The Fighter's Stubborn Lover (The Burton Brothers Series Book 2) (5 page)

Oh, stop it.

She didn’t want Mason to know she’d been thinking of him. And no way was she getting involved with a fighter. It didn’t matter that Mason affected her like no other man ever had. His touch sent skitters over her skin. But he really was the last one she should be feeling this way about. Not only was he a fighter, but he was training Dustin to fight!

She bit down on a thumb nail. Maybe she could use that attraction between them, though. He’d told her she’d never win him over to her side, but what if she could use some of whatever was between them to sway him. She shook her head at the thought. She wasn’t much of a seductress—not enough practice—and she was pretty sure she was trying to talk herself into just a small fling with Mason.

But would it stay that way? Or would she get herself in trouble? Was Mason really the white knight kind of guy, or more like the other fighters she’d met through Dustin—the guys only interested in using sex as filler between fights?

She tugged on her sweatshirt. At least that would give her a barrier between herself and the way he made her feel. Maybe it would help her keep her head on straight. She tugged down her top once more and headed back into the living room.

Her mouth watered at the smell of grilled meat and onions. She stopped near the kitchen. Mason turned from the stove and his face froze.

Mason took in her appearance, from the long hair gathered back to the fuzzy socks peeking out from beneath the most ridiculous pajama pants he’d ever seen! What on earth was she wearing? Clearing his throat, he dried his hands and stepped toward her. He watched her eyes darken as he drew closer. He was impressed when she held her ground. He touched a finger to her sweat top, “Nice outfit.”

Avery blushed. She pushed at a stray strand of hair. “Thanks. I was ready to be comfortable.”

Reaching out, he tucked the hair behind her ear. Mason dropped his eyes to the fleece pants and nodded, “I can see that.”
Don’t think about how nice she smells. Don’t think about her having just stepped out of the shower, without any clothes on, and all that warm skin.

His lips felt so dry, he had to run his tongue over them, twice. He needed something to take his mind off this woman—boy did he need it if she could look this good in dumpy clothes. Forcing himself to turn away, he went back to check on the steaks.

“Good news is you’re eating Dustin’s steak. We were supposed to have dinner and watch the video of Shamus MacDougal’s last fight.”

Avery sat down at the small dining table. “Well, that’s an Irish name.”

“Yep, that’s even his nickname—the ‘Fighting Irish. He’s one of the best up-and-coming fighters in the semi-professional circuit. Strong, quick, and fearless—the perfect combination for a champion.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Avery shiver. He thought about changing the subject, but maybe if she knew more about MMA she wouldn’t be so tied up in knots about it. “But he’s like every other fighter—he’s got a weakness. And I don’t mean chocolate. Hey, do you want some wine? I’ve got some white in the fridge or a Cabernet that’s open.”

Wrinkling her nose, she waved a hand. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“What? You’re not driving. The red goes better with steak, but I’m watching my figure, so it’s white for me.”

“Okay—a small glass of the Cab sounds good.” She tipped her head. “But first tell me what’s your weakness?”

He grinned. “No fair telling. But, yeah, I’ve got one too. All fighters have at least one. A smart fighter studies their opponent until they can identify what it is and capitalize on it. Dustin’s a little too wet behind the ears yet to really handle that kind of analysis. That’s one of the things we’re working on—watching enough tapes so he can come up with a game plan in just seconds. Learning how to read the other guy.”
Except now I’m stuck with a missing fighter…and a sister who worries.

Mason glanced at that worried sister. She was watching the door as if she expected Dustin to walk through it any second. She needed a distraction here. Heading to the fridge, he pulled out lettuce, tomatoes, and a cucumber. He fixed a small salad while the steaks grilled, and then he pulled a loaf of fresh bread from the pantry. “Oh, by the way, Marguerite—the compound housekeeper and cook—she left me a pecan pie. And, yeah, that is my weakness—good food. If I’m not careful, Marguerite has me moving up in weight class.” He glanced at Avery and saw her staring at him.

She shook her head. “I have no idea what that means.”

“What? You don’t know your brother fights bantam class? He goes up against other guys his size—the whole idea of a fair fight is you want to see who’s the best in class.”

“It all sounds barbaric to me.”

Mason poured himself a half a glass of white wine, letting it sit on the counter to breathe while the meat finished cooking. “Hey, want to be a help? You can set the table. Dishes and forks and stuff over in that sideboard there.” He watched as she bent over to pull out the dishes. Those sweats might be baggy, but they still did a nice job outlining her ass—a first class one. Letting his eyes travel down her body, he enjoyed the view. And then he heard the steaks pop. “Ready to eat?” he asked.

He pulled out the steaks and plopped them onto the pottery plates Avery had set on the table. “It’s just salad and bread to go with. Given the desserts Marguerite keeps stuffing into me, I’m trying to watch the starches.”

“It looks great.” She sat down across from him.

He watched her fuss with her salad and cut the fat off her steak, and then cut it into tiny bits. And was it just him or was the room sizzling with tension between them. She had to be feeling this, too—the pull, the tug, and it got him thinking.

Would she be like this in bed, all picky? Or could he make her forget to be fussy? If she let that long hair of hers down and loose, would she loosen up with it? He drank his wine and tried to get his thoughts off her.
Keep thinking she is Dustin’s sister
, he told himself.

But it wasn’t working. He liked watching her mouth work—and that had him wondering what she tasted like. He wanted to know more about her—about her mix of seeming toughness and vulnerability. He wanted to know what kinds of sounds she made when she was excited—was she the type to whimper or to tell him just what she wanted? And he was making himself crazy with these kinds of thoughts. She was off limits—even for a fling. But knowing that wasn’t helping him at all.

After consuming only half of her dinner, she pushed her plate away. “Sorry, it’s really good, but I couldn’t eat another bite.”

Mason shook his head, “Don’t be sorry. Why don’t you go sit over by the fire with your wine?”

Avery shook her head. “No, you cooked. I should clean.”

“That’s not necessary. Really.”

“I insist. Go ahead and finish eating. I don’t mind.” She stood up from the table and took her plate to the counter. She began filling the sink with water and soap. She cleaned the pans and turned to retrieve the other dishes from the table, but she turned right into the arms of Mason.

Mason reacted as usual—fast. He’d been intending to put his dishes next to the sink, but Avery slammed into his chest and he grabbed for her one-handed, juggling his plate with the other. A fork clattered to the floor. “Steady there, speedy.”

He glanced down at her. The feel of her soft body against his was too much temptation to resist. Her breasts pressed into his chest, and under those pants of hers he could feel the curve of her hip pressing right against him.

She stared up at him, eyes wide, but she wasn’t moving away. He could see her breathing had quickened. The pulse thudded quick and hard against her neck. She pressed her hands on his chest, her fingers slightly flexing. Mason knew he was pushing his luck, but with her this close, with the smell of her wrapped around him, with her body so close, he didn’t care. Reaching up, he let his fingertips graze the smooth line of her jaw, watching her eyes darken. “You didn’t wash your hair.”

Avery shook her head slightly. She stared at him, seeming mesmerized. “It takes too long to dry.” Her voice seemed breathy to Mason and way too sexy.

Mason dipped his head to breath in her unique scent. Then he made himself step back.
Dustin’s sister!
“Let me finish up here. Go sit down.”

Avery nodded and slipped past him. Picking up her wine glass, she walked toward the couch. Mason refused to turn and watch her walk away. Those ridiculous pants had done nothing to cool his libido, and he didn’t need to see her ass swaying as she moved. But he knew one thing—he’d just found another weakness. And that was Avery—Dustin’s sister.

Avery settled herself in one of the oversized chairs. She sipped her wine and watched the fire burn. She tried to keep her mind off the gorgeous male currently cleaning up the kitchen behind her. His body had felt wonderful pressed against hers. Talk about hard abs—and that hadn’t been the only thing hard.

She thought about going and retrieving her computer and trying to get some work done tonight—she hadn’t had her head in the job for a while now and her clients hadn’t started to complain yet, but they would if she couldn’t focus.

But that meant she needed to be certain Dustin wasn’t going to get himself killed. She glanced at the wine in her glass. How had Mason talked her into that? She’d intended to have some tea and then sit up to work, but here she was relaxing in front of a fire. She twirled a strand of hair. If he could talk her into this, she should be able to make a dent in his determination to make Dustin a fighter.

Toying with the idea, she glanced down at her sweats. She should have put on something tight, or something that showed more skin. Yeah, it was fighting a bit low to use the attraction sparking between them as a weapon, but this was Dustin’s life at stake. She also had an advantage—she knew a lot more about Mason than he knew about her.

Dustin’s phone calls had been full of ‘Mason does this’ or ‘Mason says that’ and Avery knew Mason wasn’t just single, but was also out of fighting right now due to an injury he’d taken. And hadn’t he even told her a good fighter analyzed the competition? Well, Mason was now in the ring with her, but it wasn’t some stupid title at stake. No, it was Dustin’s future.

Standing, she shimmied out of her pants. The sweat shirt hung down long enough to act more like a dress, and frankly the warmth from the fire felt good on her skin. She giggled and slapped a hand over her mouth as she sat down. Maybe the wine was going straight to her head.

Coming over to her, Mason plopped down on the couch opposite her, his wine glass in hand. He glanced at her legs and his eyebrows lifted. She smoothed a hand over her bare calf. “It was getting hot in here.”

“I’ll say.” Mason crossed his legs. “So tell me about the work you do?”

Avery shifted so that she flashed a little more thigh. She saw Mason’s stare rivet on her skin and then he took a long drink of wine and tried to focus only on her face. She smiled. “I actually work for several different companies, handling IT.”

“I what?”

“You’re as bad as Dustin. Computer and network stuff—I keep systems running. I also handle backups and security.”

He shook his head. “Sounds complicated. If I can turn it on, I can handle it, but that’s about the size of my skill with electronics. How’d you end up working with computers?”

“Do you mean what’s a girl like me doing in a guy’s field?”

“Nothing that sexist. I get my ass thumped regularly playing Assassin’s Creed against girls.”

Avery laughed. “I’m more of a Mario World fan. But I love a good racing game, too.”

“Is that what you do you in your spare time?” He shifted again on the couch, as if he was having trouble finding a comfortable spot.

Avery lifted her glass. “Any more wine?”

Standing, he headed into the kitchen and came back with the bottle. Avery moved to stand in front of the fire. She held up her glass for him to serve her. She also noticed he’d switched from wine to water—was she getting to him? Guilt tugged at her for using his interest in her like this. She bit her lower lip. But this was about Dustin—wasn’t it?

Mason sat down on the couch again and Avery sat next to him. She noticed that he seemed to be trying to hold himself back. He clutched his water glass tight and shifted to put a pillow between them.

“So, if Dustin was here, what would you be doing tonight?” She mentally chided herself for asking, but she needed to hear him tell her that he wouldn’t have a date with a local girl. Dustin had said Mason wasn’t seeing anyone, but she wanted to make sure she wasn’t going after another woman’s man.

Mason lifted a shoulder. “Pretty much what we’ve been doing, but we’d have on some fight tapes. Have you ever seen Dustin fight?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t…it…I just couldn’t.” She shivered and stood to move closer to the fire.

Mason watched her, his eyes hooded now and his smile gone. “You should. Your brother has talent. He could really go to the top.”

Pulling in a breath, Avery moved back to sit next to Mason. She pulled the pillow away from between them and tucked it behind her back. She needed Mason to drop his guard, to start seeing things from her side—she needed him to really listen to her worries.

And she didn’t think that was going to happen unless he cared at least a little for her. Setting her wine glass on a side table by a lamp, she turned to him and put her fingers on his arm. “Someone like that Shamus guy would kill Dustin—I’ve seen the previews from his last fight and it looked brutal.”

Mason shifted. “Yeah, that was a rough one. The referee should have stopped the fight way before he did. But the producers probably wanted the fight to go at least two rounds. The crowds can get nasty if things end way too soon.”

“Isn’t that kind of like fixing the fight?” Avery shifted and moved closer. Her sweatshirt rode up. She saw Mason glance down at her legs.

“Uh…well, not really. Fixing means you fix who’s going to win. You want the fight to be about uncertainty—hey, isn’t that life?”

She shook her head. “There’s uncertain and then there are stupid risks.”

He smiled. “Like jumping out of a plane? Would you want to keep Dustin from taking up sky diving? Or scuba diving? Going down under the water? I mean there are sharks there, too. Look, Dustin is bright most of the time, quick with his fists, and he loves the sport. Taking that away from him would be criminal. But what gives him an edge is that he wants to learn. He’s not just in it for the quick glory. He could be one of the greats.”

Avery sat up. “You’re not going to help me talk him out of this are you? You really love fighting—you don’t see the danger in it.”

“Oh, I do. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a fighter. I’ve made it my life. There’s something inside me that drives me to pit my skills against that of another man in the ring. It’s not about the fame or the money for me, either.”

She shifted so that she sat closer. “Great speech, but does Dustin really feel the same way, or is he trying to copy and impress you? He talks about you, you know. A lot.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Are you buttering me up?”

Cheeks warm, she shook her head. “It doesn’t mean I’m okay with what you’re doing or Dustin fighting. I’m trying to understand. I…” She put her hand on his thigh. “Maybe if I knew more about what’s the attraction for him, well it might help me.”

And maybe she could figure out some way around that pull to get Dustin to quit.

Mason licked his lips. But he didn’t move away. “I like the idea of you and your brother in a rational sit down talk. I mean, he’s not the great communicator, but if you two could come at this without heating everything up, things might…”

“Might what?” Avery leaned closer. “Might change.”

Mason’s eyes darkened. He leaned closer to her. She could smell the wine on his breath. She would taste it if he kissed her. “Might…” he said the word trailing off into a hoarse whisper.

Avery’s pulse skipped to a faster beat. She felt caught in her own trap, drawn in by Mason’s eyes, which seemed more blue than gray now. She leaned closer until her breast brushed his arm. She saw his throat work as he swallowed.

He leaned closer and she knew he was going to kiss her. Panic settled in her stomach, along with a slow burn of need. She wanted to feel his lips on hers. She needed his arms around her. Suddenly, this wasn’t about Dustin or fighting, or anything except the sizzle between them.

A musical tone rang out and Mason pulled back. He stood and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He didn’t even glance at it, but just said, “I need to take this call.”

Lips pressed tight, Avery watched him walk out of the room, leaving her frustrated—and certain she could get Mason to change his mind. But first she needed him to care about her more than he did about anything else. That might save Dustin’s life.

Avery waited for half an hour before she gave up on Mason. She thought about getting dressed to hunt him down, but if she had spooked him that was that. Or maybe he really had just needed to take that call. Either way, she didn’t relish the idea of going back out in the snow and the dark. She pulled on her sweats, let the fire die down and dug out her laptop. The Wi-Fi in the cabin was great—fast and steady. She logged on and set to catching up on work.

An hour later she’d done everything that needed to be done. Systems were all secure, files in place. She glanced at her laptop clock. Shutting down the system, she stretched and stood. She needed some sleep. Getting up from the chair, she left her laptop on the coffee table.

And then Mason stepped into the cabin.

Suddenly the place seemed smaller, warmer…brighter. Mason gave her a smile, but something looked off. That smile seemed stiff and it didn’t reach his eyes. Her throat tightened. “What’s wrong? Is it Dustin?”