Don’t You Dare: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

by Claire St. Rose

  “We got the product?”

  “Yep.”

  “And the rest are on their way to Dallas?”

  “Safe and sound.”

  “Good.” Alejandro closed his eyes. “Fuck me, I’m getting old. Everything hurts.”

  “Yeah, bullets and a concussion will do that. They were worried about brain swelling. As if your fucking brain needs to get any bigger,” he teased.

  “Fuck you, Pitbull,” Alejandro retorted good-naturedly. “How’s everyone else?”

  “Everybody’s good except for Motormouth and Haji. Haji really ain’t doing too good. They fucked up his kidneys pretty bad.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. He’ll be in here a while, I think. They’re sending you home, though.”

  “Thank fuck. When?”

  “Couple hours.”

  Alejandro groaned. “You gonna feed me, sweetheart?”

  “I sent for some Whataburger, you pussy. What’s the matter, can’t handle the mystery meat and green Jell-O?”

  “Fuck you,” he replied with a grin. “You try eating that shit.”

  “Nah.” Pitbull had a gleam in his eye. “There’s this little nurse out there I’m having tonight. Lourdes. She gets off at seven and she’s going to heal me with her love,” he sighed.

  Alejandro was relieved that Pitbull was okay. They’d been friends a long time, since before Alejandro went off to the magnet school where he met Ali and Pitbull went to Arroyo Tech. He was the closest thing to a brother Alejandro had.

  “Wait, who’s bringing the Whataburger?”

  Pitbull grinned. “I called Cristina. She’s going to take care of you.”

  “Cristina’s coming here?”

  Two seconds later there was a tentative knock and Ali stepped through the open door clutching an orange-and-white striped bag. Relief surged through him, surprising him. She looked good, but that wasn’t it. The concern in her eyes—that was what did him in. He’d seen that look before, when he’d lost control on his first bike and wiped out. It had been the worst road rash of his life, and Ali had tended his wounds. He’d never loved her more until the day she asked him to make love to her and he lost control of his heart, too.

  “I’m out,” Pitbull said, rising from the chair with a grunt and nodding at Ali as he passed her. “I’ma go see if Lourdes can take my temperature.”

  ***

  He looked pale in the harsh florescent hospital lighting, but his face lit up when she walked in. She’d been prepared for his injuries and knew she should be thankful it wasn’t far worse, but the entire side of his face was torn up and he lay stiffly in the hospital bed, obviously trying to mask the pain. Her stomach twisted at the thought of what could have happened to him.

  “I brought you some food,” she said, awkwardly thrusting the bag toward him even though she was still standing in the doorway.

  “Thank God, I thought I was gonna have to eat the Jell-O.” He grinned and she walked toward the chair at the edge of his bed where Pitbull had been sitting. “Cristina called you?”

  She swallowed and nodded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was teaching and I hadn’t listened to my messages.” Oh, the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s grateful I’m here. Like I’m the only one he wants to see right now.

  “It’s just some scrapes and a concussion.” He shrugged. “Honestly, Ali, I’ve had worse football injuries.”

  “Cristina said it was a severe concussion. And you were shot.”

  “Shot at,” he corrected. “Bullet grazed my arm. It’s bandaged. I’ll be fine. I’m out of here as soon as they give me the go-ahead.” She was silent and he pressed on. “Really, I’m okay. You should see the other guy.”

  “Did you—Is he…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, but he knew where she was going with it.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not me. Not this time.”

  “But… Have you? Before?”

  He avoided her eyes and said nothing for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. “If I absolutely have to.”

  She didn’t ask the questions she so desperately wanted to ask: How many? And why?

  “I’m an outlaw, Ali, not a serial killer,” he reminded her. “There’s no joy in it, but sometimes it’s gotta be done.”

  “I know, it’s just—”

  “And I’m not asking you to be okay with it. Your conscience is your own.”

  She nodded and reached for him. “I’m sorry. It’s just such a hard thing to wrap my mind around.”

  “I get that.” He cradled her hand in his own.

  “Can I see?” she gestured to the bandages peeking from underneath his hospital gown.

  “Well, it’s all—” He waved his free hand vaguely around his torso. “It’s no big deal, really.”

  Ali pressed her lips to his battered knuckles and he sighed. She longed to crawl into the hospital bed with him, kiss away every scrape and bruise, keep him up so he didn’t slip into a coma. Instead she turned his hand and pressed his palm to her cheek until he cupped it on his own.

  “Ali,” he murmured.

  “I don’t want to leave you again,” she whispered, the words spilling from her heart right out her mouth. “Can I take you home with me when they let you go?”

  “I’d like that.” He swallowed and closed his eyes.

  It killed her to see him so vulnerable, this strong, capable man flat on his back in a hospital bed. It touched something inside her, a memory that hadn’t been made yet, of caring for him at an elemental level. Of anticipating his needs. Her hand trembled as she stroked the unharmed side of his face, and he nuzzled into her palm.

  “I’m sorry I was so stupid,” she choked, her eyes filling with tears.

  He didn’t open his eyes, just rubbed his lips across her hand. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Baby.” He sighed and looked at her then, his eyes grave and pained despite the smile on his face. “That makes two of us.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It had taken forever, but the hospital finally released Alejandro, and Ali had driven him home with her. Their moment of intimacy at the hospital had passed without either of them pursuing it. Ali didn’t know how to initiate that conversation again and wasn’t sure she wanted to when it was late and they were both exhausted. She didn’t know what she might say to make him see that she just wanted to be with him, in whatever way and for however long she could have him, the rest be damned.

  In her dimly lit living room she handed him a glass of tea and went to prep the downstairs guest room. Her heart pounded as she made up the bed. She imagined sliding between the cool sheets, pressing herself against Alejandro’s naked flesh, begging him to take her. The man’s a battered mess and all you can think about is sex, she chastised herself. Get a grip, Ali. She viciously fluffed the pillows and smoothed the duvet back.

  He balked when she offered to help him undress, but she’d been there when the nurse had dressed him and she knew he couldn’t do it on his own, at least not quickly. “Just let me,” she urged. “It’ll go quicker.”

  Finally he agreed, closing his eyes and sitting on the bed as she pulled off his boots, one by one, and then removed his socks. He stood and she unbuttoned his jeans, tugging them down over his hips and then down to his ankles, offering him her shoulder to lean on so he could step out of them. In just his boxer briefs and tee shirt, Alejandro smiled stiffly and said, “I’ll just sleep in this. It’s okay.”

  “You should take off your shirt. It’s filthy. I was going to wash your clothes for you. I know you like to sleep… um…” She blushed and bit her lip. “I figured I could wash everything since you usually sleep without any clothes on.” Buck naked, her brain taunted her. That’s what you meant. “I’ll get you a towel so you can…” She gestured and backed out of the room, leaving him standing in the moonlight with a bewildered look on his face.

  Minu
tes later she helped him struggle out of his tee shirt, a towel wrapped around his waist for modesty. He had his back to her—so he could grip the nightstand for balance, he said—and she gasped as she saw the dragon. The vibrant colors started at his neck, blazed across his entire back, and disappeared just beneath the towel he clutched around himself.

  Alejandro stood perfectly still and silent while she studied the tattoo. Her fingers skimmed across his shoulder blades and traced the line of the dragon breathing flames across his lower back. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, examining the artistry of the scales, painfully aware of his heat under her fingertips. Like that fire’s burning right out of his skin. She had blocked that little detail out of her memory, how hot he always was, as if constantly consumed by fever. His breath hitched and she realized her entire hand was flat on his back, palm kissing his skin and fingers fanned out across the dragon’s twisted tail.

  Her body remembered his. Whether it was from the dream or from ten years ago she couldn’t have said. Every touch she gave him echoed inside of herself. She stroked down his back, gentling him like she’d done to Tip a million times. “Your whole back is tight,” she murmured, knowing she should stop touching him but unable to pull her hands away. “Maybe tomorrow I can give you a massage.”

  “That'd be good.” His voice was strangled. “Hey, uh, would you mind getting me another glass of tea? I need to take these pain pills.”

  “Sure.” Pulling away from him, she instantly missed his warmth. “I’ll go get it right now.”

  Her legs threatened to give out on her, and when she got in the kitchen she leaned against the refrigerator and took a deep breath. She pressed her cheek against the cool stainless steel surface and tried to steady her nerves. Between her legs her sopping panties bunched and rubbed, causing maddening friction. She wanted Alejandro, needed him to ease the ache she hadn’t lost all week.

  She had felt him up at the Ridge. She’d writhed against his hardness until she thought she would come just from the delicious friction of their bodies rubbing, but she’d blown that chance. She was lucky to get a second opportunity in the garage. That time she’d almost gotten him out of his jeans, but they’d been interrupted by one of the guys. Now he was naked in her guest room, but from the way he’d just reacted to her offer of a massage, she didn’t know if she was getting a third chance. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he was in too much pain. Or maybe he was tired of endless foreplay that never culminated in sex.

  Whatever it was, she didn’t know if she could stand another minute of torture. His skin had felt amazing under her touch. She imagined raking her nails down his colorful skin as he pumped into her. She imagined his deep voice urging her to come and it was all she could do not to rub herself off right there in the kitchen while she was supposed to be getting his tea.

  Instead she took the tea and the bottle of pills into the guest room. Alejandro was already on his back under the covers, his good arm thrown over his eyes. He looked up and thanked her in a hoarse voice and then took the pills, his eyes drooping closed almost immediately.

  “Get a good night’s sleep,” she said softly, fighting the urge to kiss his forehead where the dark hair met brown skin. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She scooped up his dirty clothes and escaped the room before she did or said anything foolish.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ali woke from a terrible dream in which Bobby showed up at the ranch and found Alejandro in her bed. For a moment she lay in a half-dream state, slowly coming back to reality. The buzz of the dryer reminded her that Alejandro wasn’t in her bed, he was in the guest bedroom and as naked as the day he was born because she hadn’t yet brought him his clean clothes.

  She brushed her teeth and threw on her robe so she could go let Tip out of his stall. Coffee was her first stop. She nursed her steaming mug while she pulled the warm laundry out of the dryer and folded it neatly. A quick peek into the guest room confirmed that Alejandro was still sleeping, so she put the clothes on the chair and headed out to the barn.

  “Good morning, you silly beast,” she crooned as Tip nuzzled under her hair. She was glad no one was around to see her in her night clothes and Wellies, but the perks of having her own place was that she could do as she damn well pleased. The morning sun filtered softly into the barn and she opened his stall and led him by the bridle into his pasture. She filled his water bucket and patted his rump as he headed into the field for a morning graze.

  When she arrived back in the house she checked on Alejandro again. He was propped up in bed, eyes bleary and the covers pulled up to his chest. He looked wretched but smiled as she came in.

  “How’d you sleep?” she asked softly.

  “Good. The drugs helped. I won’t take any more, but it was good to have them last night.”

  “I’m glad.” She pointed toward the chair. “Your clothes are clean.”

  “Thanks. I was wondering if… uh… I could get a shower.”

  “Sure.” She realized the downstairs bathroom only had a tub and he was going to have to bring him up to her master bath, which meant walking him through her bedroom. “You have to go upstairs. Is that okay?”

  “I’ll go anywhere right about now to get clean.” He grinned and she felt it in every cell of her body.

  ***

  She was halfway out of the room, having shown him to her shower, when he called after her, “Come in with me, Ali.”

  Her heart caught in her throat and she stopped dead in her tracks. Alejandro leaned in the doorway of her bathroom, the towel slung dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes followed the trail of dark hair from his stomach to where it joined a larger patch barely visible above the towel. His intent was clear, and the realization made her mouth dry.

  “You should—” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “You’re hurt. I shouldn’t.”

  “I’m fine. But since you’re so concerned, what if I’m overcome by the steam and I faint?” he teased. “You better be there to catch me.”

  She must’ve looked worried, because he chuckled and shook his head. “I’m kidding. But not about getting in this shower with me. Come on, you need one too. And after the past twenty-four hours I’ve had you’d be doing me a favor.”

  He straightened and she saw it then. An open ribcage, tattooed on his golden skin with gruesome reality, thorny vines twining and escaping through the bars of bone. The artistry was so precise it made her woozy to stare at what looked to be a giant hole in Alejandro’s chest, crowded with dying roses, the vines growing aggressively, as if they wanted nothing more than to choke his heart. A few wilted petals drifted gracefully down his side, and a few more fluttered into the hollow of his lean hips. She stared at it, unable to process exactly what she was seeing. It was both grotesque and beautiful, stunningly realistic.

  “What is that?” she asked quietly.

  “Come here and I’ll tell you.”

  She crossed the room in seconds and he captured her face in his hands, holding her just inches away, his hands gentle on her. He brushed his lips across mouth and she sighed softly.

  “It’s a reminder, Ali,” he breathed against her, untying the sash of her robe and slipping it off her shoulders. His lips burned a trail down her jaw to the little space below her ear, and his tongue flicked against the pulse point. At the junction of her thighs she was molten, a keening urge tightening around itself deep within her.

  “What does it mean?” she whispered.

  He took her fingers in his calloused grasp and pressed her hand flat over his heart. “I tried to forget… but you grew roots around my ribcage… and sprouted flowers just below my collarbones…”

  She tried to remember where she knew those words from. Finally she figured it out. Oh, God, the poem. It all came back to her: senior English class, the term spent studying and memorizing poetry. Pablo Neruda. Alejandro’s heart galloped under her palm, and when she looked at his face his dark eyes blazed with need.

  Alejandro’s mouth hovered
mere inches from hers. Fighting back the groan that built in her, Ali closed her eyes and waited for his inevitable kiss.

  “All day I pluck their petals…” he breathed against her lips, and her veins sizzled with the need to devour his mouth. He was playing her like an instrument only he knew how to use, and all she wanted to do was let him.

  “…but I have not yet ascertained…” Now he held her arms so that she could only wriggle against him, a whimper escaping her as his lips brushed back and forth across her mouth.

  “…whether you love me…” He sucked at her lower lip and she choked back a sob of frustration. “…or not.” Finally he held her at arms’ length, studying her face. His eyes gleamed triumphantly but his mouth remained serious.