by Shannyn Leah
“And there’s nothing left for me there. It doesn’t mean I will have a problem attending the match. Worry about yourself.”
“Oooo...” He held his hands up. “Touchy.”
“You wouldn’t even be talking to me if you weren’t drunk.”
He leaned his arms on the table to get closer to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“About Reed. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She took a sip of her old fashioned drink before answering. “I’m not doing this when you’re drunk. You didn’t want to know sober.”
“I want to do it now.”
“Because you’re drunk.”
“Pfttt.” He waved his hand at her and sat back again. Back and forth, he was exhausting her. “Drunk, sober, what difference does it make? I want to know.”
“No.”
“So now you’re all tight-lipped.” He sat back up and placed his elbows on the table once again leaning over it. “Nothing like doing a repeat.”
She leaned in. “And what are you doing? You have a fight tomorrow and look at you, drunk to the point of not remembering this in the morning. Sound familiar? Sound like anyone you know? Your father comes to mind.”
“My dad might be a drunk, but he’s not a drunk.”
“Did you hear the words you just said?” Why was she even asking? Of course he didn’t hear them, he could barely speak them.
“He drinks, but he’s not drunk. He’s a drunk but not drunk.”
Bowie laughed. Any other reaction wouldn’t suit. This man was beyond wasted. “Go home Stone.”
“With you?”
She pushed away his hand when it reached across the table. “No.”
“Dance?”
“You can hardly sit.”
He held his hand out. “Dance with me. For old time’s sakes like we used to do before a fight.” When she didn’t react he added, “You owe me doll. You broke my heart.”
She would’ve rolled her eyes if she didn’t believe him.
“Fine. As long as you can keep on your feet. I can’t hold you up, you’re monster size.” She slid out of the booth and stood at the end waiting to see if he could do the same.
“I got this,” he assured her, waggling his eyebrows at her, while his bulky arms leaned on the table and the back of the booth lifting as he sloppily slid out. He stood up at the end and spread his arms out. “See, I’m hardly drunk.” He stumbled backwards and hit the side of the booth seat.
Bowie glanced right and left, glad to find no one watching this fiasco.
Stone laughed. “Maybe a little drunk.” He scooped her in his arms and pulled her front against him. “Not drunk enough to sweep you off your feet.”
Bowie rolled her eyes, but found it difficult not to enjoy firm embrace. “If you flatten me, Patino, I will hurt you.”
“Not if you’re flattened. Empty threats.”
“Hmmm.”
“You smell good. I love your island smell. Sometimes when I’m walking along the beach or on the main strip I will catch a whiff of your smell.”
“You smell like a homeless person who needs a stomach pump and a bath.”
He laughed. “Do you remember the last time we came here?”
“We fought.”
“Yes, but the makeup sex was amazing.”
She stopped and leaned back. “If you’re thinking this is a way into my pants, you are so far off, Patino.”
“Did I ever tell you that I love it when you say my last name like that?”
“Like I’m ready to punch you in the face?”
“Have you ever punched anyone?”
“No, and I haven’t taken advantage of a drunken man either. So you can scrap whatever sex fantasies you’re creating in that alcohol-induced brain of yours.”
“Recreating. Reliving. Take advantage of me.” His hand bunched the back material of her shirt.
“You know what, how about you come find me when you’re sober.” She tried to step back but his grip was surprisingly strong for a drunken person. Her hands bounced against his chest. “You want to talk, scream, accuse, or have sex, you know where to find me. When you’re sober.”
“No. That’s not happening and this is not happening.” Hawk yanked Stone from Bowie and she stumbled back. “What the hell, man?”
“I should ask you the same question,” Bowie said to Hawk. “He’s wasted.”
Hawk pointed at her. “I suspected you were a sharp one.”
“Don’t be an ass, he has a fight tomorrow, unless you’ve all forgotten. Have you been training or hitting up girls at the local bars?”
“I was hitting up on you,” Stone muttered.
“Does this bar look like there’s any hitting? Except you and now I know why he dragged us here.”
Chapter Fourteen
TONIGHT WAS FIGHT night.
Stone’s first underground fight in ten years and Bowie would bet her entire net worth that her nerves were more messed up than his.
A couple hours before they were scheduled to leave for the competition, she left her art room where she’d spent the majority of her time this week—most weeks actually—and headed to her wing of the house. She’d hoped the hot water would relieve her apprehensive tremors at the events of the night ahead. The last two fights she’d watched had taken away two people she loved. First her father, when he’d received a concussion that had killed him during his sleep, and then Stone, who had stepped into the ring already likely having a concussion and had barely walked out alive.
She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t watch Stone fight. What if he lost? What if they hit him the wrong way? What if he died?
Closing her eyes, she couldn’t tell the difference between the tears slipping down her cheeks and the water dripping down her face.
She could do it again.
She would do it again.
Ducking out on this fight could worry the head honchos, and possibly give Stone an opportunity to walk away too.
After she finished rinsing off her body, she twisted the tap off and slipped into her waiting robe. She towel dried her hair before sitting in front of her vanity. Staring at her reflection, she touched her tear-stained face. Pinkish red skin would not do. She blotted concealer under her eyes and reached for her brush. Her hand shook in the mirror’s reflection.
“Pull it together.” She said the words out loud, needing to hear them, needing to obey them. She was stronger than this. Being raised in underground matches, she could address more than half the people by name, and understood all the risks involved. She’d watched her dad get beaten to the ground and still get back up, had anticipated it. Her thick skin kept her grounded in the crowd.
Tonight’s match would take place in the basement of a high-end restaurant in the core of the city. This wasn’t a slide in the back door event. Those attending would be dressed in their best and she and her guests were expected to play the part.
She’d arranged for tuxedoes to be delivered to Stone, Hawk, and his dad. Meanwhile her strapless sequin red dress would surely catch the attention of every person dining in the restaurant. Cameras would flash, pictures would be posted and tagged, and the outfit she sported would be sold out everywhere by morning. That was the point, to blend in a way that looked normal and be the socialite she was—or had once been.
But the smell of sweat and blood at the bottom of the elevator, knowing it would be Stone’s blood and sweat, triggered fear, regret, and guilt.
Her stomach turned and the little bit of crackers and cheese she’d nibbled on for lunch threatened to come back up.
A knock on her bedroom door pulled her back to the present and her focus back to her reflection.
She hadn’t realized she’d been crying again until tears glistened on her cheeks. She was a hot mess. She swiped the tears away, blotted the red areas once again and thanked the stars her face hadn’t swelled with the salty tears. Heading toward her front door, she ran her fin
gers through her hair and tightened the knot on her robe.
Expecting to see her brother prepared to tear a strip out of her for going through with tonight’s fight, she pulled the door open with her own fight face on.
But it wasn’t her brother.
Stone stared down at her, first appearing quiet and calm, but he couldn’t fool her when his eyes searched deep into hers.
She was about to ask him what he was doing there, but he spoke first. “That’s what I thought.”
Bowie wasn’t sure she liked the gruff tone he used now. Every word seemed to come out harsh and angry, so different than last night. At first she’d thought he’d only spoken that way around her, but she’d heard him speak to his father and Hawk with the same, almost grouchy tone. He had a rougher edge to him now.
She tightened the belt on her pink silk robe. “You thought what?”
He lightly rubbed a thumb under her eye and she felt the dampness where his finger moved. “I vaguely remember last night and you’re not coming.” He walked by her and into her suite. A white tank top revealed glistening sweat on his bulging arms and she could see through the dampness of the bottom edge where his jogging pants hung too low on his waist.
She glanced into the hall, thinking she might find Hawk chasing him down, stopping him from being anywhere near Bowie.
Empty.
Relief and amity bubbled up her chest. She shut the door and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her front, building a barrier she knew would be useless against him. “You vaguely remember last night? Do you remember asking—no begging me to tell you why I made my decision about not telling you about Walker?”
“No, but I remember you telling me about your dad.”
“Did I? Are you sure? Maybe you misheard me.”
“Did I?”
“Maybe you should be more concerned about your shower and tux.”
“I hate tuxes.” She cringed as he padded his dirty sneakers across her plush carpet. He stopped at the fireplace and touched the framed picture of her father. He didn’t look at her. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“A good way to prevent an argument is by not bursting into my room and telling me what to do.”
His finger ran down the side of the frame. “I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could do this emotionless thing I claimed back at my place, but that’s not who I am. It’s not who I ever was.”
What was he talking about?
He turned to face her. “You’re not coming.”
“Like hell I’m not.” Even though, inside, her body cheered his decision, not going wasn’t an option.
In a few long steps he stood in front of her. “Doll, you forget, I know you.” He took another step and she took three backwards. He moved again until her back was flesh against the wall. Even then, he moved closer than comfort or comfortably closer, depending on who you asked.
She shuttered as he ran his finger over her cheek. Why did he insist on touching her after making his feelings crystal clear? His fingertips continued a sizzling trail of desire down her neck, stopping at the "V" of her robe. She watched his finger linger there, taunting and teasing, lighting up the fire in her stomach she’d long thought had vanished.
“I don’t need you to step into that world with me. I’m a big boy and I can handle it alone.”
Her head snapped up to look at him. “That’s not your decision to make.”
“I just made it.”
“It’s my world, remember? You stepped back into my world, Patino. And who’s to say I ever left the fighting scene?”
“Susan.”
She blew a breath. “I don’t tell her everything.”
“Your eyes tell me everything.”
“Doll,” she mimicked. “You’ve been out of this game just as long as you’ve been out of the ring. You haven’t had enough practice to read these eyes.” She fluttered them at him. “You were the one who walked away from fighting, not me.”
He slammed his free hand against the door beside her and she jumped. But her fear vanished just as quickly as his other hand pressed flat against her chest. His fingers dug into the flesh of her collarbone and she felt his frustration radiate off him. “Why are you arguing me on this?” The words strained past his lips. His thick black, sweat-beaded eyelashes swept across his face as his eyes closed and he hung his head low.
Something was off. She’d call it fight anxiety, but the man had never been afraid to get in a ring. Adrenaline and anticipation drove him to the ring. She had to remind herself that the man standing in front of her wasn’t the same man she’d walked away from ten years ago.
She cupped his face. “What’s going on?” She may not have been around the last ten years, but she could decipher his inner pain through his Neanderthal behavior anytime.
He pressed his forehead down against hers, and she ignored his perspiration. His fingertips rubbed a pattern into her skin. They stood like that, in silence, bodies blending as one, for a long time before he finally spoke. “I’m fighting.”
She heard the struggled strain through words that were barely a breath. Struggles she’d put there by dragging him back. If her brother’s life didn’t depend on it, she’d tell him to go. Run far away and never look back. But she couldn’t.
“I know.”
“In a ring.”
“You’re over-thinking it.”
“I’m old.”
She dug the tips of her fingers into the flesh of his cheeks, needing to distract him. “Over-thinking, Patino.”
“Patino?” He looked at her with disgust. “Patino was a champion. I shouldn’t be fighting in one of your father’s elite clubs, I should be in a dirty old ring with the rest of the outgrown men grasping at their past.”
“Stop. That’s not true and you know it. You’re over-thinking this, babe.” It slipped out and the second it passed her mouth, she watched a spark of remembrance flicker in Stone’s eyes. He needed to vent his fear, or his uncertainty. He was still Stone Patino, the champion who had walked away by choice, not force.
“Stop thinking. Close your eyes.” His eyes burned through her. “Trust me.” She slid the pads of her thumb over his eyes, drawing his lids closed. A shudder ran from him and united with her body.
She lowered her voice to a whisper as her fingers ran down his throat stopping at his forearms. “Forget the ring, the match ... the past.”
One hand trailed down his thick arm and touched the hand he had still pressed flat against her chest. “Feel, Stone. Just feel the now.”
His forehead pressed solid against hers and her eyes closed with the tune of his low breaths. He flipped his hand between them and caught her hand, bringing it up and draping it around his neck. If she’d expected his objection, she didn’t get it, but maybe he’d gone into the past with her.
He untied her robe and the cool air touched her naked body as it fell open.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped.
Against everything that told her to listen to him, she shook her head against him and tightened her arm around him.
Her breath hitched when his hand slipped past the material of her robe and landed firmly on her waist.
She felt him lift her chin with his finger and when she opened her eyes, she found his drowsy eyes watching her. His parted lips looked ready to ravage her and succumb to the wants and needs she’d felt all week. Still, he delayed caving into her offer.
Where was his throw-caution-to-the-wind attitude? When had he become such a stickler for following rules? Where was the bad-ass who’d swept her off her feet like no other man had ever been able to?
Within seconds of the thoughts, his mouth crashed against hers. Hard, rough, and filled with his raw emotion. He skipped the teasing nibbles and playful strokes, instead pushing through her parted lips and claiming her tongue as his own.
She’d started in control, but he’d swiftly overtaken the position. His mouth raked against hers, warm, wet, and with a delicious mixture of his famil
iar tastes. At some point, his hand had moved behind her head and his fingers clutched a handful of her hair, pulling her mouth harder against him, on the edge of pain. A good pain. His other hand slipped under her robe and slid down her back to cup her bare bottom.
She moaned against his demanding hot mouth.
He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. His actions said everything and her body’s reaction would have mortified her if she hadn’t dreamed of feeling, touching, kissing him one more time from the moment after she’d walked away from him. She’d never have his heart, or his soul, but dammit she could have tonight. She could have his body.
His mouth trailed down her throat. “You’re delicious,” he rasped in her ear, biting her earlobe so hard she let out a small yelp. “You smell so damn good too.” He licked her skin and she moaned.
He pulled away, lining his head up with hers. “You know what you’re about to do?”
She bit her lower lip fearing he was about to back out. “Do you?”
“I’m not going to bring you flowers tomorrow and whisper I love you.”
Her heart melted at his words, but she kept her persona unchanged. He’d tried to bark them at her, but if he really didn’t care he wouldn’t have brought it up at all.
“Stop talking and take me to my bedroom.”
He debated and she reflected on how maybe a kiss would’ve been a better incentive.
“I don’t screw in bedrooms.” He pressed another aggressive kiss against her lips and at the same time hiked her into his arms. “The couch looks good.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE WATER PELTED against Stone’s back. His head hung down low and after staring at the marble floor long enough to cause it to blur, he closed his eyes. But that didn’t relieve a new stress building up inside him. Flashes of Bowie under him sprawled out on the couch, her robe bunched at his feet, her naked body arching to every touch mingled with his inability to walk away.
Damn it. He’d screwed her just minutes earlier and had left without much more of a word.
There had to be rules against this shit. Sleeping with the enemy before a big fight.
