“You’ve had tons of women without this requisite,” she says pleadingly.
I engulf her ass in my hands and drag her deeper into my lap, memorizing the way she looks right now as I look into her eyes and will her to understand me.
“This is my requisite with you.”
Her eyes darken with pain, and she leans close to me and whispers, “We still can’t keep this up, Remy. Not when your championship is on the line. So you either come get me tonight to make love to me, or you leave me alone so we can both rest.”
For a moment I’m not sure I heard right.
She’s telling me I can’t kiss my mouth . . . my woman . . .
She’s telling me I either f**k her and take her all, or I take nothing.
If she were any other woman in the world, I’d have f**ked her the night I met her. Maybe I’d have f**ked her another time. Then I’d have forgotten her. But she is Brooke Dumas and I am not messing it up with her if it kills me.
“All right,” I say, smiling like I don’t feel as if I’d just swallowed down my own cock.
Suddenly, I can’t have her on my lap. Her bottom lush and juicy and mine—but unavailable. Fuck me. Setting her aside, I reach for my iPod and look for something. Metallica. Marilyn Manson. Something crazy that will shut the f**k up all the protests sputtering in my head and the sensation in my chest of having lost some unknown battle before I even fought it.
PAST
LOS ANGELES
I booked a suite for Brooke and Diane, and one of the ladies doesn’t like it.
My lady, to be exact.
I was caked with sweat and still panting from my workout when she massaged the back of my neck, leaning close enough to whisper in my ear, “Mind telling me why Diane and I are together in a suite, Remy?”
She turned my neck to one side, then the other, her fingers light on my jaw, but I still refused to answer.
“You can’t do this, Remington.”
Biting back a laugh, I turned and touched two fingers to her lips, holding her gaze for a long heartbeat. “Stop me. I dare you,” I told her, then I grabbed my towel and walked away to my suite to drown all my frustrations in a cold shower.
Now I’m in the LA Underground locker rooms, sitting on a bench at the end while Coach wraps my hands, some song in my ears, when I see Pete in my peripherals wave someone over.
I see Brooke heading over to me, at Pete’s insistence, and I immediately hook my finger on my headphone cord and pull them down.
Brooke holds my gaze as she quietly leans over and pauses my iPod, then she walks behind me to seize my shoulders and starts working on my knots.
The instant I feel her fingers on my bare flesh, I groan and feel my body both tense with arousal and relax from the knowledge she’s with me.
I haven’t kissed her in what feels like a year.
I miss her in my bed.
I miss the way she moans and the way her soft, silky mouth swells under mine.
I miss her touch; I want it badly.
“Deeper,” I command her, and she goes in deeper with her fingers, using her thumb to roll over one of the larger knots. Relaxing my neck, I let my head hang and drag in a deep breath as she presses down until the knot disintegrates, and I groan from the pleasure of feeling the heat spread into my tissue.
“Good luck,” she whispers into my ear before she draws back, and my skin feels taut as a drum cover.
I stand and look at her, and I don’t know why she’s so determined to make me f**k her that she keeps her kisses away from me until I do, but I’m going to make her cave in to me before I cave in to her.
I’m not f**king her yet, no matter how ready I am to kill for it.
I’m not touching that sweet pu**y until it’s ready to be taken home—permanently.
Behind me, Riley comes with my robe, and I spread out my arms and ram them into the sleeves while I keep my eyes on her.
“Riptide!” I hear the call, and I bounce in place for a second, then trot out into the arena.
I take my ring like I always do, but tonight’s not a normal one. Tonight, I fight—
“Benny, the Black Scoooooorpion!”
I see him charge out of the walkway on the other side. That ugly black tat on his face, he storms out to the general booing of the crowd, but grins nevertheless.
Remembering the club incident, where he dared speak of my girl’s pu**y, I remind myself I owe him a beating. The moment he takes the ring, he comes up to center, and so do I, fixing my gaze on his yellow eyes.
His rage and my rage combine to create a powerful effect on the air.
“Fucking pu**y needs a woman to defend him now?” he says, spitting on the mat.
I laugh softly. “The bad news is, not even a woman can defend you from me now.”
We tap knuckles, and the fighting bell rings.
We wait it out, both of us inspecting the other, and I want my little firecracker to see this.
I want her to see me beat the living daylights out of this dipshit.
Flicking my eyes to the side, I notice Brooke’s chair is empty.
Scowling, I scan the arena and duck when Scorpion swings, then I come back and punch him, fast and hard, on the jaw.
Then I see her.
She’s calling out to a girl heading to the exit with one of Scorpion’s minions, while another of those motherfuckers holds her—Brooke—by the arms.
My blood runs cold, then hot in fury. I slam my fist into Scorpion’s jaw, shove him aside, grab the nearest rope and leap out of the ring onto the cement floor, leaving Scorpion spitting blood on the mat. The arena erupts with shouts and screams and the announcer yells through the speakers, “The victor, Scorpion! Scooooooorpiooooooon! Remington Tate has been disqualified from this round! Dis-qualified!”
I reach Brooke as she struggles to break free, and she looks tiny and feisty in that motherfucker’s grip, making me livid. I grab the hands on her arms and thrust them back, delivering him a look that promises he will die because of me, then I yank her into my arms and forget about everything but that she’s safely nestled against me.
Still, she fights me.
“No. No! Remy, let me go, I need to follow her.” She twists in my grip and lightly hits my pecs, her expression twisting in pain. “Let go, Remy, let go, please.”
I clench her tighter against me and walk her to the exit, because I don’t think she realizes what’s going on. “Not now, Little Firecracker,” I softly warn her. She stops squirming and peeks over my arm at the angry faces of some of Riptide’s fans, and I use my shoulders to shove through the crowd as they start getting vicious.
“Bitch. It’s your fault, you stupid bitch!”
Her eyes widen in horror as the crowd starts clawing angrily into the air, then she curls into me and lets me guide her out to the car.
“Fucking shit!” Coach thunders as the limo pulls into traffic.
“You’re down to third. Third. Possibly fourth,” Pete glumly tells me, handing me the T-shirt and sweatpants I wear after matches.
“You had this one down, Rem. You were training so f**king well you would have had his ass on a stick, man.”
“I’ve got it, Coach, just relax.” I shove into my casual clothes as quickly as I can, then I reach out and pin Brooke to my side, my blood still pumping hot as lava.
Rubbing my hand down her arm, I notice she won’t take her eyes off the window as if searching for that woman.
“You’re in the worst placement you’ve been in years, man, your concentration is shit!”
“Pete, I’ve f**king got it—I’m not screwing this up,” I assure him, rubbing Brooke’s arm faster so she knows it will be all right.
“I think Brooke should stay in the hotel next fight,” Riley mutters.
I burst out laughing. “Brooke comes with me,” I snap, shaking my head in disbelief at them.
“Rem . . .” Pete tries to reason.
I clench my jaw and shoot him a warning glare, not in the mood for this bullshit. We ride the elevator in tense silence, and I’m getting worked up by Brooke’s unease. The need to protect her from whatever it is that’s made her this uneasy is eating at my gut.
The doors roll open on her floor, and she gets out like a whirlwind I’m determined to calm the f**k down. The guys yell back at me and demand we have some words, making me snap, “Pete, we’re talking about this later, just cool your nuts, all three of you.”
“Get back here, Rem, we need to talk to you!”
“Talk to the wall!”
The door to her room is about to slam shut when I reach it and push it open to follow her inside. “You all right?” I demand.
The door shuts behind me, and she faces me with bewildered gold eyes and the face of my f**king dreams, and suddenly I feel as impotent and useful as a damn table, standing here while whatever it is tears my woman apart.
I’m not going to f**king let it.
Life can throw the curveballs at me, but not at her. I’ll catch them for her and I’ll throw them back. She’ll be untouchable if I can help it. She’ll be untouchable to everything and everyone but me.
She has to stop f**king risking herself!
As she eyes me, I hear her sharp inhale as she signals at the door behind me. “Go talk to them, Remy.”
My voice is rougher than usual, even to me. “I want to talk to you first.”