by Carly Fall
With that, she went into the house.
The one thing prison had taught him was that he needed to get his shit together. If partying and wallowing in self-pity were it, then he was in for a world of hurt. Or, he could get up from the mats, dust himself off, and get back on a stable path.
He had chosen to move on, and the fight the other night was the first step down the right path.
However, a new component of his plan had taken root, and was growing at a fast pace. He wanted Regan in his future and he had thirty days to convince her that he had changed. Long gone was the young, cocky jerk who had the world at his feet. Dylan was now a man with purpose, honor, and integrity.
He just needed to prove that to Regan.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As Regan ran down the tree-lined streets past the middle-class cookie-cutter houses, the pounding of her running shoes against the pavement was keeping time with the beat of music blasting in her ears.
It was white noise—it was there but in the background to her thoughts.
What Dylan had told her about going to prison played over and over. Regan was happy that he had helped that woman, but what bothered her was that he said that the woman reminded him of her.
It would have been about two years after she left that he went to prison, and it sounded like she was still forefront in his mind back then. How could that be when he’d broken her heart not once, but twice beforehand? She would have thought he had moved on because it certainly seemed like it that day she had gone to the gym.
She’d walked through the door hoping that things could possibly be worked out between them, but Lila’s presence and possessiveness had put an end to that. The girl had practically peed on Dylan to mark him as hers. And her little quip about being his girlfriend the night before had sealed the coffin on their relationship. At that point, she was certain that Dylan had moved on and she was but a distant memory.
Perhaps she was wrong.
But if that were the case, why had he cheated to begin with?
She’d tossed this question around for hours, if not days upon days in the past five years. Why had Dylan cheated on her to begin with? What was she lacking that he needed? And were there others? Was it something he did on a frequent basis, and he had just gotten caught that one night?
Regan couldn’t see how it could have been a regular thing for him because they spent so much time together, unless he was doing it in the middle of the afternoon while she was at work. But even that didn’t really make sense since his days were generally spent training with Max.
Or so she had been told.
Spending time with Dylan these past couple of days had brought back the same old feelings. Her body warmed as she worked on his shoulder, and her heart melted when he smiled at her. Talking between them had been stilted, but it was getting easier.
Nothing could happen, she decided as she picked up the pace. It couldn’t. She needed to protect herself from Dylan, and she didn’t need to know the why’s of what happened in the past. She just needed to focus on getting his shoulder in the best shape possible, and then move on with her own plans for the future.
With that resolved, she turned around and headed back to the house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Left, right, left,” Max said, holding up the mitts, and Dylan did what he was told.
“Jab, hook, duck, uppercut.”
Dylan got through the jab and hook just fine, it was the duck that didn’t compute and Max landed the mitt on Dylan’s cheek.
Thankfully, he hadn’t put much strength behind it.
They were out in the backyard, the spring sun warm against Dylan’s bare back. They’d been doing mitt work for an hour, and Dylan knew he still needed to complete his ab workout and then meet with Regan. No rest for the guy trying to make it to the pros.
It had been a week since Dylan told Regan about his prison time, and things had thawed a little bit each day between them, which only made him hotter. He was stroking himself off nightly now as he thought of her on the other side of the wall, curled up in bed. Perhaps it had been his imagination, but he thought he had caught her staring at him a time or two with that look in her eye that she used to get when she wanted him in the sack.
It was probably wishful thinking.
His shoulder actually felt a little better, which was surprising considering how long he’d been living with the pain. At the same time, it was expected as Regan had a magic about the way she manipulated the joint that seemed to bring out the best in it.
“You need to focus, boy,” Max said, hitting him upside the head with the mitt. “C’mon. You got ten minutes left of this, and then you move onto the abs.”
Bringing his attention back to Max and away from Regan, they completed the ten minutes without incident.
“Damn,” Max said, wiping the sweat from his eyes. “Get the ab workout done. I’m going to go to the store and then lay down for a while.”
Dylan wiped the sweat from his head with a towel. “You sure you’re okay, Max? You seem to be resting a lot lately. Maybe you need to see a doctor.”
At the sliding glass door, Max looked over his shoulder. “I’m old, Dylan. I don’t need no doctor to tell me that. Now get to those abs. I want to be able to bounce a quarter off them, you hear me?”
Dylan nodded, sat down at the picnic table and put his head in the towel. He just needed to rest for a few minutes, and then he could finish his workout. Even at twenty-seven, he could feel the difference in his body and stamina from when he was twenty-two. He couldn’t imagine what Max felt like at sixty-five.
He heard the door slide open and turned. Regan stood there in a pair of black leggings that hugged her slim, toned thighs and a black tank top. The blood in his body made a mad dash for his groin.
She came and sat down next to him and smiled. “So, I was just talking to Max before he left,” she said. There was a glint in her eye, and he knew from experience that usually meant she was going to say something he wasn’t going to like.
“And?”
“I asked him what he thought about you doing some yoga.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me? Yoga? I’m a boxer, Regan, not some tree-hugging ballet dancer or cheerleader or some shit.”
Now, it was apparently Regan’s turn to roll her eyes. “There are a lot of athletes that participate in yoga, Dylan. They find it helps with their flexibility, which, by the way, you are sorely lacking.”
“It’s stretching, Regan.”
“It’s more than that.”
He had better things to do than yoga, for God’s sake. “No.”
“C’mon, Dylan. Give it a try for a couple of days. It’s going to help your shoulder.”
“No.”
She sighed. “Fine. Max said you have to do this.”
“He did not.”
“Yes, he did. I told you, I just talked to him about it and he thinks it’s a great idea.”
Fuck. He didn’t want to do it and was ready to fight it, but then he had an idea that bordered on brilliance. “You do it with me.”
She stared at him a moment, obviously surprise.
“You do it with me, or I’m not doing it.”
“Dylan—”
“That’s the deal, Regan. Take it or leave it.”
Regan’s eyes narrowed and she looked as though she were going to give him an earful.
Instead, she smiled. “Fine, Dylan. If that’s the way you want to play it, game on.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Regan bent back into Cobra position, feeling the wonderful curve in her spine and looked out the corner of her eye at Dylan.
They had moved the living room furniture around to make room for them both to fit in front of the television. Dylan was sweating profusely, breathing hard, and cursing under his breath.
“The spine is not meant to bend like this,” he muttered.
Regan said nothing, but inhaled deeply and moved into Cat-Cow as the woman
on the TV told her to.
She had been wracking her brain the past couple of days on how to get Dylan to stretch more. As she suspected, his brawn was as flexible as stone, and as far as he was concerned, serious stretching was for “cheerleaders and ballet dancers,” as he so eloquently put it.
Exhaling, she rounded her spine and glanced over at Dylan again. He was going to be sore tomorrow.
The woman on the TV told them to move into Downward Dog, and Regan closed her eyes and pushed her butt up in the air feeling the stretch in her extended arms and down the back of her legs. It felt great. She thought this one may be tough on Dylan’s shoulder, and she looked over at him to see how he was doing. His arms and legs looked like bent sticks, and the sweat trickled off the tip of his nose. He cursed silently, and she burst out laughing and crumpled to the floor on her stomach.
“What’s so funny?” Dylan asked, coming down to his knees.
She rolled over to her back, still laughing. Regan knew she shouldn’t find Dylan’s attempt at yoga so funny, but she couldn’t help it. He looked ridiculous in his inflexibility.
“Nothing,” she said, trying to stop the giggles.
“Yes, there is. What’s so funny, Regan?”
At that point, she had tears rolling down her face, and she realized how stressed she’d been. The laughter and tears were about so much more than Dylan looking silly trying to get into Downward Dog—it was a release of pent-up emotions. She wiped her eyes, and Dylan appeared above her, smiling. “Are you laughing at me?”
She shook her head, and the laughter started all over again.
“You are laughing at me!”
Dylan then tickled her ribs, which he knew from the past would send her into more fits of giggles. Despite being weak from laughter, she struggled against him, and he put his weight on her to keep her in place.
“Stop!” she yelled between gasps. “Please! Stop!”
After a moment, Dylan quit, and she finally got a hold of herself.
Their eyes locked, and her breath caught. It was then that she realized the intimacy of the situation. She was flat on her back and Dylan hovered above her. All he needed to do was lower his body to hers, and he would cover her like a blanket. Her body screamed yes, her head yelled no.
Something in her face must have said yes, because the next thing she knew, Dylan was on top of her, his mouth covering hers. It was as if her body had a mind of its own because it wasn’t listening to her head.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Her core became molten within seconds and her legs seemed to spread on their own accord.
Dylan gently stroked her neck, her shoulder, the side of her breast, and down her hip. He bent her leg up so that he could bury his arousal deeper between her legs, and she cursed the clothing that separated them. She felt as though she would weep with the desire that rolled through her.
His tongue founds hers, and he nipped her bottom lip. He kissed the side of her face, and down the column of her neck. Finding the hem of her tank top, he slowly lifted it, revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Letting out a groan, his mouth quickly found her right nipple and shockwaves jolted through her body at the contact.
Good God. After everything this man had put her through, he still made her feel as though she would explode with his touch.
She ran her fingers through his hair as his tongue wreaked havoc on her senses, bringing her nipple to a rigid peak. The smell of sandalwood and faint sweat encompassed her, and she inhaled deeply with the realization of how much she missed it.
His hips thrust into hers, and as she felt his arousal, she gave up trying to be rational and handed herself over to the experience. Lifting the hem to his T-shirt, she let her hands run over the ridges and valleys of his strong back.
“Oh God, Regan,” he whispered. “You taste so good.”
The woman on the television prattled on about the importance of breathing when in Triangle Pose, and then Regan heard a hum. It didn’t register what it was at first, but Dylan stopped kissing her and lifted himself off her.
“Max’s home,” Dylan said quietly, pulling her shirt down. He held out his hand to her and brought her to a sitting position, and Regan recognized the hum as the garage door opening.
As he smoothed her hair back behind her ears, he said, “Can you help him with the groceries? I . . . I can’t with this.”
He gestured down to his hips, and Regan groaned inwardly at the raging erection making a tent of his shorts.
“Of course,” she whispered.
Dylan put his finger under her chin and lifted it so that she had to look at him. “I want to finish this, Regan. I want this bad.”
Slowly, her more rational side was taking over. It wouldn’t be a good idea. It had gone too far, and she wouldn’t put her heart out there for him to stomp on again.
“Dylan—”
“Shhh,” he whispered, putting his finger to her lips. “I know you want this too, Regan. I can feel it. Leave your door unlocked tonight.”
He stood and walked down the hall to his room. The door from the garage to the house opened at the same time she heard the click of Dylan’s.
She got to her feet and walked down the hall. Her panties were soaked, and sexual frustration made her shake.
“Hi, Max,” she said, trying to smile.
“Hey, honey.”
She went out to the car to get groceries and took a deep breath. This . . . thing between her and Dylan had to stop.
“You okay, Regan? You look a little flushed.”
She picked up a couple of bags and turned to Max. “I’m all right. Just doing some yoga.”
“Did Dylan do any?”
She nodded. “For a bit.”
“Good. I thought we’d have some of my famous chicken enchiladas for dinner. How does that sound?”
“Delicious.”
After putting away the groceries, she set the living room furniture back in place. Her body had quieted somewhat, but there was still the hum of sexual energy just below the surface. What she needed was a shower and to get her head straightened out.
“Max, I’m going to shower really quick, and then I’ll be out to help you with dinner, okay?”
“No worries, honey,” Max said. “Take your time.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dylan lay on his bed, willing his body to relax. He heard the shower running in the bathroom next door, and he imagined Regan wet and slick with bubbles running down her torso. At that second, he’d give his left nut to be in there with her. But he couldn’t think about that now, or he’d never get rid of this erection.
Knowing that Regan was very flexible, he thought he had been very clever with the yoga. He would get to watch her slim body move, bend and flex, and he was certain he could fake his way through it.
He had been wrong. Yoga was hard. His body wasn’t supposed to bend like that. He equated his torso to a large, round tree trunk—it just didn’t twist or curve. Instead, it was a solid, hard mass.
However, when he saw how Regan moved through the poses with relative ease, he wasn’t about to be bested by her and had really tried to get through the workout.
That was until she started laughing. As he watched her flat on her back in a fit of laughter, he couldn’t help himself. Her giggles bathed his soul in calm, something he hadn’t felt since he fucked everything up with her five years ago.
As he watched the tears stream down her face and her smile light up the room, he knew he couldn’t stay away from her any longer, despite his best intentions. She didn’t push him away when he hovered above her, and so he had lowered himself on top of her. Her lips were soft, and it felt like he had found his home as his body melded into hers.
Damn Max. Both he and Regan had been so caught up in the moment, he had no doubt they would have made love right there in on the living room floor.
Made love? Yes, that’s exactly what he would have done. He had never stopped loving Regan, and he knew that
she was a very important part of the person he was, and his future.
Now he just needed to make her see that.
Tonight wouldn’t be about physical contact. Tonight he would go to her and he would beg for forgiveness and explain to her what she meant to him.
The shower turned off and Dylan looked down at his hips. His erection still raged, and he realized that he was going to have to give himself a little relief, which should be a quick task with Regan’s scent still buried in his skull and the memory of her soft skin on his fingertips.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I got you a bottle of wine, Regan,” Max said as dinner was being served. “Chardonnay, right?”
Regan eyed the bottle and then glanced over at Dylan. She shouldn’t drink around him if he had a problem. “That’s sweet, Max, but I think I’ll pass.”
She looked over at Dylan again, who stared at her. “I’ve never known you to pass up a glass of wine, Regan.”
“I . . . I just don’t . . .”
She wanted a glass of wine. Her nerves were still humming from what happened that afternoon on the living room floor.
Dylan walked over to her and got in close. As she was leaning against the counter, there was nowhere for her to go. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him.
“Under no circumstances are you to change your way of life on my account,” he said softly. “I choose not to drink because I do stupid stuff like cheat on my girlfriend and beat people up when I do. I lost everything that meant anything to me because of it, and I won’t have that happen again. You having a glass of wine or two, or even three or six, is not going to change my choice, and it won’t affect me in any way.”
With that, he went over to the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle. After a few failed attempts, Dylan finally found the drawer where the corkscrew was kept, opened the bottle, and found a wine glass in the cupboard.
