The Fight Club - Boxed Set

by Becca Jameson

  “Yep. You should see what she did to her ass last week.”

  “Zane,” Abby squealed before she could stop herself. She winced.

  “Sorry, baby.”

  The doctor shined a pen light in each eye and then sat on the swivel chair the nurse pulled up behind him. “Yep, you have a concussion. Did you hit the steering wheel?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Were you wearing a seatbelt?”

  “Yes.”

  “She was,” Zane agreed.

  “Did the airbags deploy?” the doctor asked.

  “They did,” Zane responded.

  “Okay. Well, could have been worse. You must’ve bumped your head. Either the airbag or the steering wheel could have given you a concussion. And I’m guessing the windshield shattered. I’m going to fix you up, and then you can go home. You’ll need supervision for twenty-four hours. Do you have someone who can do that for you?”

  Abby furrowed her brow, breaking the skin open again on her forehead until a trickle of blood oozed out.

  “I’ll do it.” Zane lifted her hand to his face and brushed it against his cheek. He had no idea why. Nor did he understand his deep-seated attraction for this woman. A woman who made it perfectly clear two days ago she wasn’t interested in his brand of sex. He had no business butting into her life. But he also knew she didn’t have someone else, so the choices were to remain in the hospital overnight or go home with him.

  “All right then, let’s get started.” The doctor ignored Abby’s reaction and proceeded to sew her up.

  Zane didn’t release her hand and continued to hold it for all the stitches and the staples. He did manage to pull his cell from his pocket and send a one-handed text to Gage to come pick them up.

  When the doctor finished and sat back, tugging off his gloves, he spoke again. “I’ll have the nurse discharge you into Zane’s care. You can make an appointment with your regular doctor to have the stitches and staples removed in about a week.” He patted her free arm and stood. “Nice to see you Randolf.” With that he left.

  “God, my whole head hurts.” Abby lifted her hand to her eyes and pressed.

  “It’s gonna feel even worse when the local wears off. You can take acetaminophen, but that’s about it with a concussion. I’ve got some at the house.” He stroked his hand up her arm and cupped her cheek gently. “Think you can sit up?”

  “Not sure I want to.”

  He smiled.

  “Zane, you can’t take me home with you. That’s insane. You barely know me.”

  “I can. It’s already settled. Or we can go to your house if you prefer. But it’ll be easier at mine. I know my way around, and all you’re going to do is sleep.”

  “I need to call my boss.”

  “I’ll do that when we get you settled.”

  “I need to call my insurance company.”

  He stroked his thumb across her flushed cheek. Even injured and bloody she was gorgeous. Her hair had come free of her ponytail and lay fanned across the pillow. Someone had removed her bow tie and tucked it in her shirt pocket so it wouldn’t get lost. Although he feared the white tuxedo blouse might be a loss. It was covered with blood stains. “Baby, one thing at a time. Relax.” He stood and leaned in to kiss her forehead, knowing it was risky and irrational and not giving a fuck. She was so damn cute, and flustered even more so.

  She frowned at him.

  “Stop squishing your face. You’re tugging the stitches.”

  A nurse came in and held up a clipboard for Abby to sign, and right behind her an orderly pulled up a wheelchair.

  Zane helped Abby sit with one hand pulling on hers and the other going to her back.

  She moaned, which made him want to get her home and settled quickly so she’d be more comfortable. “Where’re my shoes?” She glanced down at her feet.

  Amazingly her hose were not snagged. How she’d managed that was beyond him.

  The nurse held up a bag. “Right here. The police officer grabbed them from your car and drove them over. You must be a movie star,” she teased.

  Zane took the bag, hung it on the wheel chair, and helped Abby stand next to it and then sit. “I’ve got it,” he told the orderly, who shrugged and followed them out the front door.

  “You don’t even have a car here,” Abby said, twisting her head backward to face Zane.

  “I have friends.” He grinned at her. “And there he is now.”

  A black Jeep Wrangler pulled to the curb, and Gage jumped out to round the hood. “Hey, Zane.” He patted Zane on the shoulder and looked toward Abby. “You must be Abby. I’m Gage. I think you met my girlfriend, Kayla, the other day. Don’t worry. I’ll have you home in no time, and then you can rest.”

  Abby nodded.

  Zane helped her stand and nearly lifted her bodily into the back of Zane’s Jeep. He scooted her over and climbed in beside her.

  Abby stared at him awkwardly. “I can manage. You don’t have to sit in the back with me.”

  He didn’t respond. But he wished she wasn’t so argumentative about him helping her. He reached for her seatbelt, buckled her in, and then did his own. As Gage slipped back into the driver’s seat, Zane wrapped his arm around Abby and eased her head onto his shoulder.

  She sighed and relaxed into him, seemingly giving up the fight to be cared for. “Gage is one of your Fight Club, right?”

  Gage glanced in the rearview mirror. “I am. Work for the K-9 unit at the police academy.”

  “Emily tell you about The Fight Club?” Zane asked. There wasn’t really any other explanation.

  “Yeah. Among other things,” she admitted.

  Hmm. Other things. Like what?

  He didn’t ask. For one thing, she was barely lucid. For another, he didn’t want to discuss her possible discussion with Emily in front of Gage. “Thanks for picking us up, man.”

  “No problem. Vance said he would get someone to bring your car home in a while.”

  “Right. Thanks for handling that too.”

  “And he said he already talked to the station about you having tomorrow off.”

  “Perfect. I appreciate it, Gage.”

  “No problem. Let any of us know if you need anything,” Gage added.

  Zane was a lucky bastard. The Fight Club was a fantastic group of guys, both in and out of the ring. Most of them had women by now, well, everyone except him. Conner had been the last one to bite the dust recently. That left Zane. The lone bachelor. But Zane held Abby tighter and prayed he might win her over. Or perhaps he would have to throw in his Dom card for her. She was that fucking awesome. If she hated the lifestyle, maybe he would be willing to give it the kibbutz. Maybe.

  Chapter Six

  Abby didn’t know how long the drive to Zane’s house was. She fell asleep against his shoulder, his rock-hard shoulder that she nestled her cheek against even though it was made of stone.

  The next thing she knew, the car wasn’t moving and Zane was lifting her into his arms. “Mmm.”

  He held her close to his body and strode to the front door.

  She didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t actually. “So tired…” she mumbled.

  “I know, baby.” He pushed through the front door that Gage must have opened for them. She didn’t hear the other man say a word. And then Zane was settling her on a very soft bed. Marginally, in the back of her mind, she also realized she was still wearing her short black skirt, the one that barely covered her ass standing and certainly couldn’t have covered anything by the time he carried her to what she presumed was his bedroom. His scent filled the space.

  Her eyes opened a slit as he pulled the comforter up to her chin. “I’ll get you some Tylenol and then you can rest, but I have to wake you up every few hours to make sure you’re okay.”

  “’K.” She winced as she turned to one side and snuggled into Zane’s bed. His pillow. She inhaled Zane everywhere. It was dark out. She didn’t know what time it was.

  Zane sat on t
he edge moments later, holding two pills and a glass of water. “You want something to eat?” he asked as she lifted her head just enough to take the pills.

  She shook her head. “No. My stomach is queasy.”

  “That’s normal.” He brushed her hair from her face and continued to stroke her skin.

  It felt fantastic to have someone take care of her. It had been a long time since she’d been pampered. “I’m putting you out,” she muttered. Hell, I’m in your bed.

  “Not at all. I feel privileged.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he released her and padded from the room, leaving the door open a crack and flipping off the light.

  Holy shit. She was in Zane’s bed in Zane’s house. Her head hurt like a truck hit it—which it sort of did.

  It seemed like only moments passed before she felt the bed dip and a warm hand land on her cheek. “Baby. Can you wake up?”

  She moaned and burrowed farther into the pillow, aware she was curled up in the same position she’d been in when she’d first lain there. But she pulled one eye open a sliver.

  Zane smiled. “What year is it?”

  “Huh?”

  “Just answer, baby.”

  “Two thousand fifteen.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Burns.” Why was he asking her this stuff?

  He grinned again. “I think you’re good. You passed.”

  “Passed what?” she whispered.

  “The concussion test. You do remember you were in an accident, right?” He stroked a hand down her arm. She could feel his warmth through the blanket.

  “Of course.” She turned onto her back, slightly more awake. Her skirt bunched up around her waist uncomfortably. “Could I borrow a T-shirt or something to change into?”

  “Of course.” Zane stood and stepped to the dresser. He returned with an enormous black tee that probably would look tight on him but would swallow her whole. Perfect.

  She pushed to sitting, cringing at the pain in her head and at every location where she’d been sewn shut. She reached for the top button on her shirt, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate.

  “May I help?” Zane sat back down on the edge of the bed. He lifted her chin and met her gaze. “Let me get the buttons, and then I’ll leave you to the rest, okay?”

  She nodded, feeling a flush race from her face to her chest. She wasn’t ordinarily very modest by most standards, but the idea of the sexy hunk helping her get out of her clothes was almost more than she could stand. The end result would be much more comfortable though, so she let her hands fall to her sides and tugged the comforter out of the way enough for Zane to unbutton her work shirt.

  He made quick progress getting her unbuttoned while she held her breath. Even though she was concussed and her head hurt like fuck, she wasn’t dead. She was aware of his fingers grazing her nipples through her bra as he worked. She was also aware that he held his own breath.

  When he finished, he set his hands on her shoulders and eased the shirt away from her body. “Here. Hold it up to your chest, baby.” He handed her the T-shirt and she clasped it to her front, shocked when he reached behind her to undo her bra. It fell forward, releasing her tight chest that seemed about two sizes too big for that particular bra all the sudden.

  He lifted her chin to his gaze again. “Slip the shirt on, baby.” He stood and turned around and she realized he meant now. As in, while he wasn’t looking.

  She quickly pulled it over her head and lay back against the mattress, exhausted as though she’d gone for a run, not pulled on a shirt. “’K,” she said.

  Zane turned back around. He didn’t say a word. He simply pulled back the covers and quickly unzipped her skirt. He tugged it down with a little help from her when she lifted her hips, somewhat mortified, but also freakishly aroused even with a concussion. Or perhaps because of the concussion.

  The man even peeled her black tights off next, leaving her in just panties that were visible because the T-shirt was bunched up around her waist. She tugged the shirt down, lifting her ass off the bed again slightly and wondering what pair of panties she’d left the house in that morning.

  The next thing she knew, Zane was tucking her back in and kissing her forehead again. “Sleep. I’ll be back.” He left.

  She was too tired to think and closed her eyes again, knowing it would be short lived.

  ∙•∙

  Zane paced a hole in the living room floor as he downed his second beer. He tried watching TV, but nothing caught his eye and the noise was irritating. All he could think about was the gorgeous woman in his bed. And his brain was burned with the images of her fucking hot creamy skin, which he’d seen way more of than he should. Her bare shoulders had nearly undone him. He’d totally stepped over the line when he tugged off her skirt and hose. Her black lace panties had stopped his heart.

  And then he’d left the room, filled with the scent of Abby, and begun this incessant pacing once again. What else was there to do? He’d spoken to her boss, explaining the situation. The man was beyond nice and had told him to have Abby call him when she was feeling up to it. Then Zane called the station and got a ribbing from his own boss, who chuckled when he told him he had him covered for the next few days.

  Next, Zane had called Abby’s insurance company, easily finding her insurance card in her purse. He reported what he knew and filed a claim on her behalf. She would have to call and follow up with that again later, but it was a start. At least the ball was rolling and the company could assess the car. Though Zane knew it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to come to the conclusion it was totaled. He still couldn’t believe Abby had come out of it as unscathed as she had.

  He glanced at his watch. Midnight. He would wake her again now and then try to sleep for a few hours. On the couch. The cold hard leather couch.

  He entered the room again as quietly as possible, though there was no need since his main goal was to wake Abby. He sat on the edge of his bed as he had already several times and stared down at her for a moment. The light from the hall was enough to illuminate her features. Her mouth was parted, and she breathed easily. Her brow wasn’t scrunched up in sleep, and he hated that when he woke her, she would be reminded of the pain and furrow her eyebrows again.

  Zane lifted her hand that wasn’t tucked under the covers and drew it to his cheek. Her skin was as soft as it looked. Yep, he would totally give up BDSM for this woman. Anything to keep her in his bed. She looked perfect there.

  He inhaled deeply and then cupped her face with his other hand. “Abby. Baby, wake up.”

  A soft moan escaped her lips, and she turned toward his hand, burrowing her cheek against it. He thought she smiled too.

  “Baby, wake up,” he repeated. He stroked his thumb across her lower lip, enjoying her smooth skin.

  She opened her eyes a slit, and then they fluttered while her tongue darted out to lick her lips and thus his thumb. So fucking sexy. And he felt like an ass thinking such a thing when she was not alert enough to be aware of his hard cock and his roving mind.

  “Mmm. Has it been two hours again already?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you want to ask me this time?” she muttered without meeting his gaze. In fact she pulled his hand, the one holding hers, up under her chin, rolled to her side, and tucked his fingers between her and the pillow. “I’ll tell you the president is Mickey Mouse and his wife is that sexy woman who takes a lot of flak for not wearing sleeves.”

  “Ha ha.” He leaned closer. “Funny girl. What’s my name, smarty pants?” He held his breath, regretting the question immediately. If she didn’t quickly respond, he would be hurt, sort of.

  “Mmm. Let’s see. The doctor called you Randolf. But in my mind, I’ve been stuck on Hot, Sexy, Tattooed Guy From Under My Porch.” She took a few breaths while his eyes went wide, and then her eyes shot just as wide, and she lifted her head to stare at him. “Did I say that out loud?”


  “Yes.” A grin spread across his face until it hurt. “And I liked it. Hot, Sexy, Tattooed Guy, huh?”

  She shrugged. “Ugh. I’ve given you a complex. Now you’ll be all smug.” She flopped back onto the pillow and winced, her free hand tugging out from under the covers to examine gently the various wounds. “Can I have more Tylenol?”

  “Yeah. It’s right here. If you give me my hand back, I’ll open it.”

  She met his gaze and gasped, clearly unaware she was resting on his palm under her chin again. She released him immediately and moaned. “Gah, you scramble my brain.”

  He snickered as he dumped two more pills from the bottle and then held them up to set in her hand. He tucked his hand behind her head and lifted just enough for her to pop the pills in and take a drink of water. “Do you feel any better?”

  “I think so, though I’m rambling at the mouth as though I were on stronger pain killers. What time is it?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Have you slept? You can’t get up every two hours and come in here to check on me.”

  “Of course I can. That’s the general idea.”

  She shook her head. “You need to sleep too.”

  “I will. In two hour shifts. I’ve made a bed out of my couch.” He stroked her face again, unable to resist. “I’m hoping if I manage to keep you locked in my room in my bed long enough, I’ll start to grow on you, and you might consent to a date.”

  She inhaled sharply.

  “A vanilla date.” He shrugged when she narrowed her gaze at him. “Thought I might try your way, if you’ll have me.”

  “My way?”

  “Yeah, vanilla. I used to be able to do vanilla before I entered the lifestyle. Surely I could do it again.”

  “Hmm,” she muttered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as though she had a secret she wasn’t sure she should share. “Maybe I should hold my tongue then and not tell you I was thinking of giving your way a shot.”

  He lifted both brows. “You must have a concussion.” He eased his hand into her hair and threaded his fingers through the thick locks. He stared at her hair, knowing he needed to escape this room fast before he went too far. Their combined innuendo was more than he could tolerate. “Sleep, baby. I’ll take a nap and set an alarm to check you again in a few hours.”