Undefeated

by Melissa Cutler

  “If all you wanted was my time and attention, then you could have asked me out. I would have said yes and you would have saved, oh, nine hundred bucks. Try again with your explanation.”

  “You drive a hard bargain. It also sounds like you’re a cheap date.”

  She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, faking nonchalance. “The truth this time. Please.”

  “You sure about that?”

  At her nod, he licked his lower lip, a battle waging behind his eyes. “The truth is that I bid on the massages so I could get you alone because there’s something about you that’s nagging at me and has been for a long time, and I need to figure it out because, whatever it is, I can’t get you out of my head. But I don’t want a massage and I don’t want to have a heart-to-heart with you in which I apologize for what I did to you back in high school, even though I regret it. And I’m not going to ask you out because I don’t have the patience for civilian dating bullshit.”

  One of Marlena’s mentors used to say, “You’ll know the truth by the way it feels.” This was the real Liam. This was his truth, and she knew it because his words tightened around her like a band, uncomfortable but grounding. Raw, vivid energy poured out of him, filling the room with his tension and frustration, his power and his arousal.

  “And you thought a grand was what I was worth? Does that make me less of a whore, more of a high-end call girl?”

  “A call girl gets paid for what she does. The money I donated in the auction went to charity, not to you. You’re turning nothing into something.”

  His thousand-dollar bid had been high enough over the second largest bid that it clearly meant something. Orchestrating this plot for him to leave here tonight aching with desire for her—to force him to acknowledge her, finally—was petty and prideful, but he’d tipped the first domino with that auction bid.

  She smoothed her fingers over his forearm, sensing in her touch all those jumbled emotions she’d felt when he’d followed her to the table. “It’s not nothing, the money.”

  “Yeah? Is that the story you want to believe? Unless . . .”

  In a burst of energy that reminded her how much stronger he was than she, he twisted his arm away from her touch and stepped in front of her, pressing into her until he’d pinned her hips against the table. One of his hands curved around her neck and ear, his fingertips pushing into her hair. A flash of panic jolted her. “Would you get off on me treating you like a whore? Is that it? Because I would do that for you, if that was your kink.”

  Refusing to reveal her sudden nerves, refusing to give serious consideration to the fact that his hand was on her throat and her midbody was immobilized, she attempted a seductive smile. “You soldiers are all the same. I think you got too used to happy ending masseuses and whores while you were overseas. I’m not that kind of girl.” She accompanied the attempt at levity with a teasing chest shove, but all she hit was muscle that was as hard as steel and didn’t budge.

  “I feel your pulse jumping in your throat,” he said. “And your eyes are dilated. So don’t bother claiming the kink doesn’t turn you on, and stop being so prissy about the money because I didn’t pay you for sex. I donated to a charity that supports wounded vets like me and my blood brothers. So don’t make me out to be a jerk, especially since you were thinking the same thing about tonight as I was.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah? Not only did you put your tits right out here on display in that top, but you don’t think I can smell the ylang-ylang?”

  Marlena’s eyes flew wide open as surprise flared inside her. How did he know . . .

  “Surprised I know what that scent means?”

  She swallowed hard and gave smiling one last try. “A soldier who knows about aromatherapy. That’s a dangerous combination.” She’d meant to sound lighthearted, but her breathlessness gave her away.

  His chuckle in response came out as a hiss. The hand that had been at her throat slid back and fisted around her hair. “I’m not a soldier anymore. And I’m not dangerous, either. I’m the opposite of dangerous. I’m like a kitten.”

  She laughed through her nerves at the incongruous imagery. A kitten who wanted to fuck her. She gave a moment of keen thought to the fact that he could do whatever he wanted to her and she was helpless to stop him. She’d wanted him to notice her, to want her, but not if this was the result. Sex, to her, was spiritual and beautiful, life-affirming. Not this. Maybe she should have been more careful what she wished for.

  She didn’t believe in giving fear power, but at the moment fear was overwhelming her desire and pride in a major way. She had the urge to smack his hand, to push him back and to get away from him, which didn’t make sense because she was a vixen. She was the shit. All she’d wanted to do was make him sorry for thinking of her as an ugly duckling, for treating her like she was invisible. This was what she got for letting her ego run wild.

  She pressed against his chest, fighting for a few inches of space, even as her mind advised her to go with the flow and enjoy herself, demonstrate her sexual prowess. She’d fantasized about sleeping with Liam since eleventh grade, and just because it wasn’t going as she’d imagined didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be good. At the very least, it would solve the mystery about what sex with him would be like. Maybe then, her heart could move on.

  She touched his cheek, fighting to focus on the carnal pleasure of the moment rather than her rising doubts. “You were right. This is what I wanted from you tonight.”

  His left hand slid up from her hip, bunching her shirt until his palm hugged her side. He tugged her hair, tipping her face higher as though in preparation for a kiss. “We’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we?”

  She rotated her neck, trying to break his grip, wondering why she couldn’t find the words to tell him to back off—trying to decide if she even wanted him to. “More like animals at the zoo,” she said.

  “Amen to that.” Then he jerked her head back by the hair and kissed her.

  ***

  Goddamn, Liam wanted Marlena Brodie. So badly, his hands shook with it. Probably, it was an anticipation thing, because he’d fantasized for years about stripping her down, replacing that expression of serenity she always wore with the sharp, flushed look of ecstasy, and fucking her brains out until they were both tired, sweaty, and walking funny.

  Marlena had admitted she wanted the same as him tonight, but the moment his lips touched hers, she went rigid. He flicked his tongue over her partially opened lips, coaxing, trying to get her to relax and let go, but all she did was press more firmly on his chest and stand so perfectly still he might as well have been kissing a mannequin.

  He gave her hair another tug, tipping her chin higher. She made a sound at that, a little whimper that let him know he was on the right track. Clutching her against him, he slid her away from the table and backed her into the wall. Her lips parted, letting him in. Growling his approval, he released her hair, then captured her wrists and pinned them over her head as he pressed his body against hers, showing her exactly how revved up he was for those sexpot curves of hers, that wild red hair and creamy skin. All she had to do was relax, and he’d take it from there. The problem was, she wouldn’t relax.

  Something pounded against his leg. Her knee. What the hell?

  His eyes flew open as her knee connected with his left quad. Her eyes were open, too, and glossy with unshed tears and wide with an emotion that could only be called fear. Her arms twisted, trying to break free from his hold on her wrists. He released her completely and took a swift step back.

  “What? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  With a growl-cry, she attacked, shoving and hitting his chest.

  His mind racing, he stumbled back to avoid her blows while he conducted a visual scan of her body to make sure she wasn’t hurt. “Damn it, what’s wrong?”

  She chased him, her fists flying, but her toe caught on the edge of the massage table and she pitched forward, falling toward an elaborate altar. Li
am lunged to divert her from colliding with the lit candle he saw on the little wooden table. He pushed her out of its path, but she slipped through his grasp before he could break her fall.

  Both of them hit the ground hard. Liam’s boot went through the folding screen in an explosion of splinters as the candle tumbled onto him. The screen collapsed with a clap of noise as wax splashed out in all directions—on Liam’s hands and clothes, on the carpet, snuffing the flame. Ylang-ylang filled the air like a noxious cloud. The biting pain of hot wax flashed over his skin.

  Pushing into a squat, he gaped at the wax crusting over on his palms and the ruined screen, trying to figure out what the hell had happened to turn Marlena crazy. He’d been with some crazy chicks in his life, but he’d never thought of her like that. Just the opposite.

  In his periphery, he watched her rise, panting, her legs shaking violently. He suppressed the urge to help her up and make sure she was steady on her feet. Given how out of her mind she was, she’d probably see any move he made toward her as threatening, and he wasn’t keen on getting attacked again.

  “Is this what you thought your money would buy?” she spat. “The right to do anything you want to me?”

  Oh, hell, no. He curled his fingers in, breaking the wax. Shaking out his hands, he stood and faced her. “We’ve already been over this. I didn’t buy you. And I wasn’t doing anything to you that you didn’t want.”

  She rubbed her scalp, as though he’d pulled too hard on her hair. But that was bullshit because he hadn’t pulled her hair all that forcefully. All he’d been doing was giving it to her nice and hard like most women wanted sex. Which he knew because he had girls lined up to get it rough from him—a whole lot rougher than he’d been on Marlena.

  From his perspective, it was the golden age of alpha sex. Women devoured books about chicks who liked to be manhandled and drooled over fantasy men who doled out punishment for fun. They got off on letting the man be in charge, getting it rough, getting dominated—just like he got off on. Girls loved to be taken by a man who knew what he wanted and went after it. That was just a fact of nature. Except, apparently, not for Marlena.

  She stood before him looking like a totally different person than a few minutes earlier, with her eyes half-crazed, tears on her cheeks, her hair a mess. Her whole body trembled. “So I was asking for it? Isn’t that what rapists always say?”

  Okay, that was over the line. She’d told him straight up that she wanted to sleep with him tonight, so where did she get off accusing him of one of the worst crimes a man could commit? All he could think was, This is why I stay away from civilians. This was why he didn’t date, why he hadn’t pursued a career in medicine after he got out of the army, and why he should never have come here tonight. He should have settled for making peace with the nagging curiosity he had about Marlena and left it at that.

  “I’m no rapist,” he said through clenched teeth. “I thought I needed to know if there was something between us because it’s been bugging the shit out of me, thinking about you all the time. But I’m over that now, thank you very much.”

  “You hurt me,” she roared. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  Liam’s insides lurched as if she’d slapped him. Yelling was one of his worst PTSD triggers, taking him right back to battle and him working frantically to save the wounded only to have them die on him. Or worse yet, the kid, with his mom yelling in unintelligible Dari at Liam while he raced against the laws of science and medicine trying to save her son. There always seemed to be people shouting around him while he’d worked to save lives. Like the kid’s mom with her wailing cries. Yelling made him feel like Bruce Banner, his insides churning with a boiling stew of hate and pain, right on the verge of exploding into the Hulk.

  Marlena hollered something else at him, but he didn’t process the words. He forced the bloody memories flashing through his mind back into their box and held back the rage fighting to get out. Time to shut down before he snapped.

  “Fuck this. I’m out of here.” He turned away from Marlena, blocking out her shaking, crying, screaming drama. Whatever was wrong with her had nothing to do with him.

  On the way to the exit, he released a long, slow breath, drawing out the exhale until his hand was on the door. Marlena trailed him, her breathing labored. That was ironic. Liam had taken up yoga two years earlier in order to perfect the art of breath control, and here he was in a yoga studio, and the guru was the one hyperventilating. At least she’d stopped shouting.

  Inhaling nice and slow again, he pulled the handle, but the door didn’t open. Panic flashed white-hot across his mind, like that dream he had sometimes where he was trapped in a yard with a rabid dog, before he recalled that Marlena had locked the door. Fingers unsteady, he turned the key, then pulled again and stepped outside.

  The door didn’t close behind him, which meant Marlena had followed him out. He swallowed a curse. As long as she didn’t raise her voice at him anymore, he’d be fine. He wasn’t trapped inside; he could walk away.

  “Everything in your life is a battle. Liam versus the Universe,” she called after him.

  That was the way it was for everyone, and if she didn’t recognize that, then she’d be in for a lifetime of shock.

  The apartment complex that he and Olivia lived in and managed along with their parents was only three blocks south, so he’d come on foot, which was a good thing because he needed the fresh air and the dark night. From his pocket, he removed a pack of cigarettes and shook one out, ignoring the fact that Marlena was seething silently behind him, watching his every move.

  When he was halfway across the parking lot, she shouted again. “This could have been the one part of your life where you didn’t have to fight. This, with you and me, could have been the exception, but you ruined it.”

  All he could do was laugh at that. What a whopper of a tale she was telling herself, that what had happened here tonight was the result of some deep, abiding flaw of his—that he was the monster, when she was the one who’d gone ballistic.

  He turned to make sure she hadn’t followed him to the street, which she hadn’t. While he groped in his pocket for his lighter, he watched with absolute dispassion as she stood in front of her studio and blubbered and yelled and quivered. Narrowing his eyes at her, he lit the cigarette, then filled his lungs with smoke. He’d been meaning to quit for more than a year, but couldn’t seem to find it in him to do one more self-improvement project on top of everything else.

  “Fuck you, Liam McAllister. Stay away from me. Don’t ever come back here.”

  He ground his molars together as the shrillness of her words, the anger behind them, finally cut through his dispassion, bringing all those memories rushing back through his mind. The soldiers who’d died, the kid, the blood, the grit and the sand, and so much shouting. Made him want to punch his hand through the nearest car windshield.

  He raised the cigarette in a mock salute. Fuck you, too, Marlena Brodie. Then, hanging his head down, he shoved his hands in his pockets along with the lighter, walked into the darkness, and welcomed the flood of bloody memories that were way more worthy of his time than some crazy, two-faced civilian.

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later

  The ref blew the whistle as another goddamn sombrero sailed onto the ice. Liam glanced at the official time. Three more minutes of play, then they’d be done getting thumped by Ultimate Nachos for the third time in a row, ready to get their asses handed to them by the next team in the game schedule for the Canal Towns Men’s League. As far as slumps went, the one that Bomb Squad was currently entrenched in looked more like a flatliner.

  Two puny defensemen pumped their fists in the air, working the crowd. All Liam could think was, this was the freedom he’d fought for—the right to drink supersized sodas and be impassioned about men’s league ice hockey. The right to gorge on free nachos at Pancho Pete’s every time their favorite team won. Stewing on the noise of the crowd and the self-aggrandized antic
s of the Ultimate Nachos players, Liam buzzed past them on his way to the bench, accidentally knocking one in the gut with his stick. Oops.

  The defensiveman curled down, grunting in pain, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as a gloves-off brawl would have been, but at least it sent a message. True, the message was of the My-kid-could-kick-your-student’s-ass bumper-sticker variety, but that had always been Liam’s gig, so whatever.

  The next thing Liam knew, someone had dropped a sombrero on his head, right on top of his helmet. The arena erupted with cheers and the rattling of maracas. Somewhere in the bleachers, his sister and Marlena and all their friends were probably cheering right along with everyone else. But he didn’t look in the stands. He never did.

  He chucked his stick to the ice and pivoted toward the offending Ultimate Nachos player. “Yeah? You like the way I look in this? I think I’d like the way you’d look with it shoved up your ass.”

  Shedding the hat and his gloves, he curled his hands into fists. This was going to get him kicked out of the game, probably suspended for the rest of the season—and he hated that idea, he did, because he loved hockey. He loved the scrum of digging for the puck, of gliding on the ice at full speed. He loved illegal body checks and face masks and penalty shots. He loved the stench of the locker room, the drill-sergeant-like pep talks by their coach, Duke, and, most of all, he loved that throughout each practice and game, he was surrounded by other soldiers, his brothers-in-arms.

  He didn’t mind that they were on a losing streak for the record books. He didn’t care. He just loved being out there. He’d never considered himself an athlete, especially in team sports, but these guys were his family and the ice was like his church. Trouble was, Ultimate Nachos and their fans were desecrating his church.

  He shoved off with his right skate, but an arm hooked around his chest and jerked him back.