyed stares. He’d gone from pitying Armie, worrying for him, to visibly struggling with his temper.
Armie knew he’d done the right thing, damn it.
But he’d expected—what? For Rissy to keep coming around anyway? For her to show up at the rec center and tempt him? For her to call?
For her to insist, again, that she wanted to be with him?
Yeah. That’s what he’d expected. He’d figured on having to be noble, on having to resist her.
But she’d walked out and that was that.
I love you.
He closed his eyes, and again he saw her face, the stoicism, the stark honesty.
I love you. Always have.
God, how he’d wanted to say it back. The words had burned in his throat.
But he wasn’t even sure he knew how to say them.
He loved Cannon as his friend, but guys didn’t go around spouting their feelings to each other.
It was so long ago, he could barely remember having said the words to his mom. He knew for certain he’d never said them to his dad.
And other women…? No.
Rissy was it for him.
So how could he take chances with her? Cannon, more than anyone else, should understand that. Jesus, he should never have started this craziness with the SBC. Or maybe with Rissy.
Probably with either one.
This wasn’t the life for him. He wasn’t meant for the big-time career or the happily-ever-after with a nicest-of-the-nice girl.
“You taking Rissy with you to the fight?” Denver asked Cannon, making Armie’s shoulders bunch so tightly that they ached.
“If she wants to go,” Cannon said. “So far she hasn’t said.”
“Maybe Leese will give her a ride,” Stack chimed in.
“I don’t think she feels welcome anymore,” Miles added.
And damn it, that last one hurt. Had he alienated Rissy from her family and closest friends? He’d rather lose an arm than do that.
“Don’t be an ass,” Brand said. “We all love her and she knows it.”
They spoke loudly just to needle him. And fuck them all, it worked.
Simon clapped him on the back, then bent close to talk privately. “That’s what’s eating at you? A breakup with Cannon’s sister?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about you manning up, focusing on the fight and putting other considerations on hold for now.”
Armie laughed without humor. “Yeah? Were you able to do that with Dakota?”
Sighing, Simon said, “No.” After raking his gaze over Armie, he said, “That’s why I decided to marry her instead.”
God, he’d set himself up for that one.
“Go to her,” Simon said. “Work it out so you can get your head on straight.”
“My head’s right where it belongs. So what next?”
Disgusted, Simon gestured for the locker room. “Go shower. Cool down. You’re done here.”
Hell of an idea.
“Think I’ll head home to my wife,” Cannon said as Armie passed. He probably hoped to get a rise out of him, but Armie wasn’t up for playing.
He felt too damn destroyed.
“I almost feel sorry for him,” Denver said.
“I always feel sorry for pathetic asses,” Stack agreed.
When no one trailed him to the showers, Armie welcomed the reprieve. He showered, taking longer than necessary, soaking his head and doing his best to ignore the giant hollow pain in his soul that seemed to expand more each day.
As he was drying off, Jude called.
Naked, Armie grabbed up his cell to answer.
Before he got a single word out, Jude said, “Simon claims you’re out of sorts.”
Armie held the phone out and stared at it. When he put it back to his ear, he gave a bitter laugh. “You guys gossip like old women.”
“Or like people who care.”
He hadn’t asked them to care, damn it. “You’re serious?”
“Damn straight. I want to know that this fight is a priority for you.”
Too much so, but Armie saw no reason to share that. “Yeah. Top priority.”
“You’re a miserable liar.”
“I’m a terrific liar!”
Jude laughed. “Nothing makes a man surlier than woman troubles.”
Growling, Armie asked, “Is that it?”
“Not quite. I wanted you to know I checked into that mystery reporter. A couple of the MMA mags said the story was turned in to them, but they passed since it was anonymous and they couldn’t verify any facts.”
Armie knew it couldn’t be that easy. “What did you do to shut it down?”
With only a slight pause, Jude confessed, “I offered an inside scoop from you—after the fight.”
“Shit.”
“You can handle it. And you know it’ll be good to clear the air once and for all.”
“Yeah.” He hated being indebted to Jude. “Thanks.”
“You can thank me by wearing my sponsored gear. Now get back to following Simon’s directions. Since my coach, Denny Zip, retired, he and Havoc are the best in the business. Got it?”
Since Armie felt he’d been doing that anyway, he shrugged. “Sure.”
“And Armie?”
With an eye roll, he asked, “What?”
“There’s a huge difference between honor and stupidity. Trust the lady.”
Armie had his mouth open to reply, but he realized Jude had already disconnected.
Damn it, it wasn’t about trust. Without being able to pinpoint the threat, the only sure way to keep her safe was to stay away from her. If they weren’t together, no one could use her in attempts to hurt him. So he’d stick to his plan regardless of what anyone else thought about it, or how it killed him.
He pulled on jeans, then a T-shirt that said, Remember my name, you’ll be screaming it later. It used to be one of his favorite shirts, but now he wondered if he needed to overhaul his wardrobe. Should he switch to—puke—polo shirts?
Maybe he’d have Jude send him a supply of SBC and promotional shirts, instead.
Skipping socks, he stepped into running shoes and grabbed his jacket. He finger-combed his hair, snagged his gym bag and headed out.
Since he’d finished up earlier today, he should have time to ride by R
issy’s work to ensure she got out of there without a hassle.
The thought of seeing her again, even from a distance, cleared some of the storm clouds fogging up his brain. He’d done that each day, stolen little glimpses of her without her knowing.
God knew he was into all kinds of kinky shit, but he’d never considered himself a masochist.
The gym was crowded when he headed out. On one side, a group of twelve women did a self-defense class with Justice. On the other side, fifteen or so kids gathered with Brand.
When they saw Armie they called out—the women and the kids.
Armie checked the clock on the wall, saw he still had some time before Rissy would leave the bank and headed over to the kids.
It warmed his frozen heart having the younger ones jump on him, hug him or hang on his legs. For this particular group, they were anywhere from seven to eleven years old—all of them bursting with energy, all of them pretty damned cute.
“Such a welcome,” Armie said, making a point to bump fists, tousle hair or pat the shoulder of each one.
Brand folded his arms. “It’s almost like you guys have missed him or something.”
The resounding confirmations made Armie grin and, for only a moment, lightened his mood.
“Got a minute or two to give them some pointers?” Brand asked. And by pointers, he meant a little time to make the kids feel special.
Armie always had time for that. “Sure.” He dropped his bag off to the side and after catching up on what skills they’d be working on that day, he demonstrated a few—which included some tickling and tossing and horseplay.
When they got serious, Brand said, “Anyone remember how to avoid a takedown?”
Several of the boys did, and they went through the drills with Brand and Armie watching.
Armie was about to make his excuses and go, when the front door flew open and Bray busted in.
“Damn.” He walked away from Brand and met Bray near the front.
Huffing, Bray bent at the waist, his hands on his knees as he sucked in air.
“You’re okay?”
Bray nodded. Coughed, drank in several more deep breaths and slowly straightened.
Armie looked beyond him through the glass front door and out into the darkening day. “Do your foster parents know you’re here?”
He shook his head. “No.”