by Marie Harte
She chanced a glance at his face, feeling horrible—because she felt terrific. Hitting him and imagining Max taking the blow had given her a primitive thrill. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. “I hope you’re okay.”
He stared at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. “You hit me.”
She blushed. “You told me to.”
“I didn’t think you’d really do it that hard. You gave it a whack.” He looked a bit odd. He leaned closer, staring at her, checking for something, apparently.
“What? What’s wrong? I didn’t break it, did I?” She still held his hand, and this time she turned it over, more than aware of their disparity in size.
“Nah. I’m good. But you…” He paused. “You’re not that nice or sweet, are you?”
“What did you say?” She stiffened and would have dropped his huge hand, except he curled it around hers. “Sam, I—”
He lowered his head, standing so close she could feel his breath on her lips.
All thought left her.
“Not so sweet at all,” he murmured.
The minuscule gap between them closed. Had he moved? Had she?
The feel of his mouth over hers stunned her. So much heat, so much electricity.
He froze and pulled back. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Ivy didn’t give a damn. She yanked him back and plastered her mouth over his, needing more of that fire to burn through her, licking up the need and spreading it throughout her body.
For a split second, Sam didn’t move. Then he groaned and wrapped his arms around her back. Before she knew it, he’d lifted her in his arms and seated them on her couch. Her knees straddled his lap while she continued to kiss him until she couldn’t breathe.
Nothing made sense but getting more of Sam. She squirmed over him, hungry for something just out of reach. His taste, his scent, the sense of such strength underneath her. So much hunger for the man made it impossible to resist when, with a large hand, he squeezed her breast.
She moaned against his mouth, aware she was fast losing control. But her kiss had nothing on his. With a subtlety that impressed her, he slowly took charge of the embrace. The masterful way he kissed her, the varied pressure, the softness from such a large, ferocious man, stole her will to do anything but respond. Caged in his arms, lost to desire—hers or his, she couldn’t tell—Ivy followed his lead. Between one moment and the next, his hand left her breast and pressed between her legs.
It had been so damn long, and she’d never been with someone like Sam before, someone so intense and desirable. She rocked into his touch, lost to everything but what her body needed.
He murmured something against her mouth, but she didn’t care. She was so close, so amazingly right there, on the edge, then he—
“Sam,” she cried and came, shuddering as he stroked her through her jeans, easing into a gentle petting that soothed the fiery rain of pleasure still pulsing through her. The cascade of release could have taken seconds or minutes. She had no concept of anything but letting herself float in his embrace.
After a while, those large arms holding her so close set her back from him, to give them space.
She blinked at him, aware he sat tense and still under her.
Pleasure gave way to mortification. She’d climaxed. On the lap of a near stranger after a tiny bit of heavy petting. Dear Lord, she’d been all over the poor man. Humping him through her clothes after he’d tried to pull back from that first kiss. Heck, he had been trying to help her, and she’d jumped him like a desperate, horny idiot.
She felt awful.
He must have seen her embarrassment because he hurried to move her off his lap. As if jumping him wasn’t bad enough, I all but smothered the poor guy!
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She took a peek at him and saw him rushing to put his shoes and jacket on. He said something else she couldn’t understand and refused to look at her.
Probably as embarrassed for her as she was for herself. Women must throw themselves at him all the time. With a body and face like that, he had to be used to it. That thought didn’t make it any easier to absolve herself of the guilt.
“Sam…” She didn’t know what to say. What he must have thought of her. She glanced at her hands and clenched them into fists. Sam had helped, all right. All her memories of Max, her anger, had disappeared, replaced by a lust so extreme she’d attacked the man in her house.
She looked up, prepared to apologize, to grovel and hope he would keep this embarrassing incident just between them. She’d promise never to touch him again and—
“Sam?”
He was gone, the door closed softly behind him. As if he’d never been there.
Chapter 6
Sam could barely think, so upset he didn’t know what to do, where to go. He didn’t know what had happened. One minute she’d been punching him, so cute with all that bottled-up anger easing up with every tiny punch.
As if she could hurt him.
Except she had—but not with her hands.
God. He drove faster, on automatic pilot as he followed a familiar route. Needing the release, he hurried toward the fights he’d been trying to quit.
Fuck. Tears burned, and he felt even more pathetic. She’d kissed him. Or he’d kissed her. Looking into her light-green eyes and inhaling that faint scent of flowers, he’d been unable to stop himself from touching her. Mouth to mouth. And then she’d been in his arms, they’d been on the couch, and he’d fucking lost himself to the hottest female he’d ever kissed.
Hearing her come had been a thing of beauty. He’d been so hard, so ready to take her, right there on her couch. But a glance at her fuzzy gaze, then seeing the horror on her face after…
He drove faster and pulled into a spot at the edge of the crowd. The owner of this particular empty warehouse took his cut of the proceeds. Illegal fights had become pretty popular with a lot of the major players, especially with MMA becoming such a huge legal draw. Here, the owners and their bookies could make a killing with fights that had no rules. The refs would step in only if a guy verged on death.
Because corpses tended to involve the law.
Something he might have to deal with come the morning, he knew. How had a simple kiss turned so uncontrollable? Forcing the poor woman into an orgasm? Jesus. He felt sick.
Poor Ivy.
He turned off the car and sat, staring at nothing. She’d been so upset.
He hadn’t meant to take advantage of her. The kiss had been good at first. He thought she’d been into it, into him. And then he’d gone from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. From a kiss to wanting to fuck her brains out. He could still taste her, could still feel her writhing over him while he made her come…
While she’d been trying to get away from him?
Had she been as lost in the kiss as he’d been? An amazing taste of Ivy had turned into a nightmare.
He knew more than most about rape. God, he’d been so young, known more than any kid should ever know about sex, period. Both parties didn’t have to be willing for their bodies to experience a rush.
He closed his eyes, trying to put other older nightmares away, behind the closed doors where they belonged.
He could still see her, a pretty woman, young and vulnerable and barely old enough to be a mother. Half-drunk and laughing, then crying while someone bigger and meaner made her do things she didn’t want to do. Or had she wanted it? He’d been confused. She’d laughed and cried, screaming at him to keep hiding while swearing at him for existing at all. And he’d done nothing but watch in shock and tears through the slats of that flimsy closet door, not sure if she’d wanted him to get help or if she’d beat him again for trying, like she had the few times before.
“Fuck.” Sam slammed out of his car and stalked to the southern door, where a giant guard
and sometime competitor stood. The guy smiled when he saw Sam, no doubt recognizing him as a top contender.
“Thought you were on break,” Ritter said.
“Does it look like I’m fucking on break?”
Ritter studied him but didn’t say another word. A good thing, because Sam actually liked the guy. In his current mood, he’d likely hurt someone and be sorry about it later.
But smart man that he was, Ritter simply stepped back and let Sam inside.
The dump of a warehouse had been somewhat transformed into a showcase for various arenas. The cement walls and support beams remained, as did the open wiring and cross supports in the two-story ceiling. The few upper windows had been blacked out by paint and lumber. Dim overhead lighting gave just enough illumination for the fights to go on.
Most of the small arenas were ringed by spectators dressed in a variety of clothing, from ripped jeans and denim jackets to thousand-dollar suits and fur coats. But every asshole in the place had the right contacts to be here, as well as the money to bet with the House, as the owners liked to call the place. It fit.
Sam hadn’t been on the docket for the night, but word quickly spread to the right people.
Jerry O. hurried to Sam with a wide smile. The guy looked like a weasel and smelled of cheap cologne. He wore flashy, gold rings and had a thick, gold chain around his skinny neck. Dark-haired, light-skinned, and smart as hell, the guy did math in his head that would make a calculator jealous. Probably why the powers that be kept him around, in addition to Jerry’s ability to manipulate people. He dealt with the fighting talent, keeping everyone scheduled and paid and content not to kill each other unless in a bout.
“Sam.” It came out as Tham. “What a pleasant surprise.” Jerry had a lisp. The last guy to make fun of it had been found floating in the sound. Cause of death undetermined.
“Yo, J. I need a fight.”
“Oh?”
Sam could see the dude doing internal computations. “Jesus, I’m not in the mood. Do you have a spot or not?”
“I can fit you in,” Jerry said in a hurry. “But your take will be five percent less. I’ll have to move people around, and that’s not that easy to—”
“Fine.” Sam didn’t care about the money. He needed the action any way he could get it. And since screwing a woman would only add to his misery, a fight would do. He could hit and be hit, taking his lumps like a man—one who might have assaulted a helpless woman who had wanted nothing but to share a cup of tea and the soft affection of a puppy.
The way she’d looked at him when he’d left, or rather, the way she hadn’t looked at him, still crushed his heart into tiny pieces.
Thank God he’d at least kept it in his pants. He’d done some heavy petting and kissing. But he hadn’t hurt her. Well, no more than apparently fucking with her head.
He deserved to be kicked, beaten, burned.
Except his rage at himself made him too formidable.
They paired him with three different guys. He tore up all of them, every last one.
The most he got for his trouble was a genuine workout and a shiner under his left eye. Because he’d needed something to hurt him, to remind him that what he’d done hadn’t been all right.
People slapped him on the back. Jerry begged him to come back in two weeks, when he’d have a champ from Ecuador in residence, accompanied by some major players in the gun trade, according to rumor. Sam needed that trouble like he needed a hole in the head.
He preferred to stay away from outside competition. Because if the big guys didn’t like losing, they had a tendency to take it out on the winner. Jerry was being persistent. Instead of an outright no, Sam told him he’d let him know.
He left in a rush, but on his way out, Ritter had the gall to grab him by the arm.
“You got a death wish?” Sam asked, glaring, ready for more action.
Ritter leaned closer, his expression one that had even Sam wary, and threatened, “Don’t come back here unless you want trouble.” Then he showed Sam the gun under his shirt. “You get me?”
Sam ripped his shoulder away and sneered. “Yeah? Well fuck you too.” As if a gun were the worst that could happen to a guy. A bullet might kill him. But what he’d done to Ivy would haunt him forever.
On the way home, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d been so happy, smiling with him. Hearing her say motherfucker had almost made him laugh out loud. So sweet and pure and inherently good. Until he’d seen that lust in her eyes—at first, it’d been for violence. She’d sparked the attraction, because he’d stupidly thought he might deserve a taste of someone who wasn’t so nice. That made her not quite out of his league.
The kiss had turned brutally arousing. Just thinking about it got him hard, and then the shame returned. Poor Ivy. He hadn’t meant to force her into a yes. She’d been with him most of the way, he could have sworn. But she’d changed her mind, because there, at the end, she’d shut down.
And he’d finally done the one thing he’d never in his life thought he’d do.
He drove home, numbed to everything, and let himself inside. He hadn’t expected Foley would be around, hanging instead with Cyn as usual at her swanky cottage in a better part of Beacon Hill.
But Foley was kicked back on the couch watching TV.
“Yo, Sam.” He sat up and frowned. “What happened?”
Sam tried but couldn’t contain his worry, or his despair, anymore. “I think I did something really bad.”
“Talk to me.”
Foley had been his best friend forever. But Foley didn’t know everything about Sam’s early life. And he planned to keep it that way.
But this…Sam had to own up to what he’d done. “I was with Ivy tonight.”
“Yeah?”
He sat in the chair near the couch, not wanting to be too close to Foley when he admitted his wrongdoing. “We were hanging out. Having a good time.” He explained everything, even up to the part where he’d left. “I don’t know what happened. She was there with me, man. I swear I never meant to hurt her.”
Foley studied him. “You sure she’s upset?”
“She wouldn’t look at me.” Sam clasped his hands together, tired but still keyed up from the fights. “She looked scared, disgusted.”
“Did she do that to you?” Foley nodded to his face.
“No.” Sam knew Foley wouldn’t like the fact he’d been fighting.
After a moment, Foley swore. “Damn it. We’ve talked about this. You have to stop. One of these days they’re going to get raided, and you’ll be fucked. Or worse, the next guy you trash might bring a gun to recoup his losses.”
Sam immediately thought of Ritter. “I know.” He ran a hand through his too-long hair, and the shiner started to throb. “I just… I couldn’t handle it. I really like Ivy. I—” He swallowed hard, determined not to be a pussy in front of Foley. “I feel so bad about tonight. I swear I only went over there to help with the dog. I had to drive since her car is messed up.” Crap. Her car.
“You know, you might be making a bigger deal about this than there is.” Foley watched him, concerned. The big jerk was always looking out for Sam. Just like Eileen. They cared about him. But if they knew the real him, they wouldn’t care. He could hear Louise’s taunts, could see her sneers and disgust. He never wanted Foley or Eileen to look at him that way.
“How is this not a big deal?” came out harsher than he’d intended.
“Did you ever think she might be feeling shy or weird about being with you?”
“No. Should I?” Foley was reaching.
“Dumbass. You practically just met this chick. She doesn’t know you all that well, except for watching you beat the shit out of Goodie with one hit. Nice job, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Sam’s heart raced, wondering if he’d been wrong about Ivy’s reaction, prayin
g he’d made a mistake in his perception.
“So you just met her, you pounded Goodie, then you’re at her place, and it sounds to me like she liked you a lot.” Foley grinned.
Foley grinning meant things hadn’t totally gone to shit.
“Then you get her off. Again, nice job. First Goodie, then Ivy. Two for two, man.”
Sam flushed. “Get to the point.”
“Well, your poor girl probably doesn’t know up from down. She comes, you skate away without a good-bye—”
“I said good-bye.” Had he? He’d been in such a hurry to leave he might not have.
“And she’s embarrassed because she came like a rocket.”
“You think that’s it?” Relief made him light-headed. “That she’s upset because she was so easy?”
Foley snorted. “Don’t know that I’d call her easy to her face.”
Sam’s relief turned to upset again. “But if she’s all nervous, she won’t want to see me again.”
“Now that could be a problem.”
That was if Foley was right in the first place. Sam didn’t know what to do. He’d checked his phone a lot tonight in between fights. She hadn’t called or texted.
Then he realized he’d said he’d give her a ride to work in the morning.
“Her car bit it. I’m supposed to drive her to work tomorrow.”
Foley nodded to the phone that had seemed to jump into Sam’s hands. “Text her. Feel her out.”
Sam shot her a text. Waited. Nothing.
Foley let out a loud yawn. “Let’s deal with the drama tomorrow. I’m tired. Going to bed. We have work in the morning,” Foley reminded him.
“No shit. So what’s the deal with you?”
“What do you mean?”
Sam stood and clenched his phone in hand, hoping she’d text back. “Why aren’t you locked around Cyn?”
Foley shrugged. “She had a project due tomorrow. Some business she’s investing in. She says I distract her.” Foley’s grin eased Sam’s worry. Seeing his friend happy made his own troubles easier to bear. “Woman can’t take her hands off me. It’s a curse.” Foley shook his head.
