by Niles, Abby
“Umm…what do you mean you don’t know if you’re together?” Melody asked.
Why had she even said that? “It’s just physical. No big deal.”
Her friend arched an eyebrow. “How could anything be just physical between you and Tommy? You had a relationship before this. For years. Emotions were already there. You guys love each other.”
“Well…it’s complicated.”
“Bullshit. That’s a Facebook relationship status. This is you and Tommy. So, un-complicate it, for heaven’s sake. What do you want?”
She didn’t know the answer to that one, either. She wanted him in all the exquisite ways he’d shown her and in all the ways he’d yet to show her. That was a definite. Anything more? She just didn’t let her mind go there. One: Tommy said himself he wasn’t capable of more. Two: She was terrified of what more would mean.
“You know Tommy’s reputation, right?” she murmured.
“You mean the confirmed bachelor who loves to party and loves women even more? Yeah, I’ve heard.”
“But that’s only part of it, Mel. After Tommy started getting big in MMA, he changed. A lot. There were nights I would stand off to the side after one of his fights while he was literally mobbed by people, and he wouldn’t even notice.”
“But there’s that picture of you in the cage after he won the belt,” Melody objected. “Someone who’s not important to him wouldn’t be given that privilege.”
“This is true. And I’ve never doubted Tommy wanted me there. But he tends to forget me when the spotlight is on him.” God. She’d never shared this with anyone before. She’d kept the hurt locked away because she’d felt so selfish for feeling it, when he’d worked so hard for years to earn that spotlight fair and square. But the first time he’d excluded her had hurt deeply, and she’d been standing right beside him in the cage. “Do you know he thanked everyone, including this guy from our childhood who dared him to join the wrestling team, in that victory speech? Everyone but me.” When Melody’s eyes softened in sympathy, Julie continued, “That night at the party, I stood alone by a wall for hours, watching him four-deep in admirers. I ended up leaving without even saying good-bye.” As tears pricked her eyes, she blinked them away and glanced at the floor. “He didn’t notice. Never even mentioned it. Whenever that spotlight is on him, he forgets all about me.”
“Dang, Julie. I had no idea.”
She let out a slow breath. “I refused to let his moments of insensitivity ruin our friendship. When it came down to it, those moments were really small in comparison to the other stuff that man does for me. How he is there when I need him for other things. I had—have—no right to be upset. Those were his moments, and I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was just his best friend. But it hurt badly enough as that. It would crush me as his girlfriend.”
Melody leaned forward. “But it would be different, Julie. You have to realize that. A man really does treat a friend differently than he treats a girlfriend.”
“Or it could be more of exactly the same. Who knows? He’s never actually had a girlfriend.”
Melody studied her. “Well. At least he isn’t actively fighting now. He’s just training, right?”
“Yeah. He’s not sure if Ethan will ever let him in the cage again.”
“Then maybe you have nothing to worry about. Here’s my suggestion.” A wicked grin spread on her friend’s lips. “I’d enjoy the hell out of that man every second I had him, because I’ve never seen you so happy and relaxed. Whatever that man is doing to you beats out a day in the spa anytime, and I gotta say, I’m green with envy.”
Julie couldn’t help a laugh. What Melody said was true. She’d never felt more blissfully relaxed or so deliciously exhausted. And it was also right that she just needed to enjoy Tommy and what he did to her…and not worry about what the future held.
Live in the moment.
For as long as it lasted.
…
All Tommy wanted to do was sink into the woman waiting for him at home.
It’d been like this all week. While he was away from Julie, all he thought about was walking through the door and being with her again. Having her in his arms. Making her come apart. Over and over. When he was with her, it was just more of the same.
He couldn’t get enough of the woman. She was an aphrodisiac that had gotten into his bloodstream, spreading quickly all over his body until he was consumed by need every single second.
Leave her? Not in a million years.
He strode through the training facility, intent on getting out, when Mike stopped him.
“The sparring session will be at eleven in the morning. I need you here by ten thirty. Got it?”
“Got it” again. Coach was dead serious. “Yep. Ten thirty.”
Mike came to stand beside him. “I’m extremely pleased with the way training has gone for the last two weeks, Tommy. I know you hadn’t been training as usual while you were gone, but you can’t tell it. You look just as good, if not better, than you did before you won the title. This is the fighter I believe in. This is the fighter I want to show up tomorrow, okay?”
The praise from his coach made Tommy’s chest swell with pride. He’d been determined to come in and prove he’d changed. And Mike had just let him know he’d seen it. “I’m not going to let you down, Mike. You’re giving me a second chance and I’m not going to fuck this one up. I’m not going to let anyone down ever again. This is where I want to be.”
“Hell, yeah.” Mike clapped him hard on the back. “Can’t wait for tomorrow.”
Twenty minutes later, he parked the car, jogged up the walkway, and entered the house.
“I’m home,” he called out.
And it felt damn good to be here. Then he realized what he’d said and froze.
Home.
When had he started considering Julie’s place his home?
Was this unfamiliar feeling of belonging the reason none of the apartments he’d looked at had felt right? Why, whenever he walked through the door for the past week and taken Julie in his arms, it had?
His chest tightened. Yes, this was his home. And he didn’t think it had anything to do with the walls that surrounded him. It was simply Julie’s presence. She’d always been home to him. The only one he could always be himself around.
She walked into the living room from the kitchen and the dogs raced around her toward him. He gave both a quick ruffle on the head, then went to her. As he gathered her in his arms, she looped hers around his neck and smiled up at him.
“Have a good day?” she asked.
His chest tightened again from an emotion he was terrified to name, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Yes, and it just got better,” and taking her lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.
She stiffened against him for a second, and he didn’t blame her. This change in him had to be confusing. All he ever did was jump her bones and ravish her. But this…this tender, loving kiss was how Julie was supposed to be kissed.
Like she was treasured.
And he did treasure her.
Bending, he hoisted her up into his arms, keeping his lips firmly on hers, teasing the inside of her mouth with his tongue. When he reached his bed, he laid her on the mattress, knowing he would take his time exploring every part of her.
Leaning down, he started on the top button of her blouse. With each one he undid, he placed a light kiss on her skin. Her chest jumped on stuttered exhales, but she didn’t move away, allowed him to do as he wished. As he parted the shirt, he sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers over her belly, then grazed the tip of one breast until the nipple strained against the pale purple satin of her bra. Then he met her eyes.
At the tender way she gazed down at him, his chest felt like a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound fighter was lying across it. God, he was such a fucking fool. She had everything every other woman he’d been with had lacked—laughter, joy, and home, all wrapped into one.
She was perfect. So fucking p
erfect.
He palmed the plump flesh of her breast with his hand, running his thumb over the erect nipple. Her sharp inhale made him do it again. When she reached for the clasp in front, he brushed her hands aside, wanting to do it himself. After he flicked it open and peeled the fabric back, her pert nipples jutted forward, asking for his mouth. Ignoring his instant need, he turned his attention to getting her completely undressed. He undid her pants, tugged them and her panties off, and dropping them to the floor. He stood and peeled her blouse and bra over her shoulders, tossed them aside, and removed his own clothing.
As he joined her on the bed, he stretched out beside her, loving the length of her body pressed against his. He leaned down and took the tip of her breast between his lips, flicking his tongue across it. Her fingers dug into his hair, and she pushed herself farther into his waiting mouth.
“I-I want,” she gasped as he sucked the nipple into his mouth. “Oh, God, Tommy.”
He loved hearing her breathe his name in abject pleasure. Wanted to hear it again and again. He switched to the other nipple. Her mewls of excitement filled his head. She met him each step, pulling him closer. Begging. He got lost in the feel of her, the smell of her. All he was aware of was her and her response to his touch. Returning to her mouth, he saw to her pleasure first, lowering his hands between her thighs. She immediately parted for him. As he used his fingers to love on her body, he used his lips to love on her mouth, feeding on each one of her glorious gasps as she climbed higher and higher. When she climaxed, her body arcing like a bow against his, her long moan wrapping him in shivers of passion, there was no need to take or to devour.
All he wanted was to be inside her. No kinky positions. No fast and hard fucking. Just feeling her body beneath his, joined as one.
Rolling between her legs, his chest met her naked breasts and the air gushed from his lungs at the feel of her tight nipples scraping his skin. He braced his forearms on either side of her and gazed down, watching her wide hazel eyes as he slowly entered her. Her lips parted on a soft sigh. Just to hear that sigh once more, he did it again, closing his eyes as the sounds of her pleasure wrapped around him. He loved listening to her.
He loved her.
Not in the way he’d spent the last twenty-three years loving her. Because now she was his. For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse.
And suddenly he knew she always had been.
He wasn’t his mother’s son. He was capable of love. Deep, wanting to have a family with the love of his life, lasting-forever love.
That was why he’d gone from woman to woman. Not because he had some kind of fucked-up broken gene from his crap mom. He’d known, deep down, the women were nothing compared to Julie. She had always had his heart. It had just taken a bit longer for his head to catch up.
He’d been incapable of making love to anyone but Julie. This slow, even pace was just as thrilling and fulfilling as a hard, fast rhythm because Julie was the one beneath him looking up, eyes glazed with passion, lips swollen from his kisses.
His.
Capturing her mouth, he poured every bit of his incredible discovery into that kiss, letting her feel the change, grow accustomed—accept it. Sure, he’d continue to crave this woman with a lust that bordered on insanity, continue to fuck her with a mindlessness he only reached with her, but now he’d learned the true beauty of lovemaking, and he wanted everything that came with it.
He wanted her. And her alone.
When her palm cupped his cheek, he took that as her acceptance.
Their relationship had changed.
They were a couple.
Afterward, he cradled Julie in his arms, kissing the top of her head. A part of him wanted to tell her he loved her, to put words to what he’d just shown her with his body. But they’d said those same words to each other thousands of times in the past. They didn’t have the same meaning as they would have if spoken for the first time after making love.
And just because he’d finally made love to her, that didn’t mean she was willing to accept he was in love with her. It went against everything he’d always done. Everything he’d always said, even to her. Hell, especially to her.
He had to show Julie he loved her.
He wanted to be her boyfriend—and to be a great one.
He’d never held that title—not with her, not with any woman. He’d never wanted it, had never even trained for it, and he was more than worried he’d somehow screw it up. He hugged her tighter. No, he would be the best damn boyfriend ever, because if he wasn’t, he would lose this woman…and that just wasn’t an option.
He drew in a deep, steadying breath.
He was about to enter a big fight. The biggest, most important fight of his life.
And he aimed to win by a knockout.
Chapter 13
Tommy walked into the gym just as Mike was closing the door of his office. Tommy kept walking, but his coach quickened his steps toward him, clapped him on the shoulder, and steered him in the opposite direction. “We don’t have time for a pre-fight chat,” Mike said. “Tate had something come up, so we have to get started now.”
“Shouldn’t we cancel, then?”
“No. It’s got to happen now.”
Tommy frowned, not understanding Mike’s insistence that the fight happen today. This was just sparring at a gym, not a real fight. They could do it later this week.
He spotted Tate over in the corner getting his hands wrapped with tape, and he dropped the subject. Maybe the guy had something serious going on and wouldn’t be able to fight in a sparring session all week.
“All right, let me get geared up,” Tommy said, and snatched up his headgear.
“No gear. Get your hands taped, your gloves on, and that’s it.”
Tommy stared at his coach with a frown. “This is a sparring session, right?”
Mike sucked on his teeth for a second before saying, “No. You’re fighting.”
Tommy’s mouth dropped in surprise. “Mike, what the hell’s going on?”
“I need to see what you’ve got. Tate is a good opponent for you, for me to gauge how far you still have to go.”
“So this was never about me being an opponent for him?”
“It’s for both of you. Tate needs the practice, too, and you are a good match-up for him. I’m killing two birds with one stone. So get out there and give me, and him, everything you’ve got.” Mike looked at Tate, who’d walked up to join the conversation. “That goes for you, too. Don’t be easy on him.”
Nerves hit Tommy, and he hated the moment of weakness. This was important. He didn’t have time for nerves. But he felt them nonetheless. He inhaled deeply, then breathed out, cleansing the anxiety away and focusing on what he had to do.
He didn’t want to put on a good show. He didn’t want Mike impressed with his progress. He didn’t want him coming back with a list of things he needed to work on.
He wanted his coach to be confident that Tommy “Lightning” Sparks was back, and there would be hell to pay.
Which meant he had to beat Tate. And beat him good.
One of the other guys taped Tommy’s hands and shoved his gloves on. He warmed up for five minutes, then Mike called him and Tate over. After a quick smear-down of Vaseline over their faces and their mouth guards put into place, they were ready to duck under the ropes.
As Tommy hopped around the middle of the ring, getting his blood flowing even more, he studied his opponent. The auburn-haired man had the same look—firm resolve narrowed his eyes as he studied Tommy.
Tate was just as determined to win as Tommy was. Excitement shivered through him. The thrill of an impending good fight enveloped him, and he smiled, welcoming the sensation.
He was so ready for this.
“All right, we’re doing five five-minute rounds,” Mike yelled from the side of the ring.
That took Tommy aback, and he shot a glance at his coach. Mike was watching him closely for his reaction, so Tommy sent him a ca
lm nod, as if that information hadn’t just shocked the shit out of him. He’d been training for three five-minute rounds, a regular bout in the cage.
Not a damn championship fight.
A bell echoed inside the gym, and Tommy had no more time to think. He automatically brought his gloves up to his chin and searched for his opening. It wasn’t easy, since Tate was a southpaw.
Being a left-handed fighter, Tate definitely had the advantage. Orthodox fighters like Tommy mostly went up against other orthodox fighters, with a southpaw thrown in only on occasion. Southpaws, however, went up against right-handed fighters all the time, so they didn’t need a period of adjustment.
Because Tate’s stance mirrored his own, Tommy had to do opposite of what came naturally to him, which was circling right. Every move felt off, even though he’d actually practiced this over the past few days.
He had a couple of options to take the fight onto a more even playing field. Get Tate in a clinch or take him to the ground. Tate was weaker in the clinch, but if things went in Tommy’s favor, he wouldn’t get a chance to show Mike what he had on the ground.
Crap. Ground it was, then.
Tommy studied Tate. With his right leg forward, his opponent’s stance made a double-legged takedown difficult, but he could always go for the single leg.
Fake it. Open up his stance more.
Tommy feigned a right hook, which made Tate react with his left side, opening him up. Tommy delved into the pocket, pressing his face against the other man’s chest and locked his arms around his opponent’s left thigh as he dropped to his knees.
As soon as they hit the mat, Tommy scrambled for the half-guard by sprawling across Tate’s upper torso. Both fought for dominance. One second, Tommy had Tate pinned as he tried for a submission hold, the next, Tate had landed a mind-boggling left punch that made Tommy loosen his grip. Tate took the opportunity to worm his way out of the hold and get back on his feet.
They circled each other again. That southpaw left-cross caught Tommy on the side of the head, but he shook off the impact, giving back fist for fist.
