8
BASS THUMPED THROUGH the speakers of the upscale MMA gym in Midtown Manhattan as Leandro slammed his fists into the sparring pads Thiago held up. The gym had comped him and his crew a couple of days of access for the privilege of advertising that the champion had trained there. Even though Murphy was softer than a kitten, Leandro didn’t want to lose his training momentum as the fight got closer. Training was always something that centered him, helped him clear his head when he needed it, both an outlet and a way to recharge.
Especially given that his other preferred outlet—hot, sweaty sex with a gorgeous woman—didn’t seem to be on the table. Because the only gorgeous woman he wanted in his bed was Ashlynn. For some reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, no one else would do.
Floor-to-ceiling windows took up two of the gym’s walls, providing a view of Madison Square Garden and the bustling streets below. Leandro had always liked New York. The endless stretches of concrete, buildings arching into the sky, and sidewalks crowded with people reminded him of São Paulo, making him feel both at home and slightly homesick.
Maybe homesickness was why he couldn’t seem to get Ashlynn out of his head. He was looking for some kind of comfort to soothe the ache of missing home. He traveled a lot, but he’d never been away from home for more than a month or two at a time—he hadn’t been back to Brazil in over six months now. So instead of the warmth of home, he’d take the warmth Ashlynn had to offer and call it even. He suddenly realized that was what she was: warmth and light and sweetness—even when she was giving him shit, which was oddly refreshing—and he craved her in a way that left him feeling unsettled and maybe just a little freaked out.
And that in and of itself freaked him out because he didn’t freak out over women. He never had; he’d never been in love, never really even had a serious relationship, and after witnessing the way married people picked each other apart, he was happy that way. Women lost their shit over him, not the other way around.
He slammed his fists into the pads, sending Thiago stumbling back a couple of steps. He shot Leandro a pointed glance and pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes with his forearm.
“Good, but try to wait a little bit longer before moving your shoulders,” said José Almeida, one of the trainers he’d brought with him from Brazil. “You telegraphed those shots, and even if Murphy’s dumber than shit, he’ll see those coming.”
Leandro nodded, wiping at his sweaty brow. He repeated the combination, focusing on his trainer’s feedback, trying to make the punches as seamless as possible.
He channeled all of the frustration he felt about his confusing attraction to Ashlynn into his punches and kicks, nailing the pads with hard, slapping contact. And with each vibrating contact against the pads, the questions churned through his mind. Why did she deny that she wanted him? He’d seen the way she looked at him, the way her body responded to him. Even if she had her doubts as to his motives, she was fighting it. And most pressing of all, why did he care so damn much?
Like the homesickness, it wasn’t something he was used to. For the first time in his life, he was out of his element.
He gave his head a shake that brought his focus back to his training session, hoping that if he poured out enough energy, he’d stop obsessing over that weird ache in his chest that had taken root the day he’d met Ashlynn.
Since fucking when did he ache over women? Especially women who shot him down when he brought his A-game.
Bem, merda.
He thought back to the flight earlier that day, replaying the moments he’d spent with her in his mind, timing the memories with his strikes against the pads. And it didn’t matter how loudly Thiago swore, Leandro couldn’t seem to hold himself back. Remembering the way she’d eaten him up with her eyes, how goddamn beautiful she’d looked, the way she was clearly holding back, it all whirled through him, exploding out of him in harder than necessary punches and kicks. His lungs screamed for air; his muscles shook with exertion. He pulled up the hem of his sweat-drenched T-shirt, wiping at his brow. The cotton stuck to his skin, so instead of tugging the shirt back into place, he yanked it off and tossed it to the side. The air hit his skin, cooling him off a little, and he dropped his hands to his hips. His trainer handed him a bottle of water. Wrenching the cap off, he drained half of it.
Thiago pointed at him. “What’s up with you? You’re not freaked out about Murphy, are you?”
Leandro shook his head, his heart starting to slow down. “No.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Thiago frowned. “Then what’s wrong? I can tell something’s eating at you, and not just because of the bruises I’ll have tomorrow.”
Leandro let out a little laugh. “Sorry, brother. I didn’t mean . . .” He shoved a hand through his sweaty hair and shrugged. “It’s Ashlynn.”
Thiago’s lip curled as though he’d just smelled something bad. “That publicist girl’s got you like this?”
Leandro tipped his head, not saying anything.
Thiago leveled his gaze at him. “I don’t know how she got under your skin, but I don’t trust her, Leo. I haven’t from the first time I met her.”
Leandro took another sip of his water, uncertainty tugging at him. “Why don’t you trust her?”
“Because I know women like her. She’s a climber, a user. She’s stringing you along, playing you. You think she wants this job to help you? Or for herself? You think she really doesn’t want you, or she’s playing games to get you in bed? She’s manipulating you.” He shrugged. “Normally, I’d tell you to fuck her out of your system and be done with it, but I think that’d be a mistake here. She’s one of those snake-in-the-grass women.” He moved closer and clapped Leandro on the shoulder. “And you don’t need that right now. You have enough shit going on with everything else.”
Leandro took another sip of water, frowning as his confusion deepened. Thiago was like a brother to him, one of his oldest friends, and definitely his most trusted. And yet, what he was saying didn’t ring true. “I think maybe you’ve got her wrong.”
“I don’t. And if you could stop staring at her ass long enough to actually see her, you’d see that I’m right.” Thiago’s tone had shifted, a hint of frustration making its way into his voice.
Leandro shook his head. “Fine, you don’t trust her, but I’ve seen the way you sneer at her. You don’t like her. Why?”
Thiago let out a snort. “I just told you why. She’s just like all the women you swore you’d never have anything to do with for fear of ending up in some cold, loveless marriage like your parents. And I don’t want that for you either, man.”
The mention of his parents was like a bucket of cold water—over both his racing thoughts about Ashlynn and his mounting anger with Thiago. He loved his mother, but he knew the only reason she’d married his father was for the Oliveira fortune. The only reason he’d married her was because she’d gotten pregnant with Leandro’s older brother—most likely on purpose. His father had done the honorable thing and shackled himself to a cold, manipulative woman who loved money more than anything else. And so his father had taken mistress after mistress in retaliation, driving his mother insane. Leandro got along fine with both of them, and thankfully they were usually too preoccupied with their own drama to pay any attention to his, but he refused to end up like them.
He drained the rest of his water and tossed the empty bottle down. He didn’t want to fight with Thiago, but he wasn’t sure if he was right about Ashlynn either. So much for gaining any clarity.
“Let’s do some grappling,” he said, stretching out his neck. Thiago glanced up and then nodded quickly, and they moved over to a free area on the mats.
It wasn’t until they were wrapping up the last of the drills that Leandro glanced at the clock mounted to the gym’s wall. It was 8:06 p.m. His eyes widened and he dropped his hands to his sides.
“Shit, the interview!” He hastily wiped himself off with his towel and tugged his T-shirt back on, quickly gathering up
his stuff and shoving it in his bag as he called out harried apologies to Thiago and his trainer. Fuck, if he wanted Ashlynn in his bed—and despite what Thiago had said, he was pretty sure he did—bailing on the interview she’d set up wasn’t the way to get on her good side. He cursed quietly to himself as he pushed through the gym’s doors and onto the busy sidewalk. He scanned the street, looking for an available cab, but decided to just jog back to the hotel and hope Ashlynn wouldn’t kill him the second she laid eyes on him.
As he ran, doing his best to avoid jostling against the crowds of pedestrians, he couldn’t help but feel that this was at least partially her fault. After all, if he weren’t so twisted up over her, he wouldn’t have lost track of time at the gym, and . . . Yeah, even he wasn’t a big enough asshole to try to blame her for this. He’d let her down. Again. Damn, and shit, and fuck.
He neared the hotel and slowed his pace, pushing a hand through his hair as he walked into the lobby. He moved slowly through the lobby, his head up, scanning the elegant space for Ashlynn. Maybe she’d convinced the interviewer to wait. He headed toward the lobby bar, where he’d been supposed to meet the interviewer from the magazine.
He saw her before she saw him, and everything he’d done to slow his heart down went out the window. She wore a sleeveless black dress with silver detailing along the neckline that hugged all of her curves, emphasizing her tiny waist and full hips. Her hair hung down her back in golden waves, and although she sat alone at the bar, he noticed several men staring at her. And he couldn’t blame them, because, fuck, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She toyed with the stem of her wineglass, her eyes on her phone beside it on the bar. Staring at it. She didn’t look angry. She looked . . . tired.
He took a step into the bar and her head swung up, her eyes narrowing as soon as they landed on him. Before he could move, she’d slipped down from her barstool, leaving her wine behind, her phone clutched in her hand. “Where the hell have you been?” she hissed, her green eyes blazing. Okay, not so tired anymore.
He shrugged. “I’m sorry I’m late. I guess the interviewer left?”
“Only about forty-five minutes ago.” She crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you blew off the interview for a . . .” She looked him up and down, taking in his sweaty hair and gym bag, “For a workout? I thought that after . . .” She stopped, biting her lip and shaking her head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.” She moved past him, out of the bar and into the lobby.
Shoving his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for her, he followed. “We can reschedule the interview. It’s not a big deal.”
She didn’t stop until she reached the elevator bank, jabbing impatiently at the call button before turning to face him. Their eyes met, and then she let out a sad little laugh, looking down at the floor and shaking her head. “That’s just it, Leandro. It is a big deal, and I have no idea how to make you see that. You come and go as you please, and you play by your own rules. It must be nice to have that kind of privilege—I can only imagine.” The elevator arrived and he followed her in.
He felt guilty that he’d made her wait, and he hated it. “I still don’t think it’s that big a deal,” he said. “The guy will come back tomorrow.” He shot her a smile. “Who doesn’t want to talk to me?”
She let out a frustrated grunt and wheeled on him, jabbing her finger into his chest. “Maybe he will, or maybe he has more important things to do. You don’t know, and, even worse, you don’t care. You don’t care how it made me look sitting there having to explain you not showing up. These interviews are supposed to help your image, but I don’t see how that’s going to happen if you don’t care about your image. You never think about how what you do might affect others. Nooooooo,” she said, drawing the word out sarcastically, “you just do whatever the hell you feel like and damn the consequences, because you never have to face any.”
“That’s not true.” He cared that he’d made her angry and maybe embarrassed her in front of the interviewer. He was facing the consequences of that right now, and while she was doing a damn good job of making him feel guilty, he was enjoying watching her rage at him. Fuck what Thiago said. This was real. This was Ashlynn, and she wasn’t trying to be someone she wasn’t just to get him to like her.
“It is true! You know why you’re always late?” She didn’t give him the chance to answer, barreling forward with a full head of steam. “Because you don’t value the time of others. Only your own time matters to you. And you know what? That makes you kind of an asshole.”
“You know what your problem is?” he asked, stepping forward and making her back up against the side of the car. “Maybe you care too much. Maybe you value what other people want more than what you want.” An edge of frustration crept into his voice. “When’s the last time you took what you wanted?” Her eyes widened, and he smiled because they both knew he was talking about that morning on the plane. Blood rushed to his cock as he remembered how she’d trembled when he’d put his lips on her. If she’d just stop running, he’d make it all up to her.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened onto their floor, and she slipped out into the hallway. Running away from what they both wanted, again. “That just proves my point. This is my career, my livelihood, but to you it’s just another thrill to chase. You may not want to be here, but I do.”
He clenched his jaw, a coiled emotion he couldn’t quite name building within him. It was too many things all at once, and it was hard to think with Ashlynn all passionate and angry, completely unafraid to be real with him. He hadn’t thought it possible for her to look even more beautiful, but her cheeks had gone pink, her eyes bright, holding nothing back, and heat rolled through him.
He followed her into the hallway. “You don’t know the . . . the starting thing about what I want,” he said, struggling to control his accent.
“It’s ‘first’ thing, not ‘starting’ thing, and you’re right, I have no goddamn clue what you want, Leandro.”
The sound of his name on her lips shredded the last of his control, and he dropped his gym bag in the middle of the floor and backed her against the wall of the deserted hallway. She gasped and he brought his hands up against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. Their eyes locked, and he smiled at her, wolfish and slow. “I want to fuck you, minha linda. Did I say that right?”
She inhaled sharply, her breasts pressing into his chest. “Oh, fuck,” she breathed, almost a whimper.
He wasn’t sure who moved first, if he started to dip his head, or she arched up on her toes. Their lips brushed, and something hot and electric coursed through him. With a low groan, he closed his mouth over hers. Damn, it felt good to claim that smart mouth with his. She responded immediately, her hands sliding up his chest as she returned the kiss, her lips soft and warm beneath his. He slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her against him as he traced his tongue along her bottom lip, tasting her.
She moaned and opened for him, her hands sliding up over his shoulders and around his neck. Her tongue slid against his, and he let out a low, gruff sound, deepening the kiss. She gasped against his mouth as the kiss became hotter, more urgent. Her curves fit against him like a missing puzzle piece, and her mouth was sweet and warm as he explored, wanting to memorize her taste. His cock grew heavier, thickening with each passing second of his mouth working hungrily against hers.
He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, trailing biting, openmouthed kisses over her soft skin. Ashlynn let out a shuddery breath and tipped her head to the side, giving him better access, her hips rolling against him. Eager and needy.
Fuck, he’d probably never be able to smell orange blossoms again without getting hard. He dropped his hands from her waist and down to her ass, filling his palms with it, rocking her against him.
“Oh my God,” she murmured when his hard cock pressed firmly into her belly. “You’re . . . oh God, Leandro.” The friction of her s
oft body along his cock was almost too much, and his brain shut down.
“Eu quero você tanto, minha linda. Tão bonita, tão perfeita.” He murmured the words against her skin, savoring the way she shivered and arched into him. So responsive.
She moaned as he nipped at her ear. “I should slap you,” she said, her voice high and breathless.
He pulled back, and their eyes met. “That’s what you want to do? Slap me?” He gave her ass a playful smack, his cock throbbing almost painfully in between them. Her eyes darkened, eating him up, and then she fisted his shirt and pulled his mouth back down to hers. She melted right back into him, and that felt like more of a victory than winning any belt, and he knew it was because this mattered. This was real.
She traced her hands up and down his chest, the kiss slower and deeper than before, the initial urgent clash dissolving into something hotter and needier.
A door opened nearby, and he was faintly aware of footsteps, but he didn’t care. Ashlynn was all that mattered right now. He was about half a second away from picking her up and carrying her into his room when someone walked right past them.
“Oh!” an older woman said, her tone heavy with disapproval.
Ashlynn broke the kiss and her hands went still on his chest. Her eyes were hooded, her lips slightly swollen, her chest heaving. Something flashed across her face as her eyes searched his, and she gently pushed him back.
“That shouldn’t . . . I can’t . . . shit,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word. Without a backward glance, she bolted down the hall to her room, slamming the door behind her.
Leandro braced one forearm against the wall, staring at the empty space that Ashlynn had just occupied. “Maldita seja,” he whispered, before turning to pick up his bag and heading to his own room.
Ashlynn had run, but what was between them was far from over. No, this was only the beginning.
9
ALMOST TWELVE HOURS had passed since the hottest kiss Ashlynn had ever experienced, and she could still feel where Leandro had touched her. She could feel the imprint of his hands on her ass, and her lips still tingled from his. Somehow the real thing had been about a hundred times better than she’d imagined it could be. It seemed so unfair. Maybe if he’d been a horrible kisser, she could’ve gotten over her obsession with him. Maybe if it hadn’t felt so right being pressed up against him, she could’ve laughed at herself for kissing him and moved on with her life.
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