by Laura Wright
“No, Cole.” This time, she strained against him, and when he released her she headed straight for the couch. Belle was sprawled out on two of the cushions, fast asleep.
Eyes wide, body on fire, he turned to look at her. “Grace, you just said—”
Her cheeks were flushed. “We’re talking about you and me making love for the first time. I want that. I want all of you.”
“This is all of me,” he countered, raising his arms in surrender.
She shook her head. “It’s a part of you. The part that wants to escape. The part that doesn’t want to deal with what he heard tonight.” She covered her mouth with her hand, looking utterly bereft. “If we do this . . . if we’re together tonight . . . and you lose to Fontana, are you going to blame me? Are you going to blame yourself?”
Cole froze. “Where is this coming from?”
“I know you’ve existed, even found success, in a world where you’re responsible for Cass’s abduction. And I wonder if you’re worried that will all go away if the truth is revealed.”
“I want the truth,” Cole returned hotly. “I want to know what happened to her.”
“Of course you do. I don’t mean it like that. But as you said, you rely on not knowing. You need the fear and anger—”
“Fine,” he cut in. “I use the anger.”
“No, you use the guilt.”
Pain cut into him. He’d thought he was impervious to it. But that’s what happens when you let in some light. You can’t exist in the gray anymore. “Don’t do this, Grace. Not tonight.”
“I understand why you fought, Cole. Why you continue to fight. But what happens when the battle’s over? Will this be your life even when you know the truth?”
“The battle will never be over,” he told her, turning away.
“Why?”
He turned back sharply. “Because I will always be to blame for Cass being taken!”
“That’s just not true.”
“Right,” he said bitterly. “There are others who bear some responsibility. Like your fucking father. If he’d done his job instead of covering shit up to protect his psychopathic friend, maybe none of this would ever have happened. Maybe me and Deac and James would be normal, and not feel like throwing the hell up every time we enter that house.” He broke off with a strangled cry. “Fuck!”
Grace was shaking as she came to her feet. “Oh, Cole.” She breathed, coming toward him. But he stopped her with a look.
“No. I don’t want your pity,” he ground out. “I don’t want anything. I’m going home.”
“And where is that?” she asked gently. “Not here. The hotel in Austin where you keep your stuff? The Triple C?”
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded, his insides quaking. “Why are you breaking me down?”
“Because I’m not into you anymore, Cole.” She gave a small shrug. “I think I’m falling in love with you. And I need to know where your head is at. You need to know where your head is at.”
Her words tore through him like a hundred silver bullets. Love. Love? Was she actually saying . . . ? He couldn’t . . . Fuck . . .
“What I need is to go,” he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair.
“Where?” she demanded.
He turned around and headed for the front door. “Doesn’t matter.”
Blank screen.
White noise.
“Wait!” she called after him from the porch. “Cole, don’t leave.”
But he was already in his truck, gunning the engine, cranking the music. Without looking at her, he sped off. It was only when he was nearing Deac’s place that he glanced down at his cell phone. It was facing up on the passenger seat and the screen glowed in the dark light of the truck’s cabin.
Just let me know you’re safe. —G
* * *
Grace turned Project Runway off and went to sit down at the small table near the window.
“That’s one of my shows,” her father complained.
“I know, Dad.” She waited a second or two. Waited to see if he’d know her today. The day before, at Mr. Palmer’s funeral, her father had been fairly present. He’d known who she was, and a few others he’d been close to over the years. But strangely, he’d talked about Caleb as though the man was still alive.
She was hoping he’d do the same today.
“Caleb Palmer is a good friend to you, I know,” she started, opening a box of juice and taking a sip.
“The best,” her dad confirmed with an affectionate nod.
“How’d you two meet?”
The slightly lost look her father had sported for the past several months was replaced by a wide, lucid grin. “We fell for the same girl.”
She sat forward in her chair. “Really?”
“In grade school. Caleb and I would fight about everything. We was damn competitive. But he knew how much I loved Millie, so he backed off.”
Her heart squeezed. “Millie?”
“My wife. Turned out as it should, though, because Millie never cared much for Caleb anyway.”
Grace felt tears at the back of her throat at the mention of her mother, but she pushed on. “Oh? Why’s that?”
He looked down at his hands, shook his head. “She never gave me a reason when we were kids. But later, she just said he wasn’t her type of man. Made her nervous instead of calm. I made her feel calm.”
Grace wondered if her mom had sensed something wasn’t right with Mr. Palmer. Wondered if there had ever been an issue with him that Millie hadn’t disclosed because he and her husband were so close.
“You said once you felt you owed him,” Grace said gently. “What did you mean by that?”
“Well, he gave me my Millie, of course.” He bobbed his head from side to side. “So I made sure he didn’t lose his family.”
Grace’s heart started to beat wildly in her chest. “Was he in danger of losing his family?”
Her father didn’t say anything.
“How did you make sure he didn’t lose them, Dad?” she pressed. “Dad?”
“I want to watch my show now.”
“Dad, please,” she begged. “I’ll turn your show on, but first you’ve got to tell me.”
“Why do you keep calling me that? I didn’t have any children.” His eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Do we work together?”
For a split second Grace contemplated saying yes, telling him she was from the sheriff’s office and she wanted information on Cass Cavanaugh and Caleb Palmer. She wanted so desperately to give Cole something. Anything. Even at the cost of her own hopes and prayers regarding her father’s involvement.
She got up and turned the television back on. But instead of returning to her chair, she sat on the edge of her father’s bed and watched as Heidi Klum laid out the rules for the next challenge. Tears rolled down her face. She felt she’d failed. She felt alone. And she knew that she’d pushed Cole too far. But she’d had to. He’d needed to hear it. How long was long enough to punish one’s self?
She hadn’t heard from him all day. And last night, he hadn’t texted her to tell her he was home safe. She knew he was only because she’d called Mac. Cole had left for Austin last night on Deacon’s helicopter, the woman had told her.
He was probably done with her. Didn’t want her anywhere near the fight. In his mind, she’d tried to break him down instead of support him. And maybe that was true. But her breaking him down was only so he could start to rebuild his life.
Happy.
With her.
But she’d gone about it the wrong way. At the wrong time. She stared up at the screen. For a healer of animals, she sure knew how to destroy their human counterparts.
Twenty-two
Cole shifted from foot to foot inside the small room off the main event area, keeping warm and stretching out his ne
ck. He was tense. But that was nothing new. Every fight he’d ever had, from the first to tonight, had started with a restless, impatient feeling. He wanted to draw blood. He wanted to win.
“You ready? You look ready.”
He glanced over his shoulder, spotted Matty in the doorway. “She out there?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He turned away, inhaled sharp and quick. Antiseptic and massage oil. Doesn’t matter. Was the man serious? ’Course it mattered, damn it. Grace wasn’t there. They’d fought and he’d walked out and she’d texted him and he hadn’t answered because he was a scared bastard.
He raked his hands through his nearly shaved skull. He felt like his insides were going to explode. What was wrong with him that he didn’t pick up the phone and call her? Text her? Something that indicated he still wanted her here.
That he needed her.
And not because he couldn’t win without her. Oh, he was going to win. And big. But because he was more than just “into” her too, and when she’d said all that true shit to him he’d felt exposed and vulnerable.
“Your brothers are out there,” Matty said. “Their girls too. Your infatuated doctor from Dallas.”
He nodded. He’d screwed up with Grace. Drew back and got defensive instead of leaning on her and taking what he wanted, what she was offering. So maybe she wasn’t at this fight. He’d make sure she was at the next.
He followed Matty out the door and down the hall, adrenaline kicking his heart rate, priming his muscles. He saw the lights up ahead, flickering hot and electric beneath the curtain. As he’d done a hundred times, he strode through the chute—it’s what they called the two metal barriers that separated the fighters from the crowd.
Cole knew the crowd was mammoth and running red hot for a good match and a lot of spilled blood. Tickets had been sold out for months. Fred Omega Fontana and Cole the Cobra Cavanaugh: two underground fighters meeting in a legit match for the first time.
He bumped fists with his crew, put in his mouth guard, and checked the tape on his hands. The rest was all him. Bare feet, bare chest, no gloves, and all ready. The events of the last few days had worn him down, threatened his focus and his heart. But he wasn’t going to allow his emotions to penetrate his armor.
He’d worked too hard to build that shit.
The strobe lights blasted blue and silver as he walked through the cage door into the ring. At the same time, Fontana strode in through the opposite side. The man was shorter than Cole by about three inches. But what he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle. Hell, the man looked like an advert for steroids. He grinned at Cole. Cole flipped him off.
The action sent the crowd into ballistic, screaming madness, chanting his name. Granted, he heard it. Oh yeah, he heard it, but he pressed it down. Dull roar, baby. Nothing but Omega and you. It’s time to end this.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” crowed the announcer, who stood in the center of the ring, decked in his penguin suit, microphone in hand. “In the blue corner, weighing in at one hundred and ninety-five pounds, hailing from Cincinnati, Ohio, champion underground fighter Frank Omega Fontana.”
The crowd started chanting. “Fontana. Fontana. Fontana.” But Cole just kept moving, keeping his body warm.
“And in the silver corner,” the announcer continued, “weighing in at one hundred eighty pounds, hailing from right here in Austin, we have Cole the Cobra Cavanaugh!”
The crowd erupted, and a woman in a bikini waltzed around the ring with the ROUND ONE card above her head.
Cole barely noticed. His eyes were pinned on Fontana. The man was just as ready as he was. He did a few practice punches, then stalked over to the left to say something to his trainer. That was when Cole’s eyes caught on something moving through the crowd.
His heart kicked, and damn if he didn’t feel a surge of sexual heat run through him. Grace. Looking extraordinarily hot in a white strapless corset top, black leather miniskirt, bare legs and heels. He practically drooled. Matty was bringing her to the front, and when she saw him, she took out a silver scarf from her purse and wrapped it around her neck. Damn . . . how had she known? To wear that? His color.
I’m sorry, he mouthed at her.
It’s okay, she mouthed back.
He winked at her. His silver girl. And felt waves of relief move over him. He was ready now. Going to give this fight all that he had. Not just for Cass this time, but for Grace and for himself.
The ref held his arms out to both fighters. “You ready?” he asked Cole. Cole nodded. He turned to Fontana. “You?” Fontana grinned. The ref backed up, gave the sign, and the bell clanged.
The animal inside Cole stretched as he moved forward. He and Fontana didn’t tap fists like most fighters. They didn’t care about that shit.
Fontana lunged, head down, intending to slam him back into the cage, wrestling style. But Cole drove his elbow into the man’s shoulder, dropping him to the mat. Only for a second. Before Cole could pin him, Fontana shot back to his feet and followed up with a right and left deep into Cole’s gut.
Doubled over, Cole sucked air. What the hell? He wasn’t on his game. Where was the anger that fueled him? The guilt that hissed in his veins and kept him alive?
Jesus, he was more pussycat than cobra tonight. And if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass, he was going down hard.
The sound of his name snapped his head up.
His gaze collided with his girl. Grace was screaming his name. Not out of fear, but passion, drive. And there it was: his reason. Her. She loved him. Thought him worthy.
Time to show her exactly what he could do.
Shooting upright, Cole shook it off and honed in on Fontana. Keeping the guy’s focus on his hands, Cole launched a knee strike.
Shocked, Fontana slammed back onto the mat.
Cole mounted his hips and let the ground-and-pound fly with hammer fists and elbow strikes.
Fontana flipped him off, slamming his knee into Cole’s gut. Pain screamed in his abdomen. A second later adrenaline surged within him, tamping down the need to puke.
“Is that your little bitch in the crowd?” Fontana taunted through his mouth guard. “Wearing your colors?”
Cole caught the rage, refusing to respond. Instead, he pulled it in and let it fuel his need to win. She’s watching you. Earn that color she’s wearing.
Earn her motherfucking love.
When he jacked up to his feet, the calculated madness he’d shown once before during training reared its beautiful head once again, and Fred Omega Fontana was basically standing still to him. No sound in his ears, no thoughts in his head, he rushed the other man. Pinning him against the cage, Cole unleashed his fury, his need to win and triumph until the bastard went down with a grunt and a rain shower of blood. And stayed down, forcing the ref to call the fight.
Cole didn’t hear the crowd, but he saw it. Mouths open, hands raised. His eyes searched for her. And when he found her, he knew love.
* * *
“Hold still,” Grace commanded as she stood in front of the sink in Cole’s hotel bathroom trying to clean his wounds. He had a mess of them, and was being a big baby.
When the cotton ball touched his temple, Cole drew back with a hiss. “Stings like a son of a bitch.”
“’Course it does. It’s supposed to.” She cupped the back of his head and pulled him to her. “I know this isn’t your first time at the rodeo, so to speak.”
“No, it’s not.” He leaned in and stole a kiss. Hungry and filled with lust. Then straightened again. “Fine. Do your worst, Doc.”
She shook her head, but her insides were humming with awareness. It felt like ages since he’d kissed her. She knew that wasn’t the case, but it felt like it.
This time, when she wet a new cotton ball and dabbed at the three small cuts on his face, he didn’t move. Just watched her work
. They’d been back at his hotel for only a half hour. After the fight, there had been a media frenzy and several parties to go to, but Cole had wanted only to get her and get out. He wanted to be alone with her. She loved that about him.
“There,” she declared, giving a small cut on his neck a final dab. “All done.”
He gazed down at her. “I like you nursing me.”
“Doctoring you,” she corrected.
He grinned. “Right.”
“And I like it too.” The air between them was hot and electric from battle. “Don’t know if I said congratulations.” She moved past him and turned on the shower. “You were amazing tonight. Fierce, fast, focused.”
“The three F’s,” he said, then started stripping down.
Grace stared. She’d never seen him naked. She’d imagined it plenty of times. But, boy, did the reality outgun the fantasy. He was muscle head to toe, from calves to thighs, protruding hip bones, washboard abs, and broad, dangerous chest. And he was heavily inked all over. Her eyes moved over his tattoos. She noticed that he had one just under his hip bone on the left side. Looked like numbers maybe. She’d have to get a closer look. Run her tongue over it and see how it tasted. See how everything south of his navel tasted.
“What about the fourth F, Doc?” he asked.
She looked up, caught his gaze, and knew her cheeks had turned bright red. “Water’s hot. You should get in the shower.”
He shook his head real slow. “Not without you.”
Heat shuddered through her. “Don’t you want a little time? To recover, relax.”
He sniffed indignantly. “Fuck no.”
She laughed. “Was that the fourth F?”
“Kind of.” He grinned.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly breathless. She couldn’t wait for the fourth F. Him buried inside her. But she didn’t want to push him. He’d been to battle, won the war.
“I’ll get in first, Doc,” he said, standing before her, hard everywhere. “But if you’re not naked and under the water with me before I finish soaping up, I’m taking you fully dressed.”
The dual meaning to his words made her belly clench. She watched him step into the large travertine shower. He had the hottest, tightest ass she’d ever seen. Her hands twitched with just the thought of touching him.
