Knock Out (Worth the Fight) (12 page)

His mouth moved across her collarbone and over one shoulder, turning her legs into wobbly liquid Jell-O. Then, everything seemed to happen at once.

With a gentle tug, he lifted the sweatshirt from her body and over her head. His eyes smoldered, catching sight of her red lace demi-bra. Thank God their earlier encounter had made her toss the tan support bra back into the drawer and dig out this bit of flimsy material—one of several sexy yet unused bras she’d bought after Pierre had proposed. This particular bra hoisted her boobs up as if offering plums to the gods.

He pulled back. “All night, I wanted another look and taste—no more. You’re sexy as hell but too
nice.
Too freakin’ good for the likes of me, not my type. Too complicated. And I don’t do complicated. Understand?”

Logan tensed. Complicated? He was a poster child for complicated. Sexy and sweet one moment, and snarling deep in his throat and ready to pounce in the next. As for not being his type—just who did this mass of muscle think he was? Mikhail Baryshnikov? He was not even close to being her type...which made her falling for him all the more irrational.

His fingers contradicted his words. They ran upward across her sides, finally angling in for a smooth caress of her breasts.

Her body hummed with need, even if his words still bristled. No strings attached, huh? The liar.
Looks like Keane wasn’t going down without a fight.
I’ll show him nice.
In the recesses of her mind, a familiar horn sounded, like the kind used to announce a mixed martial arts bout. Her opponent stood just inches away, challenging her with his narrowed eyes. She bit her lower lip. Now was not the time for hesitation. Time to strike out and humble her cocky opponent. Reveal the weakness he all but handed to her on a silver platter, one engraved with the words
You’re mine
. For once, she was thankful for her tall, thin build and how her average-sized breasts appeared gargantuan—or so she’d heard.
Might as well put these babies to good use.

Locking eyes with his, she thrust her chest forward and moved a hand to the bra’s clasp. His eyes flared as the demi-bra snapped open and she shrugged it off and onto the table. She shifted back onto her elbows.

Her breath caught, and her breasts jiggled. That was all that was needed. The horn had been sounded. Round one was about to commence.

With a low growl, he shifted back, ripped his sweatshirt over his head, muscles rippling up and down his sculpted torso with the movement, and tossed it on top of hers.

All the breath she’d been holding inside escaped in a sudden rush at the sight of the dark snaking lines of his tattoo. She wanted to run her tongue along its path, along his hills and valleys, and further south. Keane had another plan.

He swooped in, gently grasped her arms and tugged her up, moving her forward to perch on the edge of the table. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She did as commanded. Her thighs flexed against his warm firm body and she felt herself hoisted higher, their bodies closely connected and his arms secure behind her back. His head lowered, bypassing her lips so his mouth could capture one full nipple. Gently he sucked and rolled his tongue. The wicked man.

Arching forward, she pushed her breast further into his hot, wet mouth.

“Oh, my...”

A few seconds later, his mouth released its prize.

Her nipple pebbled in protest. He pursed his lips and blew. A warm breath of air trickled over her wet areola. Moisture heated her core.

Their eyes met. Hers full of wonder, and his with a sensual,
knowing
gleam.

He adjusted her position, bouncing her against him as if she were a feather rather than a strong, fit woman. Her erect nipples skimmed along the length of his warm chest, skin pulling on skin—turning them swollen with want.

He maneuvered her onto the table with little effort. This time as she reclined backward, he followed, moving with her and over her. A bowl rattled an instant before his mouth devoured her own.

Time felt suspended. Her emotions ran wild. Nervousness gave way to desire which, in turn, led to disbelief. The tingling of her breasts, the rush of lust through her middle and down between her legs caused her to shudder. Her libido shot into overdrive as he fitted his body over hers.
Oh
,
yeah.

She felt the rigid length of him press against her belly. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting firmer contact. His growl was absorbed by her mouth.

A quick flicker of self-satisfaction shone deep inside her. All those unsatisfying years with Pierre...what a waste. The heat rolling from deep inside down to the juncture between her thighs wiped away any lasting thoughts of that jerk. Suddenly, it didn’t matter whether Keane was her type or vice versa. Nothing mattered more than having this fighter inside her.

Running her hands down his sides, she hitched her thumbs beneath the elastic of his sweatpants and boxer shorts. Before losing her nerve, she tugged them down, over his hips and ass.

His back stiffened along with his cock. Long and thick, and pressing against her mound. Her eyes almost rolled back in her head. She spread her thighs wider.

“A girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” she muttered, her tone ripe with need, and
awe
. Hell, she had years to make up for, starting now. All Keane had to do was look at her and moisture coated her panties.

His lips left hers. Her eyes snapped open to see his mouth tightened into a fine line. She had the impression he was going to pull away, a second before he did.

“Where are you going? I thought you wanted this.” Her declaration sounded lustful, and desperate.

Yanking up his clothing, he moved off the table.

“Fuck.” He ran his hands across his temples and back over his hair
.

“Keane...?”

“I thought I could do this. But you’re gonna end up hurt.” He offered her his hand. Her legs swung around and her bottom scooted across to the end of the table as she let him help her down.

Once her shaky legs were planted firmly on the ground, he stalked over to the refrigerator, opened it and took out another beer. With a quick pop of the cap, he brought it to his lips and drank deeply.

“But...you weren’t hurting me. You’ve been nothing but gentle and considerate.”

“Fuck. That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re too fuckin’
nice
,” he murmured the last part, then took another swig of beer. “We’re done here.”

She was in a constant state of confusion with the wild mood swings of his—and this time, her frustration found a voice. “What is your problem? You know, everyone said you were a mean bastard with a heart as hard as steel. But I didn’t want to believe it.”

The bottle tilted as he swallowed another mouthful. He finally turned to look at her. “Look, Logan, what do you want, for me to nail you on the kitchen table?” He placed the near-empty beer bottle beside the sink, like he was ready to pick up where they’d left off now that he’d had his say.

His communication skills sucked.

Logan laughed, the hollow sound filling the kitchen. “Is that why you stopped? Mr. Man-Of-Few-Words is now worried about his bedside manner?”

Keane snorted.

“What do you think I wanted, a marriage proposal?” He’d awakened something inside her, a sexual hunger she hadn’t known existed. A taste of what she’d been missing. Then he’d abruptly snatched it away, leaving her with that empty feeling she’d felt far too often of late.

An odd expression crossed his features but vanished in a snap. “Nothing’s changed. It’s just like you’ve heard, I’m a moody, mean prick. If it’s sex you want, no problem. But don’t get used to it. Like Rosie said, I don’t do relationships.”

Rosie.
Hearing Easywrap’s name was like falling into a bed of thorny roses. Black ones. “You are so infuriating. What do I have to do, mail you an invitation? As if yanking your sweats down wasn’t enough of one.” She stomped her foot and her bare breasts bounced, reminding her she was topless. Her arms crossed over her chest protectively.

Great
,
just great.
Logan had to hand it to herself, she was a seasoned expert on falling for men who only thought about themselves.

The lines around his eyes softened, but Logan was too furious to care. She grabbed her sweatshirt and tugged it on.
Peep show is over
,
buddy.

“Since we’re on a need to know basis, and you’ve been so considerate in enlightening me about your own concerns, I have news for you: you’re miles from being
my
type.” She stalked over to him and poked a finger at his bare chest to prove her point.

He stared down at her intently. “Shit.” With another muttered curse, he wiped a hand back and forth over his cropped hair.

“Once our agreement is fulfilled, I’ll leave you to the thieving blondes...more your
type
,” she added, before marching out of the kitchen and heading upstairs.

Moments later, the front door slammed. Logan had no doubts about where he was headed. She punched a pillow.
Smooth move
,
Rettino.
Way to chase him right into the arms of that spandex-clad airhead
.
His type of less-complicatedness
.

Chapter Nine

DOUBLE UNDERHOOK: When a fighter swings his/her arms beneath an opponent’s and knocks them off balance

No more yoyo-mojo
, Logan vowed, as she rolled over in bed and turned on the light. If anything, she’d learned over the past year that tomorrow was another day—one she would survive, with or without Keane.

From now on
,
it’s hands-off the merchandise
,
buddy.

Bad enough her newfound sexuality was like an itch begging to be scratched. But the man she wanted, that infuriating, fickle, unpredictable man, held her at arms’ length when all she wanted to do was crawl up within them. And if all that wasn’t enough, her newly developing feelings for him weren’t reciprocated.

Shifting her sweatshirt back up her shoulder, she tread barefoot downstairs. A cup of chamomile tea might help calm her mind. Hell, she’d drink an entire pot if it’d numb the effects of the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on.

She sighed, and folded her arms across her chest to keep warm against the chill of the living room.

The house was dark and quiet as she followed a path of moonbeams into the kitchen. She poured fresh water into a kettle and set it to boil on the stovetop.

With a sigh, she headed to the living room to wait, and plopped herself down on the sofa. Instead of a soft cushion, her bottom met a solid wall of muscle.

“Holy crap,” she cried out, as she lost her balance and tumbled back across the body sprawled out there.

“Persistent, aren’t you, Luscious?” Keane’s deep voice breathed into her ear.

She squirmed on his lap and tried to sit up, but Keane wrapped an arm around her ribcage, just beneath her breasts, and refused to let go.

“You’re back. I didn’t see you. What are you doing? Didn’t you get what you wanted?”

Keane leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “What I wanted...” He snorted, tugging her tighter. She felt the heat of his body against her back, all the way from her ankles to the top of her shoulders.

“Keane, you smell like a brew pub. Let me go. We tried this once already, and you weren’t interested. Or is that your thing, get hammered and then get it on?” The words came tumbling out, thick with irritation.

“I’m bad news,” he said, softly. His hands shifted and cupped her breasts over her sweatshirt. “But I think about you and this,” his finger caressed a nipple, as he continued, “all the fucking time.”

Despite the rush of lust triggered by her highly sensitive nipples, she halted his exploration. His rejection still stung.

She decided on the truth. “Keane, what I was offering is no longer on the table, so to speak. You made it clear where we stand.”

A long exhale of breath said he’d heard her.

“Let’s call it a night. Time to sleep it off. Tomorrow, you’ve got another ungodly day of training. I’m holding you to our agreement, no matter what happens between us.”

The arms around her didn’t relax. She wasn’t going anywhere until he let her.
Why was he here in the dark living room
,
clearly plastered
,
and not asleep in bed?

Perhaps if he talked about whatever was bothering him, he could put his sorrow to rest. And focus on the fight. Focus on...her.

“What’s up with you? Maybe I can help. Do you want to talk?”

He stiffened beneath her. “Shit...no.”

Logan sighed deeply. Nothing but a headache, trying to help someone who didn’t want it.

“Listen, Logan. Everything I said before is true. It’s not you—fuck, a few years back when I was a different guy, we might’ve had a chance.”

“You are rather intimidating, but there is a softer side to you that shows up occasionally.” Her voice was sharp, and took on a sarcastic quality as she added, “A shame tonight wasn’t such a night.”
Good
, she’d give him a humble taste of you-can’t-have-me pie.

“Hmph, you don’t know me. You don’t want to know me.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Not nearly enough.”

“Well, that’s one too many in my book.” She shifted and he held on tight. Quietly, she offered, “I’ve had my share of problems this year, as you know. Some days, it was hard to get up out of bed, and not just because of the paparazzi. My whole life is broken. Everything I dreamed about is shattered. Yet, I get up every day and try to make the best of it.”

“You are so naïve,” he replied, but his voice sounded hoarse.

Still, his bluntness pissed her off. “Naïve? Maybe, though I’m not about to drown my misery in liquor. Or take my irritation out on other people. If you ask me, that’s the cowardly way out.”

There was no mistaking the tension in his body beneath her. Yet his actions surprised her. He let her go. She climbed up and out of reach, to the far end of the couch.

But Keane wasn’t finished, and what he said next froze her in place. “Cowardly, huh? I’d say it’s preservation. Of self and of others.”

He sounded downright miserable. Perhaps it was the booze, or a guilty conscience, but Logan sensed he was on the verge of talking—really talking—to her. Whatever it was, it was on the tip of his tongue. She couldn’t let him swallow it back.

“Are you having trouble sleeping? Is that why you’re here on the sofa?” she asked, a soft invitation for him to confide in her.
Better he be on this sofa than in a bar
,
or in Rosie’s bed
, she reminded herself.

He grunted.

“Why don’t I make you some chamomile tea? Relax you so you rest. Even sober you up some.”

Keane sat up on the couch, swinging his long legs onto the carpet. Silence followed his movements, and he was once again a large, dark shadow lounging next to her. “I’m going back out for a while.”

Logan’s heart raced in her chest. Given the time—almost 3:00 a.m.—his business wasn’t at a bar. This time, a woman waited for him. It irked her. She’d literally spread her legs for him, and he’d turned her down flat, yet he desired a woman’s company. It didn’t make sense. Helplessly, she added, “What about training?”

A long exhale sounded beside her. “Look, I’m not backing out of the fight. No need to worry about that—hell, bashing heads in sounds damn appealing.”

While his words should have been reassuring, she wanted more from him than the assurance he’d fight. His earlier comment rang out in her head, something about Stevie not being able to keep his eyes off her. Keane had been annoyed. A feeling that showed he was affected by her in some way.
Hmm
. She squared her shoulders.
There was more than one way to tame a fighter
.

Sliding closer to him on the couch, she pressed her legs against his. In the dim light, she saw him hunch over and brace his arms on his legs, as if preparing to stand. Quickly, she held out her carrot. “Your friend Stevie was funny. Nice guy.”

“Fuckin’ Stevie,” he grunted and shifted, ready to stand.

“Is he dating anyone?”

In one swift movement, he was on his feet. Facing her, he thrust his hands to his sides and flexed his fingers. The moon cast a cool highlight on his furrowed brow, twilight on a desert canyon.

The teapot’s whistle sang out, ruining everything.

Logan clambered off the sofa and, without looking at him, moved into the kitchen and turned it off. Listening for the sound of the front door closing behind him. This is what she wanted, right? Her hands-off-Logan approach to dealing with him.

As she sat down in a kitchen chair, she felt his presence in the door.

He hadn’t left.

Feeling reckless, and unsure of the outcome but oh-so-sure she was proving a point—especially being they were back in the kitchen—she continued, “Well, is he?”

He shifted, a big, shadowy puma preparing to pounce. At least, that’s what she thought he looked like with the tension rolling off of him there in the moonlight.

She lowered her shoulder, hoping there was enough light. The uncooperative sweatshirt cooperated and plunged deeply, revealing a pale, naked shoulder and a good portion of her collarbone. She angled her head and swung her hair, offering an unobstructed view of the side of her neck and a good portion of the top of her arm. Just a taste of what he’d passed up.

The only warning she had of his next move was his sharp inhalation of breath.

In four long strides and one swoop, he scooped her up in his arms. Without a word, he carried her out of the kitchen and living room, up the stairs, down the hall, past the guest room, and then the temporary gym. A well-placed kick and his bedroom door flew open. The vibrating wood echoed the sound of her heart pounding against her chest. Common sense screamed out
caution
but she ignored it.

He stalked inside and over to his bed. With one bounce, she landed in the center of it.

Before she could even mutter the word
yoyo
, he crawled across the mattress and in an instant, his mouth claimed hers.

The kiss made her forget everything. Nothing mattered except his seductive, urgent tongue. She was overwhelmed first by his tenderness, then by a raw, all-consuming sexuality that made her toes curl. It was an endless, drugging kiss.

Until he broke his lips away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He’d made the same comment earlier. He was trying to communicate something important. Something emotional.

Talk about size
. For whatever reason, this was a huge issue for him. She certainly didn’t want a repeat episode of their kitchen table dance. “Are you really that...big?” Logan questioned, hoping he’d believe the quiver in her tone was from excitement. Well, part of it was.

His massive physique took up most of the center of the mattress as he knelt before her. Of
course
he was big.

He snorted. “That’s not what I mean. You’ll be prepared to take me, I promise.”

Prepared to take me
... All the nerve endings in her body tingled at his words. But instead of jumping on him, Logan crossed her legs on the mattress. The air needed clearing, and Keane’s troubles needed to be addressed.

“I’m tougher than I look. You don’t want a permanent relationship. Fine. Six fights is all you need to win for me to get back on my feet. Then, my life will be back to normal. And I’ll chalk up our time here together as a necessary transitional stage.”

Her declaration sounded hollow. She wasn’t the kind of woman who took things lightly—especially mind-blowing sex, which was the only given here. Especially mind-blowing sex with this hunk of a man, someone who, judging by the tightness in her chest, she’d come to care for.
Who am I kidding?

“You can’t help me. No one can.”

“Help you with what?”

“Forget it.” He stood and quietly undressed.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of him. His erection was beautiful, so strong and masculine, just like every other part of him.

“Take off your clothes, honey.”

Whatever he’d been trying to say was lost as his eyes flared, his hands fisted in her hair and, with a gentle backward tug of her head, his lips captured her own.

* * *

Logan’s eyes seemed greener, bright and shiny. A passion-filled oasis from the turmoil in his life.

A long-overdue reprieve with her fist wrapped around his hardened cock. Fuck, and he’d thought that kiss—the one he’d ended seconds ago when her hand slid into his pants—had been hot. With each long stroke, she broke down any lingering twinges of conscience that reminded him once again how this was a bad idea.

“You’re so...um...” she whispered, her tone husky with desire.

He grunted as her palm moved along his length.

“Does this feel nice?” she murmured sweetly.

Nice
. That word grated on his nerves, reminding him just how nice he
wasn’t
. He felt like rolling her over and fucking her six ways to Sunday, with no regard for how many bruises she’d find tomorrow morning. Instead, he’d settle for smashing his fist into the pillow. Safer for both of them that way. Time to get the fuck out of Dodge before it was too late.

Yanking his leg free, he rolled onto his back. Her grasp on him stayed firm, unbroken. He let out a long, frustrated exhale.

She came up onto her knees. “What is it with you? For the record, I’m not buying it.”

“Don’t push me. Nice isn’t what you’ll get with me.”

“Bleeding leotards,” he heard her mutter. “We’ve got to do something about this pillow talk. All this yoyo-mojo because of one silly word.”

She cocked her head, narrowed her eyes at him and hesitated for a second before speaking in a low voice, laced with desire. “Then,
nice
isn’t what you’ll get.” In less than a heartbeat, she took the length of him in her mouth.

“Jesus.” His hips came up off the mattress. The warm, wet pressure felt so fucking good. He’d tried pulling back, both physically and emotionally, but Logan just wasn’t getting the message. Better off with someone who knew very little about him, someone who wouldn’t be prying into his business, making him talk about things better left unsaid. But for the life of him, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Well, the persistent minx had dug her own grave.

Her head bobbed. He couldn’t get enough of her. Weaving his fingers into her hair, he resisted the urge to plunge deeper. Instead, he massaged her scalp with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Minutes passed and the tension grew as she sucked him hard. Closer, and closer. Finally, the wicked woman withdrew with a loud smacking sound. Keane made a low noise deep in his throat.

“Hmm, Mr. Few Words wants more, does he? Can’t remember ever being so turned...oh!”

In one smooth sweep, he flipped her up and over onto her back and pinned her legs open—wide open. His mouth moved between her thighs, his tongue licked and swirled at her core, then plunged deep.

It was her turn to shoot her hips off the mattress. “Oh, my...” she moaned. Seconds later, her thighs began to tremble and he knew she was close.

“Couldn’t leave me in peace, could you? I’m going to take you hard and fast. You understand?” He reached for the nightstand drawer where he kept condoms. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he rolled the latex over himself. He moved on top of her and rubbed his cock against her moist juncture.