With a sigh, she pushed the blanket off and sat up. It was almost nine a.m., and she still needed to take a shower. Leandro had a training session this morning, so they weren’t planning to leave for Los Angeles until just before lunch. There were only a few interviews scheduled at the hotel tonight and a morning show appearance tomorrow. Then, thankfully, they’d head home and she’d try to forget that she’d ever let her guard down with him.
She winced as she padded to the bathroom. The ache between her legs almost matched the ache in her stupid heart. As she let the water run to heat up, she couldn’t help but remember the night before. How careful he’d been with her. The expression on his face when he’d been inside her, staring down at her. If she hadn’t known better she’d have thought they were making love. His eyes had been so intense and tender. But this was Leandro, and he’d probably perfected making women feel like each one was the only one a long time ago. Besides, with her crappy history with men, she couldn’t trust her own judgment anyway.
Even knowing that, her body still hummed from the memory of his touch, wanting more. Her heart still ached for him to hold her. What the hell had she done, and what was she supposed to do now?
Her phone rang from its place on the nightstand. Turning off the water, she grabbed the hotel robe from the hook on the back of the door and hurried to answer it, afraid that it could be work. She grimaced when she saw Craig Darcy’s name on the screen. The last thing she needed this morning was him barking orders at her.
Tying the robe’s belt around her waist, she picked up the phone. “Good morning, Craig.”
“What the hell happened last night?”
He knew. She nearly dropped the phone but managed to keep a hold of it. The skin on the back of her neck prickled as if it was suddenly too tight. “Um . . .” Shit, she was horrible at playing it cool. “The party went great. The nightclub manager said the event was sold out. He had to turn people away at the—”
“No, I don’t mean that.” He interrupted her. “What happened with you and Oliveira?”
Shit, shit, shit! She opened and closed her mouth a few times, unsure what to say as her heart pounded in her ears. A cold sweat broke out on her brow. He couldn’t know they’d had sex. Could he? But then, Leandro’s sex tape had gotten out because someone had spied on him. The blood drained from her face and she had to sit down on the bed as she remembered that the balcony doors had been open. Had someone recorded them? A hundred images from the night before flashed through her mind. Leandro on his knees between her legs, her begging him to fuck her, riding him like there was no tomorrow. She’d die if Craig had seen a recording of that.
“What do you mean?” she finally managed to ask.
He barked out a short laugh. “Someone sent me a very interesting photo of you and Oliveira in the club. Looks like you’re both enjoying yourselves.”
She closed her eyes, filled with relief. “We danced to a few songs, yeah.” Please, God, don’t let the photo show us near the end.
“I don’t have to remind you about our nonfraternization clause, do I? Because I like you, Ashlynn, but I can’t hire you full-time if you’re involved with a fighter. I assumed that’s what you wanted.”
“No, it is what I want, and you don’t have to remind me. I know the rules. I . . .” She took a breath because she couldn’t lie to him, but she couldn’t tell him the truth either. Not if she wanted that permanent job. “You wanted me to keep him out of trouble, and dancing seemed like the best way to do that. It was an easy way to keep an eye on him and keep him busy. I didn’t realize dancing was crossing a line.” Though she was pretty damn sure that the grinding near the end and all the sex that had come after the dancing blew right past the line.
He sighed. “No, dancing’s not over the line. I just . . .” He sniffed and she realized that he had thought the worst. “He’s a good-looking guy, and I wanted to remind you that nothing else can happen. That’s all.”
“Okay. I’m reminded.” She tried to keep her voice light, but she felt horrible.
“I’m glad the event went well. I’m scrolling through blog posts, and there’s nothing but good things. Happy to see you’ve kept him out of trouble.”
“Thank you.”
They talked a little more about the upcoming interviews. As the shock of the phone call wore off, she asked, “Can I ask how you got the photo?”
“Came in through our website. Someone filled out the form anonymously and sent it over.”
Someone who wanted to get her into trouble. “Why would they do that?” she asked.
She could practically hear him shrug when he answered. “It’s the game. A lot of guys out there don’t want to see Oliveira as champion, and maybe they want to stir up some shit. I don’t think it’s any secret that there’s some tension between the two of us. They probably just wanted to piss me off. It happens.”
She frowned. She knew there was a fair amount of politics in the league, but something about this felt different. “Would you mind sending it to me? I’d like to see it.”
“Sure thing. Check your email. I’ll see you back in the office Monday. We need to meet with Jules and talk strategy in the lead-up to the big fight.”
Which would mean seeing much more of Leandro. God, she was doomed. “Okay, I’ll see you Monday.”
She ended the call and fell back on the bed. She was a little surprised at how easy it had been to convince Craig that nothing was going on with her and Leandro, even if she herself wasn’t so sure. She’d hoped that spending the night with him would’ve been enough to get him out of her system, but she knew now one night would never be enough. She was afraid that she felt far more deeply for him than she should. And that wasn’t something that was going to go away any time soon.
13
LEANDRO BLINKED TO shield his eyes from the flash of the photographer’s camera. “Sorry,” he murmured, and the man smiled while snapping a few more photos in rapid succession. The interviews had drawn on for nearly two hours. The one he’d just finished was for a Brazilian MMA blog that he’d been looking forward to speaking with. Any chance to bring the sport he loved home to his country was a good thing, but he was ready for the day to be over. He was tired and irritable, a rare combination for him. He would’ve blamed it on the training while traveling, but he knew that was bullshit. The reason for his bad mood was sitting across the room working on her tablet.
His gaze followed his thoughts. Ashlynn sat on the hotel suite’s sofa, apparently engrossed in her work. She wore half of her blond hair up, with the rest of it falling down around her face. A pencil skirt hugged her ass—he knew because he’d had a hard time keeping his eyes off of it before she’d sat down—and she wore a modest blouse that covered more than it revealed. There was nothing overtly sexy about her sitting there working, but his dick hadn’t gotten the memo. Maybe it was the fact that they were in a hotel room, maybe it was that he’d just had her the night before, or maybe it was simply because she was Ashlynn, but his blood rushed south and he had to grit his teeth to fight against the beginnings of a very awkward erection.
“Hey, look this way, champ.” Caught staring, Leandro glanced back at the photographer, who gave him a knowing wink. “Give me a couple more photos and then you can chase that hot piece of ass, huh?” The man looked over at Ashlynn before giving Leandro a thumbs-up.
Anger that the man would be so disrespectful to her burned over his skin, turning his stomach. The asshole had no right to talk about her like that. The protective instinct that welled up in him might’ve surprised him had it not felt so good as it filled the hollows in his chest. He was glad that the guy had spoken in Portuguese so she wouldn’t understand what he’d said. “We’re done.”
The guy paused midphoto and lowered his camera. “What?”
“I said we’re done. You have enough photos.”
That got the reporter’s attention. He’d been sitting in the chair facing Leandro’s, organizing his notes from their interview. H
e was young, probably not even out of college, and he sat for a second looking back and forth between Leandro and his photographer before springing into action. “Ah, right, okay. Thanks for your time, Mr. Oliveira. It was an honor to meet you.” He leaned forward to shake Leandro’s hand before picking up his recorder and the stack of notebooks he’d brought with him. The photographer shook his head as he dismantled a light box and returned it to its case.
They were out the door in less than two minutes. Not nearly soon enough to suit him. Ashlynn stood to call out a good-bye and looked confused when the door shut behind them. “They left in a hurry. We still had”—she glanced down at her tablet—“ten minutes left.”
“We were finished.” He kept his seat, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair to hold himself there so he wouldn’t go over and try to touch her. He hated the distance that had grown between them since last night.
“Well, I guess we have a ten-minute break until the last interview. Do you need anything? Water?” She wasn’t looking at him as she walked over to the cart filled with drinks and snacks that she’d ordered when they’d first arrived. Her gaze touched everything else in the room but him. He grimaced at the painful tug near his heart. Everything felt wrong now.
His eyes drifted to her ass as she walked away from him. The open door behind her led to a bedroom. He’d dumped his suitcase there before changing for the interviews, so he knew it held a very nice king-size bed. There were so many things they could be doing in that bed instead of sitting here being awkward with each other. But that wasn’t a possibility because she kept making it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with him. If avoiding someone were an Olympic sport, Ashlynn would take the gold. All day, through the travel and the interviews, she’d barely acknowledged his existence. No eye contact. No subtle touches. And he felt like after finally tasting her sunshine, he’d been plunged back into shadow. The truth was, it hurt, and he didn’t know what to do with that, since a woman had never tried to avoid him after sex.
Yet it was more than just any woman avoiding him, and that made it even harder to process. He was miserable, and she was acting as if nothing had happened. No, she was acting as if something had happened, but it was something that she didn’t want to think about. Like something embarrassing. Or something painful.
He straightened in his chair as he wondered if that was it. Was it possible that he’d hurt her without even knowing it? He’d tried to be gentle, but near the end things had gotten—fuck. He’d taken her harder than he’d meant to, harder than he should have. Something about being with her had made him lose control, and that wasn’t okay. Not if he’d hurt her.
Christ. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to think of a way to bring it up so that she wouldn’t be embarrassed. There wasn’t one, but he couldn’t let it go. Standing slowly, he walked to the beverage cart where she was using a pair of tongs to very deliberately put ice cubes in a glass. When she glanced at him under her lashes, he realized that it was her way of looking busy so he wouldn’t talk to her. Was she okay? Had he hurt her, physically or otherwise?
“Water?” she asked again.
“Are you okay, Ashlynn?” He both wanted and dreaded the answer.
Something unreadable flickered across her face, and he fought back the urge to touch her, not wanting to scare her away when she was actually on the verge of looking at him and talking to him again. He clasped his hands onto the edge of the cart, hoping he looked far more casual and relaxed than he felt.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her eyes dropped back down to the glass in her hand as she set the tongs down.
“Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“Did I . . . things have been . . . we’re not talking, and I just . . . Did I hurt you? When we . . .” He felt blood rush to his face; he felt like a fish flopping around on a dock. “Minha linda, I’m so sorry if I wasn’t gentle enough.” The idea that he’d possibly hurt her made him feel a little sick.
Her eyes widened, and her cheeks went the sexiest shade of pink—almost the exact same shade as when she came. She swallowed and ducked her head. “No, Leandro. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”
He smiled, relief trickling through him. “Good. Because the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
She looked at him as though she didn’t quite believe him, but it was true. He found himself wanting to take care of her, to protect her and shelter her from whatever it was that had put that fear in her eyes in the first place.
His eyes wandered down her body, taking in her simple green blouse, which matched her eyes, and dark gray skirt. Most of the women he’d dated wore half the clothes that she did and didn’t manage to look half as sexy. He almost gave a self-deprecating laugh at the word dated, because he didn’t date. Fucked was the appropriate word for what he did, but something about that didn’t sit right with him. It made him feel vulgar and wrong in a way it never had before.
He didn’t want that with Ashlynn. He didn’t want her to be just some one-night stand he’d forget in a month. He didn’t want that photographer’s disgusting assumption to be right. Fucking didn’t quite describe what had happened between them last night, but what did? He didn’t know what word to use for it, but it was different. He was different since being with her. He’d never been so consumed by a woman he’d slept with. The whole day had been taken up with thinking about her and wondering what she was feeling. Wondering what he was feeling.
Taking in a deep breath, he opened his mouth before he could stop himself. “You look really pretty today, Ashlynn.”
She sucked in a shaky breath, eating him up with her eyes. “So do you.” He frowned slightly, and she let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, you look nice. Not pretty. I didn’t mean to call you . . .” Her voice trailed off as her gaze did a slow walk down his body, and all he could think was that she could call him anything she liked as long as she kept looking at him like that.
Her blush deepened when she looked up to see that she’d been caught checking him out. She licked her lips and then cleared her throat. “There was a photo of us dancing at the club. Someone sent it to Craig. He called me this morning, after . . . He wasn’t happy about it, and reminded me about the WFC’s nonfraternization clause.”
“Nonfraternization?” It wasn’t an English word he knew.
“No dating among employees.”
The word dating seemed to hang between them, feeling big and heavy, but not unwelcome—at least, as far as he was concerned. Which was entirely new and surprising for him, but he had to admit that he liked it. He liked the idea of belonging to her almost as much as he liked her belonging to him.
Her eyes went wide as she realized what she’d said. “Not that we’re dating . . . or would date. I didn’t mean dating dating. I meant . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced down at the cart.
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because of the photo and Darcy?”
She nodded but then stopped abruptly. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
He blinked at her. “This is the first we’ve spoken since I was inside you.”
She gasped, her eyes darting up to look at him. Her nipples beaded, visible through the thin silk of her blouse, and he clenched his hands. He wanted to touch her, to be allowed to touch her as he had last night, but this awkwardness between them wouldn’t let him. And, fuck, he didn’t like it. It felt wrong and unnatural.
“I didn’t want to leave,” she whispered, and he felt those words deep in his chest, as though he’d been waiting for them. Wanting them. Needing them.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb caressing her cheekbone, lingering. Electricity sparked up his arm, while something warm and soothing settled in his chest. Touching her felt right. Ashlynn felt like home. Not in a geographical sense, but in a comforting sense. He could be himself with her, no airs, no games. He knew that she saw him and took him as he was. Whatever this connection was be
tween them, he knew it was real. Genuine. Something worth pursuing. Something worth . . . fuck, maybe everything. He felt alive and awake in a way he never had before, and he knew it was because of her, not just the amazing sex. He’d had great sex before, probably more than his share, but this was deeper, or it could be if they gave it half a chance. The intensity of his attraction to her should’ve scared him and in the past it would’ve. But it didn’t feel scary with her. It only felt right.
“I didn’t want you to leave,” he said.
She seemed surprised, her mouth working to form a reply. “I had to,” she finally managed.
“Why? I thought we could spend the morning in bed. Talking. Touching.”
Her blush deepened, but she didn’t look away. Despite the fact that she clearly wanted him, she reached up and laid a hand over his, her fingers tracing over his knuckles. “We can’t happen, Leandro.”
He felt her words like a punch in the octagon, but he didn’t flinch, not showing her how she’d affected him. He wasn’t willing to accept the end of anything—everything—between them.
“I could lose my job,” she said, biting her bottom lip.
“I wouldn’t let that happen.” He leaned in closer, her scent filling his lungs, making him want to shove the cart out of the way and pull her against him. “I would take care of you.” The words came from somewhere deep inside him. Unrehearsed, unplanned, and, as unbelievable as it was, he didn’t want to take them back.
Her eyes softened, lust tinged with sadness shining out at him. “You don’t mean that.”
He blinked. Did he mean it? He was almost certain that he did, and it wasn’t a line to get her back into his bed. But he hadn’t consciously thought of what it would mean to take care of her. The words had just come out of him. Now that they were there between them, they felt right. Everything felt good with her. He wanted to take care of her.
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