Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  He maneuvers behind me, and this time I’m ready before he kicks, managing to block him with a punch to his thigh.

  He growls out a curse and backs up, a slight limp to his normal swagger, and my fist aches inside the glove—it was a good solid blow.

  He shifts around, eyeing me. He thinks I should be down by now.

  I force a grin, knowing I probably look maniacal.

  He comes at me again, his swipe a hair too wide, and I duck. He breathes heavily as he chases after me.

  “Stop playing and take him down!” one of the men from Kai’s corner calls out.

  “Go back to Ole Miss!” Ryker yells back.

  Kai runs at me head down, in football mode, and I anchor myself, waiting. He gets a second from knocking me on my ass, I sidestep like a good boxer, and he misses completely, lurching into the ropes.

  I rush at him, landing a punch to his lower back.

  Score.

  Using my shoulder, I pop him in the chest and send him reeling.

  Stay down, asshole, my face is telling him.

  But he gets back up, his eyes glazed.

  “You done?” I pant.

  “Pussy,” he calls at me as he slings blood out of his face.

  “Your funeral,” I say and raise my fists up.

  My words spur him into action and he rushes at me again. He lands a strike to my spleen, and I thrash away to get my breath back. Fuck.

  “Killer! Killer! Killer!” some of the Ole Miss fans chant.

  It’s like he brought his own cheering section.

  I spare a glance at Ryker, and he screams out that there’s a minute left in the round.

  I’m not sure I can last sixty more seconds without a breather.

  Kai advances again, on the offense, and I skirt around him, my feet skipping on purpose. If I can’t take him down, maybe I can distract him. I make my way over to the crowd of people who’ve congregated in Kai’s corner, cross my left arm into my inner right elbow, and pull it up—the universal sign for fuck you. The crowd roars its approval while Kai’s fans shake their fists at me. I prance off, forcing my body to move like it isn’t screaming in pain.

  He runs at me, more sluggish than before, and I square off and wait. I suspect he’s going to throw more fancy karate moves at me, and he does, his legs kicking at me as his fist aims for my face. I turn my body sideways and he misses, the inertia of his movement making him stumble. Before he recovers, I hit him in the head and he pops back with a dazed expression.

  Down he goes like a rock off the side of a cliff.

  “Hell yeah!” Ryker screams from the side, and I look around for Leslie, who motions for the ref standing off to the side. He jumps in and checks on Kai, who hasn’t even twitched. His chest is rising and falling so at least I know he’s breathing—I don’t want anything serious to be wrong with him.

  “Winner!” the ref yells as he holds up my hand.

  I take a walk around the ring, eyeing the people in the audience. Some are cheering—thank you, fellow Waylon fans—while some are surly and sneer at me. Whatever.

  It’s fucking over.

  Chapter Twenty

  Delaney

  Mav-Man: I miss you.

  Me: Me too. Will I see you today?

  Mav-Man: No. I’ll see you soon, Buttercup. Just…be patient and wait for me.

  “This donut is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” I murmur in reverence as Skye and I sit inside the pastry shop at the student center. The books for our next class are piled on the table where we’ve been studying. A popular hangout, the place is packed with students milling around before class on this Tuesday morning.

  She picks at her donut, a sparkly thing with white icing and purple glitter, as she watches Tyler. Sitting at a table a few feet from us with several baseball players, Bobby Gene included—someone who is obviously too nice for Tyler—he’s been glaring at us since they came in. He also sent Skye a few nasty texts over the past two days. So far, she hasn’t responded, and I approve of her decision to dump him and move on.

  “He’s leaving,” I tell her, watching as he picks up his trash and throws it away. “And, dammit, the douche is coming over here.”

  “Ugh.” Skye wipes her fingers on a napkin, her body stiffening.

  “You got this, girlie. Be polite, but don’t let him talk down to you,” I tell her.

  He arrives at our table, tall and looming over us with a glower on his face. He brushes his eyes over me dismissively then turns to Skye, a curl to his lip. “You haven’t replied to my texts. Still pissed at me, I suppose?”

  “You told me not to come back until I’m ready to apologize.” Her face reddens as if remembering how he kicked her out of the frat house. “I’m not going to apologize—ever.”

  His lips flatten, his face hardening.

  “Bye, Tyler,” I say, waving at him. “We’re trying to eat here—alone.”

  He spears me with a glare. “You stay out of this.”

  “Just leave…please,” Skye tells him, her eyes brighter than normal.

  He utters a slur—the dreaded C-word—making her pale, and my hands clench as several heads turn in our direction. His comment was loud and clear, and now we’re the center of attention inside the shop.

  Skye is biting her lip and I’m about to stand up and go off on him when suddenly Alex is standing there, a scowl on his face as he looks at Tyler. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s calling Skye names and being a dickhead,” I say.

  “Dude, back off,” Alex tells him. “They’re girls—what’s wrong with you?”

  Tyler huffs as he takes in Alex’s tight face, probably debating whether or not it’s worth it to start something. He hitches his backpack up on his shoulder and sends a heated glance at Skye. “Whatever. This is the end of us, bitch. I hope you’re happy.”

  We watch as he stalks off, and I heave out a sigh of relief.

  My eyes go back to Alex. I’m still a little ticked at him for the whole baseball episode, but I’m thankful he came over.

  “Thanks,” Skye says to him as she chews on her lip. “I-I didn’t know what to say.” She holds up her half-eaten donut. “Want the rest of this as a thank you?”

  “Uh, I already have one.” He holds up a to-go bag. “I was just walking past when I heard what he said to you. I couldn’t let him get away with it.” He grimaces and shuffles his feet, looking awkward.

  I clear my throat. “He and Skye broke up over the weekend.”

  He nods, sending Skye a rueful look. “I see. Been there.” His eyes are regretful as they find mine. “Uh, since I’m here and you’re here…I want you to know I’m sorry about the baseball party. I shouldn’t have jumped in between you and Maverick like that.”

  I blink.

  He sighs, his face solemn as he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about it—about everything, and I hope you can forgive me someday for cheating on you.”

  Oh.

  He takes a deep breath. “And I’m not going to bother you anymore—or Maverick. I won’t stand in his way.”

  This is good…well, except that I haven’t even seen Maverick since we were together. Sure, he’s texted me, but he has yet to tell me why he missed class.

  Alex exhales. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

  I take in his slouched shoulders, the contrite expression on his face as he watches me anxiously.

  “Yes,” I tell him sincerely as something clicks in my heart, and it just feels right. I don’t want him to be unhappy. We had some great times together, and most of all, we were always friends. I hold my hand out. “Friends,” I say with a little smile.

  He takes it and we shake.

  * * *

  The next morning before class, I’m standing outside Maverick’s dorm room to check on him. I already sent him a text asking if he’s going to show up, but he hasn’t responded. Part of me is worried, and a bad feeling looms over me, one I won’t be able to shake until I see
him.

  I rap out a quick knock and hear scuffling from inside the apartment-style residence.

  “Who is it?” comes a muffled voice.

  “Delaney Shaw.”

  The door flies open and I blink at the image in front of me.

  With his wavy brown hair, Ryker has been caught unaware if his leopard print bikini underwear is anything to go by.

  I clear my throat. Good lord. He’s got hair everywhere, his chest a gold mine of curls.

  He leans against the doorjamb and rubs the scruff on his face, completely unconcerned that he’s only wearing a banana hammock.

  “Morning, Ryker.”

  He throws a look over his shoulder before coming back to face me. “Mav’s asleep.”

  “He isn’t going to class?”

  “Uh—” He flounders, clearly not wanting me to come inside.

  But I’m determined.

  “Do you have any coffee made?” I ask sweetly.

  “Why?”

  I smile and hold up my paper bag of goodies. “Because coffee would go great with these chocolate muffins I made.”

  He sucks in a long breath as I open the bag and show him the contents, the appetizing scent of sugar and butter wafting up out of the bag. Ryker grins at me. “He said you like to cook, and I can’t resist home-cooked food. Come on in.”

  I step inside, heading straight to the little kitchenette. Like Alex’s dorm suite, the space has a small kitchen, a den, bedrooms off to the right, and a bathroom to the left.

  Ryker sinks his teeth into a muffin as I dig around in the pantry to find what I need to make coffee.

  “Goddamn, you’re amazing,” he murmurs as he reaches for a second muffin. “If Maverick isn’t into you, how about we spend a little time alone?” He waggles his brows at me, clearly joking, making me shake my head.

  “Maverick is into her,” comes a gruff voice from behind me as two strong arms wrap around me and a nose finds my neck and inhales. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”

  My body melts into his. God…yes. This is what I need.

  Ryker rolls his eyes at us. “Okay, you two, keep it PG.”

  Feeling glad that he’s here and okay, I turn around only to have my heart fall.

  He stands there in bare feet, navy flannel pajama pants, and a white t-shirt with one eye swollen shut and his left cheek colored yellow and purple from a bruise. His arms are painted with bruises too, most of them on his biceps.

  For a moment, I can’t breathe. I feel sick. Swallowing down my panic, I say, “What happened to your face? Are you okay?” My hands flutter around him.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing you need to worry about. It’s all over now.”

  What? Nothing to worry about? Is he crazy?

  “Who did this to you?” I’m assuming it was a fight.

  His face tightens, his gaze not meeting mine. “I got in a fight with someone at the bar when I went to pick up my dad this weekend.”

  My brow furrows, trying to imagine it. “That’s horrible.”

  Ryker seems displeased with Maverick’s response and lets out a sigh. Maverick scowls back at him, his jaw clenching.

  I look from one to the other. “What on earth is going on? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Maverick doesn’t respond, just strides over to the coffee. I watch as he lifts his arm to get a cup from the cabinet, the movement slow and careful.

  My frustration with the lack of details grows. “This is why you weren’t in class?”

  Ryker snatches another chocolate muffin from the container and makes his way around us. “Looks like you two need to talk, and I need to put some clothes on.” He walks by, giving me an apologetic look. “Good luck,” and then he’s out of the room and shutting his bedroom door.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I ask Maverick as he stirs in creamer and settles back against the counter to sip his coffee.

  “Just got in a tussle. It’s not anything I want you to worry about.”

  “I am worried.”

  “Why?” Those intense blue eyes study me.

  “Because you look terrible and I’m afraid you’re hurt.”

  “Why?” He takes a long drag from his mug.

  I lift my hands in exasperation. “Because I like you and I don’t want bad things to happen to you.”

  He exhales loudly as he sets down his coffee, the movement making him wince. Because he’s an alpha male, he’s probably holding back some of his discomfort, so I know he’s in a lot of pain. My eyes roam over him, taking in the way he gingerly moves forward to retrieve one of the muffins and sinks his teeth into it.

  My lips compress. “Were the police involved? Because you need to file charges against the person who did this to you.”

  “No.” Silence fills the room, and I stand here, not feeling entirely welcome. I’m disappointed and angry he isn’t being more forthcoming.

  Fine. I inhale sharply and snap up my backpack, which I set on the floor next to the table when I came in.

  I’m at the door when I hear his voice.

  “Delaney, please…don’t go.”

  I freeze, my chest rising at his plea. His tone is soft, with an undercurrent of vulnerability that gives me pause.

  I hear scuffling and turn around to watch him walk toward me. His steps are slow, his jaw clenched, his chest barely moving as if he’s restraining even his own breaths.

  “Dammit, you’re really hurt,” I say, biting my lip as I drop my backpack and walk over to him.

  “I don’t want you to go.” He swallows and stares down at his feet.

  “Let me see everything,” I say, pulling up his loose shirt and gasping as I see the bruises on his ribs. A long one stretches down his right side, ending just above his hip. I clench my jaw and gaze up at him as tears prick at my eyes. This wasn’t just a regular good-ol’-boys tussle.

  “Maverick? This is…this is…”

  “I’m okay,” he says soothingly, cupping my cheek. “Get that worried expression off your face. I’ve been checked out by a friend, got some X-rays, and nothing’s broken or fractured. I’ll be fine, and I’ll be back at practice in a week. Coach Al and my professors think I had a fender bender.”

  I lace my fingers with his and squeeze. “You’re scaring me. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  His forehead presses against mine. “Just trust me, okay? Are you in a hurry to get to class?”

  I shake my head as his eyes hold mine.

  He kisses me lightly on the lips. “Good. Come back to bed with me.”

  My body gets hot at the words.

  “You can’t have sex like this…can you?”

  He huffs out a laugh, and a smile—the first one I’ve seen today—flashes across his face. “I can have sex even if I’m half-dead, but right now, I just want to hold you.”

  There’s a neediness in his gaze, and it makes me protective of him.

  He tugs me toward a door and I follow him as we enter his bedroom. The bed is a full with a plaid duvet, and there’s a dresser against the wall. His laptop and books are scattered across the foot of the bed, and he grunts as he moves them to a chair next to the door. I’m itching to offer to help, but I can sense he doesn’t want me to.

  I have a design class at noon, but I know I’m not going to make it, especially when he slowly pulls his shirt off by tugging at it from the neck. I get an unobstructed view of his magnificent chest as it slips over his hair then gets tossed to the floor. Next are his flannel pants. He kicks them off and stands there proudly, bruises and all, and I probably look like I need a fan in my face to cool me down.

  “Want me to open a window, Buttercup?”

  I smirk.

  He hits me with those piercing eyes. “Take your clothes off. I want your skin against mine.” There’s that need in his tone again.

  I take my coat off and toss it on the chair. My shirt and jeans are next, until I’m standing in my black lace demi-bra and matching panties.
r />   A long sigh slips through his lips as his eyes caress me. “Damn.”

  Moving tentatively, he gets in the bed, lies back on the pillows, and pats the spot next to him, a searching expression on his face. “It’s like I wished you were here, Delaney, and you appeared. Thank you for checking on me.”

  I swallow. Part of me wants to get to the bottom of what happened, but for now, it doesn’t feel right. I crawl in beside him and lie down, our bodies touching lightly; I don’t want to hurt him. His arms curl around me, and everything else fades away.

  Whatever’s going on with him, I’ll figure it out later.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Maverick

  Delaney taps her chin, thinking. “My biggest TV-slash-movie pet peeve is that Han Solo and Princess Leia never got enough on-screen kissing time.” She looks over at me. “What’s yours?”

  I grin at her. It’s been over a week since the fight, and most of the bruises on my face have faded to a light blue. I’ve been wearing sunglasses and a ball cap everywhere, and my story of a minor car accident seems to be accepted. I hate lying to everyone, but it’s necessary.

  We’re sitting inside Buffalo Bills after salsa lessons, and Delaney’s on a quest to figure out the real Maverick. I get the feeling once she becomes interested in something, she’s devoted to it with a one-track mind. I can relate because I’m the same with football.

  She’s wearing a flowing red skirt and a pale blue sweater with a deep V-neck that clings to every curve. I’m trying not to stare at her full breasts, but I’m a Neanderthal and can’t help it.

  She waves a hand in front of my face. “Hello, is anyone listening?”

  “Right. Back to your twenty questions,” I say teasingly.

  She stabs one of the fries on her plate. “If you didn’t want to play, you should have just said so. I just thought it would be a good way to get to know each other.”

  I grin. “I can think of a few other ways.”

  She blushes furiously.