But she couldn’t look away from him. His strong, muscular body flexed under his clothes as he cheered, and she was reminded of the fight he’d taken her to in Chicago. One of his training partners had won that night and they’d gone to the after party at some club. Nick hadn’t fought, but he’d still been hyped up on adrenaline from the win. His hands had been all over her on the dance floor, and it had felt so damn good to be the center of all of that masculine intensity. She’d pulled him down the hallway, his mouth on her neck as they walked. The bathroom had been empty, and he’d locked the door behind them. As voices rose just outside, he’d fucked her against the door. The thrill of nearly getting caught had only made it more exciting.
Someone leaned over to say something to Nick, but even as he listened, Nick was looking at her. He wasn’t smiling, but that intensity was there. Her heart fluttered and a pulse beat between her thighs. She gulped in a breath and wondered if he was remembering that night as well.
But even if he was, it didn’t matter. It was in the past, and anything she felt for him had to stay there.
8
Nick took a healthy swallow from his whiskey, crunching the ice cube between his back molars. The cold liquid did nothing to alleviate the tension practically singing through him. His pulse throbbed in his temples in time with the deep bass pounding through the night club, in time with the single syllable beating through his brain: Jules. Jules. Jules.
A whole fucking year and he hadn’t gotten her out of his system. How the hell was he supposed to work with her on a daily basis, pretending she hadn’t ripped his heart out and kicked it into a corner? He had no clue.
A woman brushed by him, smiling coyly as she passed, her eyes raking over his chest. The Paradise Beach nightclub took up the entire rooftop of The Cromwell, one of the newer boutique hotels on the Vegas Strip. Luxe leather seating and private tables filled the swanky space. Golden lights flashed against the palms lining the massive pool, pulsing in time with the music. Farther back, there was a covered dance floor, writhing with bodies. A bar flanked either side of the pool, surrounded with a crush of party goers.
It struck Nick that in the middle of a crowd, a party happening around him, he was very much alone. All the other guys—the few new friends he’d managed to make at the gym—had all found women to dance with, but Nick wasn’t in the mood. He was too caught up in wallowing over the distance between him and Jules. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted her.
Even sitting in the crowd cheering Gabe on, he’d felt alone, because the one person he wanted beside him was sitting across the arena instead. He’d felt the weight of Jules’ gaze all night, her eyes burning into him like sizzling blue coals, hot and distracting.
He drained the rest of his drink, trying to get his brain to shut the fuck up, but the alcohol only seemed to make him more restless. A flicker of prickly anger licked up his spine. Anger at her for refusing to acknowledge what they’d had, for apologizing without admitting the truth of who they were to each other, for resurfacing when this was the last fucking thing he needed right now. He’d come here to take his career to the next level, to become champion in a new league. He’d trained long and fought hard to get where he was today, and he owed it to himself to get his head on straight.
Not only was he angry at her but he was angry at himself for still wanting her.
He sank down onto a round leather couch, resisting the urge to kick the potted plant nestled against one of the palms. Everything he was feeling—the anger, the lust, the hurt, the idiotic seed of hope—tangled together, until it was impossible to tease one emotion away from the others.
He was a mess, and it was all her fault.
Excitement rippled through the crowd and he glanced up to see Gabe emerging onto the terrace, his massive championship belt slung over his shoulder. The music switched to DJ Khaled’s “All I Do Is Win,” and cheers and shouts swelled over the music. In typical Gabe fashion, he nodded and gave a small wave, nothing more. As Nick joined in the cheer, he stood and started weaving his way through the crowd toward his friend.
Jules stepped out from behind Gabe, and Nick’s steps faltered. Across a distance of maybe ten feet, their eyes met. Her delicate brows pulled together in a mix of surprise, and . . . fuck, was that lust? Longing? She didn’t smile, and her eyes were bright, but sad. Sad, and holding his, as though imploring him to . . . to what? He refused to look away first. After several seconds, she glanced down, smoothing her hands along the front of her black dress. A tiny surge of victory charged through him at winning the stare down because he knew it meant he still had the ability to get under her skin. And if that was true, that meant a whole realm of possibilities was still open.
And idiot that he was, he knew that if given the chance, he wanted to explore those possibilities. He still wanted her, and he was curious just how deep under her skin he could get. God, he wanted to push her buttons, and immediately a plan formed in his mind.
“Hey, man! Congrats!” he shouted as he clapped Gabe on the shoulder. Gabe tipped his chin at him in acknowledgment, his eyes roving over the crowd. The lights bounced off of the gold adorning his belt, and he shifted it from one shoulder to the other.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling briefly. “Thing’s heavier than it looks.”
“Hopefully I’ll get the chance to find out for myself.”
Gabe just nodded and then handed the belt to one of his crew. A crowd had swarmed around them, cameras flashing, women jostling for his attention, but he seemed unaffected by it all. His only reaction was to give another brief wave before laying a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “I need a drink. Come on.”
Deliberately ignoring Jules, he followed Gabe through the party. By the time they’d reached the bar, a group of women had joined them, all wearing tight dresses and towering heels, the goods on full display. Nick ordered another whiskey, shouting his request at the bartender, leaning forward to make sure she could hear him. As he did, his arm brushed against the barely contained breasts of the woman beside him.
She tossed her shiny dark hair over her shoulder and smiled, her teeth flashing in the dim light. “You must be really happy for your friend,” she said, leaning toward him to make herself heard over the music. She glanced at Gabe, who was making small talk with another woman, nodding politely but not really engaging.
Holding back, letting the pain he carried around weigh him down, as usual. But after the tragedy he’d suffered, Nick couldn’t say he blamed him. If he’d lost his family the way Gabe had . . . shit, he wasn’t sure he could survive it.
“I am,” he said, smiling at the woman.
Her eyes did a slow walk down his body, finally meandering back up to his face. “Are you a fighter too?”
“Yeah. How could you tell?” He put on his time-tested cocky smirk.
Her eyes glittered back at him and she reached out a hand, tracing her fingers over the contours of his bicep. Her lips turned up in a sexy smile. “Educated guess. I’m Mia, by the way.” She extended her hand and he shook it. She was beautiful, confident, and ripe for the picking, but when they touched he felt nothing. No zing of attraction, no kick low in his gut.
“Nick.”
“Nick,” she said, giving his biceps another pat. She leaned forward. “Good to know what name I’ll be screaming out later.”
Yeah, that wasn’t happening tonight, but he just smiled and took a sip of his drink. Heat snapped up his spine, and he knew he was being watched. Slowly, he turned just enough to look over his shoulder.
Jules stood about fifteen feet away, a drink in her hand, her eyes boring into him. Not with hatred, or disgust, or even disdain. No, the set of her shoulders, the rigid way she stood, the almost bereft look on her face—that was jealousy, plain as day.
And her jealousy meant . . . fuck, it meant everything. He was getting to her, which meant that whatever was between them wasn’t dead, as
much as she wanted him to believe it was.
He ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall around his face, and Mia bit her lip. He leaned in a bit closer, skimming a hand over her jaw, wanting to drag some kind of reaction out of Jules. “So, Mia. You live in Vegas, or just visiting?”
“Just visiting. I’m from LA. A friend recommended this club.” She nodded at a gorgeous Asian woman a few feet away. “That’s Lana.”
At the sound of her name, Lana turned and shot him a smile, her eyes traveling the same path up and down his body that Mia’s had taken.
He introduced himself, pulling her into the conversation. Hoping he’d catch hell from Jules, he laid a hand on Mia’s shoulder while trailing his other hand down Lana’s slender arm. The two women glanced at each other and then back at him, lust sparking in their eyes.
A hard tap on his shoulder, and he spun, knowing exactly who he’d see. God, he knew he was being an asshole, but seeing the fiery heat blazing in Jules’ blue eyes all he could feel was smug victory. Smug, and hopeful. A weird combination, but in that moment it made perfect sense. He met her gaze, once again refusing to back down.
Her lips pressed into a firm line, and she grabbed his arm. “Excuse us,” she shouted at the women, and without waiting for a response, began dragging him through the crowd. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he let her pull him along.
She tugged him into a dark, semisecluded corner, as far away from Mia and Lana as possible. A large palm mostly sheltered them from view, but they were far from alone. “You’re already on thin ice here, Giannakis. My father has it out for you. He signed you because of your fan base and your marketability, but he doesn’t like you. You need to behave.” She leaned toward him, practically hissing out the last few words. Damn, that closeness felt good.
He crossed his arms, snorting out a chuckle. “You dragged me away from those women because you’re worried about what your father thinks?” Before she could respond, he backed her up against the wall, caging her body with his. “I think you didn’t like watching me flirt.”
Her jaw clenched and her eyes flashed—lust and anger and need all shining out at him. “I went over there to save you from yourself, but it’s clear you don’t want my help.”
“You’re right. Help isn’t even close to what I want from you.”
Her body flared—her eyes, her nostrils, her chest—and her lips parted. “I refuse to do this with you right now, Nick. I’m working.”
“That’s pretty goddamn ridiculous, seeing as you’re the one who hauled me into this corner because you couldn’t stand watching me have a good time with someone else.”
“You have an ego the size of Texas,” she ground out, and he inched closer.
His eyes closed for a second as he inhaled. Lavender. “But I’m right. Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
She planted her hands on his chest, and he could tell she’d meant to push him away, but at the contact she’d stilled, leaving her palms flat against his pecs. His skin warmed at her touch. “Move.”
“No.”
“You’re a man-child.”
He dipped his head and nipped at her earlobe. She let out a surprised gasp and shuddered. “And you’re the most frustrating, infuriating, gorgeously sexy woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Someone stumbled into Nick as they passed, and he pressed into Jules, taking the impact and sheltering her, but erasing all distance between them. Their eyes locked, and he knew she could feel how hard he was, his cock straining against his zipper as it pressed against her hip.
He eased back just a little, and her brow furrowed, as though she didn’t want him to move away. Electricity charged through him, and before he could talk himself out of it, he covered her hand with his, slowly dragging it down his chest. Her breath caught, the black of her pupils almost completely eclipsing the blue of her eyes. His heart galloped in his chest as he waited for her to tug her hand away, but she didn’t. He slid her hand over his stomach, lower, lower, and stopped when it rested over the bulge in his pants.
“I may have been talking to other women, but none of them do this to me.” He moved her hand over him, a tiny stroke. “That’s all because of you.”
He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her, not to cage her in, but to keep himself upright. She didn’t take her hand away, and he smiled, a victorious thrill rushing through him. Dropping his head, he kissed her neck. For a year he’d thought he’d never feel her skin under his mouth again, and he closed his eyes against the sudden onslaught of emotion churning through him. She moved her hand over him in another little stroke, and he flexed his hips into her touch.
He managed to pull his head up, away from her. “Admit it, Jules. You want this.”
She rubbed her palm over him. “I think you’re the one who wants this.”
Their gazes locked again and the party swirled around them, music throbbing, voices shouting. Her fingers went to his zipper, and as she pulled it down with agonizing slowness, his balls tightened in anticipation.
Holy fucking shit. He’d missed his Jules, and it was like he was watching her come back to life right in front of his eyes. The Jules he’d dealt with since arriving in Vegas would never be so bold. But his Jules, the real one? Hell fucking yeah, she would.
“Someone might see,” he said, burying his face in her neck, excitement slamming through him. She moaned, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of his tongue tracing the sensitive spot below her ear, or the thrill of being in a semipublic place.
“Worried those women won’t go home with you later?” she asked with feigned innocence.
Every thought flew out of his brain when she reached into his pants and curled her talented fingers around his cock. She stroked him, her touch both too much and not enough.
“You have no right to be jealous after the way you left me,” he gritted out, his teeth clenched, and she squeezed just enough to take his breath away.
“I’m not jealous,” she said, her voice dropping to a low purr.
“Don’t believe you.”
He hadn’t planned to kiss her. He really hadn’t. But she made the sweetest, hottest whimpering sound when he thrust into her hand that he couldn’t help himself, and his mouth crashed into hers. He swallowed her half moan, half gasp and she stroked him harder, firmer, her rhythm picking up. Mouths and tongues melded together in a hot, urgent kiss, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to claim him, or if he was trying to claim her.
Oh fuck. Who was he kidding? She’d already claimed him all those months ago.
He nipped at her bottom lip as she worked his cock with her hand. In the open air, people all around them, a heartbeat away from being discovered. They both knew it, both loved the thrill. He slid his tongue against hers, savoring the sweetness of her mouth.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, and she kept pumping him. She looked so fucking gorgeous with her mouth swollen from his kiss and her eyes glazed with how much she wanted him. Pleasure kicked through him, jolting his system.
“Your hand feels so good, Jules. So fucking good.”
She moaned and pumped him faster. “You feel perfect. God, I forgot how damn huge you are.”
“Mmm. My ego’s not the only thing the size of Texas.”
She huffed out a laugh and gave him another squeeze. Heat streaked down his spine, his balls tightened almost to the point of aching, and pressure twisted in his stomach.
She tipped her head forward and kissed him again, seeking out his mouth on her own this time. He couldn’t stop his hips, thrusting to intensify the friction of her hand as he slid his tongue against hers.
“Nick,” she sighed, and it was the sound of his name on her lips—not in anger, or fear, or jealousy, but in pleasure—that sent him over the edge. With a grunt, he came, release pulsing through him as he spurted onto her hand, and shit, onto her black d
ress.
Her hand stilled and she broke the kiss. Glancing down, she pulled her hand away, staring at it. Her brow furrowed, and she frowned. “I didn’t think . . .”
A flicker of embarrassment crawled through him at having come from a hand job like a teenager, but he shoved it down and tucked his warm, tingling dick back into his pants. “Me neither.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and he let her move past him.
She ran for the bathroom and didn’t come back, but Nick knew better than to let that deter him. It was as though the past year had fallen away, and the hurt, the anger, the shock at the way she’d just left—none of it mattered anymore. She was still his Jules, just like she’d been a year ago, and she was meant for him. He knew that like he knew his own name.
He just needed to figure out how to convince Jules.
9
“How do you like your steak?” Her dad called to her from the patio, a plume of smoke going up when he opened the grill to turn the rib eyes.
“Medium rare,” Jules called out before bringing her glass of Cabernet to her lips.
They’d spent the past hour walking through his house as he showed her the various memorabilia he’d collected over the years. He had it all framed and catalogued like a prized collection in a museum. In fact, the house itself could’ve been a museum. It was decorated in a sleek, modern style straight from the pages of a magazine, all stone, glass, and dark woods. Impressive, but lacking warmth. There was nothing about it that screamed Craig Darcy. She’d been half expecting to see that tacky green recliner he’d spent a summer recuperating in when he’d blown out his knee. She used to sit in that ratty thing when he was gone because it smelled like his aftershave. She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t have it, but she missed it. It was one of the few good things she remembered from her childhood.
Despite the missing chair and the lack of personality in his décor, Jules was pleasantly surprised at how well the evening was going. Her dad had been charming, cracking jokes about how he’d given his decorator hell by arguing about the difference between harbor gray and smoky gray for weeks. She’d forgotten he could be funny.
Dirty Boxing Page 8
