Knock Out (Worth the Fight) (21 page)

The cable car swayed, sending Logan sliding up against him. She twisted and wiggled away, but his arm shifted protectively from the back of the seat and curved around her in silent, inexplicable protest.

She sighed and leaned back toward him so her head rested in the curve of his shoulder.

The heat in the cable car kicked in. His inner thermostat ran hot to begin with but now, he was uncomfortably warm inside his army jacket. Yet, he did nothing about it. Didn’t want to move away, even though he knew he should.

“This mountain used to be called Coal Hill. I remember my father describing how they were restoring these cars to their original condition. I always wanted to take a ride on one. It’s hard to believe people used foothills to walk from downtown to the top of Mount Washington.”

Keane grunted, and studied the view of the Golden Triangle below. The downtown lights reflected in a perfect V where the three rivers angled out from a single point. The rivers tenderly surrounded downtown Pittsburgh, much like the way his arm and body nestled Logan’s head.

Shit.
He was so fucked.

Gently, he wrestled his arm out from behind her, and stood. Used the pretense of removing his jacket as explanation for his sudden movement. He was still too damned hot, burning up really. Tossing the jacket on the bench, he unzipped his sweatshirt, peeled it off, and dropped it on the pile.

“Good idea. I can’t imagine what year heat was installed in these cars, but there’s no doubt about it working.” Logan stood up and unbuttoned her jacket. It joined his pile of clothing.

His gaze fell on her bared shoulder.

He froze. She had that damned sexy-as-hell sweatshirt on.

“Come here.” Keane’s voice was barely above a whisper, the gravel in his tone husky and warm.

* * *

Logan resisted the urge to roll her eyes in frustration. She’d been laying subtle let’s-rock-the-incline hints all night but he hadn’t taken the bait. The sexy, brooding man standing in front of her was a poster boy for exasperating. No, beyond exasperating, with his tight-lipped, no nonsense attitude, which in truth, caused her pulse to quicken as it drew her in.

One minute he blew hot, the next he was as cold as winter steel. She realized his coldness was a defense mechanism, that whenever she’d overstepped the boundaries between them and hit a nerve—his PTSD being the mother lode of all nerves—his response was consistent: he pushed her away.

She stepped closer.

He reached out and cupped her chin in his big, burly hand, then caressed her cheek with his thumb. His face was tight, unreadable, but his fingers were gentle.

“So goddamned beautiful.”

His words caused her heart to thump louder than wooden floorboards after landing a
grand jeté.
She inhaled sharply. His soapy, clean scent was laced with the fresh mint of the gum he had been chewing.

He closed his eyes and ran his fingers across his lids. As if in pain. As if he’d said too much—as if that was ever a possibility. His eyes snapped open, and her breath hitched. His gaze was so open, so intense, so filled with pent-up need, she really couldn’t breathe.

She nearly missed his next knee-trembling words, his voice was that low and soft. “You make me feel things. Want things. Want
you
, more than anything, ever.”

He undressed her with his eyes. If his comment hadn’t induced a state of shock, she’d have stripped off every stitch of clothing right then and there.

The exchange was too intense. Too raw. Too nerve-racking.

“What are you waiting for?” She cocked her head as she issued her corny, light-hearted challenge.

Straightening, he cocked his head and simply stared at her. Hard. Then, faster than she could say “crinkle my camisole,” he was on her.

He grasped her arms and pulled her in close.

She lifted her face and kissed his tense jaw. “I want you too. I love—”

His mouth came down and opened against hers in such a hot, intense kiss, her toes would have curled under if she hadn’t been standing on the tips of them. He slid a hand under her sweatshirt and his palm flattened on top of her stomach. Her abdomen was on fire, burning from his touch. She didn’t think she wanted anything in life as much as she wanted this.
Him
, a big brute of a fighter so different from anyone she’d known. A man so sexy her mouth dried up at the sight of him.

Not that her mouth was dry now, as his tongue twirled in a sensual dance with her own. She raised one hand behind his head and held his lips to hers, demanding more.

The car abruptly stopped, breaking them apart as they fought for balance.

“Take off your clothes.”

Hell, who was she to disobey such a direct order? And from a retired Marine, too.

Bending, she unfastened and stepped out of her boots and socks, then kicked them aside. Next to go were the skinny jeans. She stripped down to a pair of tuxedo-themed panties, black with a white lace fringe and a cute bow affixed just below her navel. Her sweatshirt was tugged off next, revealing a matching tuxedoed bra. Silently, she thanked her newfound sexuality for prompting her to put on this ensemble rather than her dependable, conservative tighty whities.

Keane’s eyes burned with desire beneath heavy lids. “Nice bow.” His response made her brave.

She folded a bra strap over a shoulder and ever so slowly, freed her arm. The second strap received the same treatment. Angling both arms behind her back, her fingers reached for the clasp.

“Leave the bra on.” He sauntered forward, closing the distance in a few steps. His left hand slid down her stomach to the top lacing on her panties. A middle digit slid beneath the elastic, paused and rotated. A flush of moisture dampened the part of her that craved his touch.

Her legs spread apart as if they had a mind of their own.

His right hand cupped a breast and his thumb rubbed across the swell of her chest and then down into her bra and over her hardening nipple.

“Can’t get enough of you, Luscious.” Something flashed in his eyes. The rawness of his voice vanished, replaced by his normal, bossy self. “Go sit on the bench.”

She silently moved over to the bench, tugged his coat over it and sat. Her bare legs rubbed against the coarse material, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was him.

“Spread ‘em.” He moved and stood directly in front of her a few feet away.

Wanton, naughty and sexy as hell, that was how she felt sitting there with her legs spread, opening herself to him.

“Hard and rough, baby. That’s what you’re gonna get.”

Her lips twitched, remembering how gentle he’d been the last time such a declaration was made. “Famous last words, Boom-Yay. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

His smile was so incredibly sexy, a rush of moisture coated her panties. He untied the string on his track pants as his gaze roamed over her hungrily.

“Spread ’em a little wider.”

Her chin notched up slightly at the challenge in his voice and she opened her legs broadly.

He knelt onto the floor between her thighs, grabbed her behind the legs, and tugged. She slid down until her head rolled against the seat back.

One hand cupped her left thigh. His other hand began to roam. Over the soft silk panties and the swell of her until his palm came to rest on her core. His finger looped into the side of her panties at the crease of her leg. And, without hesitation, pulled them aside.

“You’re gonna scream for me, Luscious.”

His head ducked. It took all of her willpower not to thrust her hips off the seat when he licked her like an ice cream cone, his tongue moving in one upward sweep. Another lick and her legs trembled. It was earth shattering, the combination of his hot, wet tongue and the gentle press of his fingers against her mound where he held her panties in place.

Then he got down to business and laved at her over and over, until not only did her body hum, every inch of her, from her head to the tips of her toes, sang, bellowed and danced. She moaned and shifted. His palm nudged her left leg away.

“Now you’re gonna get it.” He pulled back. Briefly straightening his body, he grabbed a foil packet from his wallet. Her mind was numb, blissfully oh-so-pleasurably numb. He grasped her hands and brought her to her feet. His fingers curled under the elastic of her panties and he stripped them off her in one fluid movement.

“Step.” She lifted her legs out and the silk pooled on the floor. Her entire attention was focused on Keane as he stripped down to his briefs and kicked them off as well. His cock sprang out, enormous and thick.

She reached out and wound her fingers around the long, hot shaft. A few strokes and he was rock hard. Retrieving the condom from his hand, she made quick work of rolling it over him.

With a growl, he reached for her and ran his hands across her bottom down to her thighs. He lifted and her legs clasped around his waist. The full tip of his erection rubbed against her center as he moved them across the room, to the floor-to-ceiling windowed doorway.

He pinned her back against the glass pane. For a second, she wondered if the entire population of Pittsburgh was gazing up at her naked ass pressed up against the window. All errant thoughts vanished as the thick head of his penis slid up into her and split her deliciously apart.

“Oh, my. Keane.” His hips thrust and suddenly he was buried so deeply inside her, she saw stars. Bright white lights that outshone those far below.

He withdrew and plunged back, even deeper than before, if that was possible. In and out, over and over.

“Wanted this all fucking day. From the time I found you with that playboy, maybe earlier.”

Just hearing him talk made her hot and wet. Man oh man, feeling her inner muscles tighten around his hot shaft was the best prize of all.

“What playboy?”

His next thrust was less gentle, more powerful. She loved every brutal inch of him.

“Freakin’ lame-ass underwear model.”

He’d promised her hard and rough, and his powerful plunges took her breath away. She arched her back against the window pane, angling for something to push off of, wanting to meet him thrust for thrust. Her stomach rocked against his. His pace quickened.

“God, I need you. Want you. I...” Keane rumbled, his tone thick with need.

She gasped for breath at his passionate onslaught. His hip muscles flexed and thrust in wild abandon. Her skin was hot, but the juncture between her legs, so amply filled, was on fire. A molten, liquid heat so intense, so shattering, she lost awareness of everything except the feeling of him sliding in and out of her.

“Shit, Logan, you’re so tight, baby.”

“Maybe because you’re hung like a rock star. You know...oh, yes. Mmm.” A blaze of fire shot through her and she strained for release. The muscles of her legs flexed in his arms. He grunted in awareness and held on tighter.

He shifted so all of her weight bore down onto his thick staff. “Ahh...” she cried out but his mouth claimed hers and cut her off. His tongue plundered her mouth in rhythm with his thrusts. Her arms wrapped around his big neck and she held on for dear life. Her chest rubbed against his, the friction of her bra simulating her nipples as they moved.

He broke his kiss, and grunted. “Come on, baby. Let’s do this.”

His biceps flexed and he lifted her high. He let go and she slid down hard on the full length of him. Once more, his biceps flexed. She shattered as he lifted her and the long, fast plunge caused her to cry out her release.

“Keane.”

“I’ve gotcha. My turn.”

Flex and lift, flex and lift, three more times and suddenly her back was back up against the window. His face nuzzled her neck. He moaned into it, his breath warm against her skin. “Logan...ahhh. So fucking good.” His entire body shook from his release.

She felt his heart beating against her chest. Her arm was still wrapped around him, his hands cupped her buttocks, and her legs dangled aimlessly beside his body.

A wave of contentment washed over her. She loved this wildly passionate man, and she believed in him. But instead of giving voice to her emotions—having had a taste of how he’d likely respond—she decided that keeping the air light and easy-going was the better approach.

But she wasn’t willing to cut the thin thread that bonded them together. The doors of communication had opened, albeit mostly physical, hands-on communication. But it was better than nothing. No way was she going to let it slam shut again.

He grunted against her neck. She was lifted then lowered onto her feet, his cock sliding out of her in a warm, wet farewell.

“Do you want to know what I’m thinking?”

His arm tensed as he stepped away from her.

Not so fast
,
my love.
Reaching out, she grabbed his wrist and yanked it. He didn’t move but his eyes shot to her face, surprised and cautious. It was like an iron mask snapped into place, impenetrable and unrelenting.

Or maybe not
, she thought as she adjusted her bra strap under his unwavering gaze. He followed her every gesture as the second strap was smoothed into place. How would he react if she ran her hands down her body to the juncture of her legs? She was tempted, but instead she murmured, “One of the reporters has finally gotten it right.”

The tight cheeks of his beautiful ass flexed as he retrieved his sweatpants and put them on. “How so?”

Good, she still had his attention.

“Your nickname.”

He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. His tattoo rippled tight across his torso and down to his abs as his arm rose overhead—even in repose, his massive strength was visible.

She stepped closer and retrieved her own pants. Her silky underwear had eased the friction between the denim and her skin, but they remained where she’d stepped out of them on the floor. It took some doing but, she finally wiggled herself in.

He made a noise and she glanced up, catching the slight upward curve on his lips. Good, he’d relaxed. That was a sign of how the rest of their evening was going to be, if she could manage the man’s moods.

“Boom-Yay. I’d say the nickname fits...perfectly.”