Knock Out (Worth the Fight) Read online

  “I probably won’t be around that long.”

  Stevie’s gaze swept over her from head to toe. Then, his lips curled up, as if he’d discovered a secret he wasn’t about to share. With a wave of a hand over his head, he headed down the stairs. But something he’d said earlier had stuck in her mind and begged for clarification.

  “You said Jimmy’s second to last fight. Who was his last fight with?”

  Stevie’s shoulders seemed to slump as he turned. Even with the distance between them, Logan spotted the sadness in his eyes. She clenched her fists together, knowing the answer before Stevie even opened his mouth.

  “Keane.”

  * * *

  Deep in thought, Logan returned to the kitchen and, scrub brush in hand, went to work on the grill.

  Keane had already washed the plates and utensils. He stood quietly by, with his hip angled against the sink and his arms folded across his chest, watching her.

  A warm flush heated her cheeks. With a damp hand, she shifted the neckline of her sweatshirt higher on her collarbone and recovered a shoulder. The material had a mind of its own and slid back off. Self-conscious, she scrubbed the grill with renewed vigor.

  “What did Stevie have to say at the door?”

  “How much he enjoyed your sweet disposition and laughter. I don’t know how you are friends, given the way you treat him. The evening started out rough, and despite his attempts to lighten your mood, it ended tense and uncomfortable. I can tell he’s a good friend, and a nice guy.” She bore down on the grill brush while her point was being made.

  Keane snorted. “Nice guy. Just your type, too.”

  Logan halted the grill brush mid-circle. What was going on in that thick skull of his? He almost sounded...

  “Tomorrow, we’ll sleep in.” His deep, low voice—sexy as hell—caused her to drop the brush. It clanged against the grill irons.

  “Sleep in? Saturday’s the first two qualifiers.” She turned, ran her eyes over him, and wanted to lick her lips. Keane was built better than a model in a physical fitness magazine. But was he prepared for the fights? “Why the change in routine?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to squeeze in two more days of practice.”

  “What I need is sleep. A night of solid, dreamless bliss.”

  “Okay, a nice cup of rose mint tea—”

  “Not on the menu.”

  Logan frowned and stomped her foot. Jeez, three nights until the qualifiers, and he wanted to go on a bender.

  “Fine. Drink yourself silly. But remember, you promised me you’d fight and win. I’ve lived up to my end of the bargain. I’ve invested a lot of time here and tonight, all you’ve been is a rollercoaster of nasty and irritable.”

  Keane shifted off the counter and sauntered toward her.

  She continued, undaunted by the powerful man closing the distance between them. Her temper spurred her on. “Mr. Steak-For-Breakfast—remember him? The guy with the wry humor and shit-eating grin? Where did he disappear to? Hell, the times you smile are getting fewer and farther between. I really don’t like the way you treated Stevie. Or me.”

  As he came closer, she sidestepped, moved toward the center of the room, and collided with the kitchen table. With nowhere to go, she folded her arms across her chest. She turned and rested her bottom back against the table.

  Tension filled the space. A mixture of her anger, his physical presence, and something else. Arousal?

  Still, she pressed on. “You told Joe that I’m on a need to know basis. Well I have news for you, here’s something you need to know...”

  Keane moved in closer. With an unreadable expression, he looked down at her. She lost her train of thought, along with her nerve.

  One more step forward caused her legs to tangle together, one knotted vine of clumsy.

  “Here’s what you need to know.” His fingers caressed her bare shoulder blade and his eyes narrowed with intent. “Tea isn’t what I want, Luscious.”

  Hearing her new nickname roll off his lips was a game-changer, that’s for sure. Leaping leotard. The way he said it made her think of all the sexy things her overeager imagination had dreamed of doing with him, in various positions and multiple times, the past few nights. She felt his hands on her hips, lifting her up and setting her on the wooden tabletop.

  “This bit of skin has been driving me nuts all night.” A thumb retraced the hot path his fingers had left on her shoulder blade.

  “Keane, I...”

  He slid his body in between her dangling legs, swooped forward and captured her lips, effectively silencing her concerns.

  He tasted of Yuengling, not that she minded, as his tongue wound around hers in a sensual twist. So tender, so perfect was his kiss, she felt every muscle in her body fill with music—a heady sensation similar to the rush she always got after a performance. But better. Then, he withdrew.

  “Open wide,” he demanded.

  She hesitated, feeling shy and wanton at the same time, though the latter won out. Parting her thighs, she leaned back onto her arms.

  The corners of those plump, pink lips turned up. Logan felt breathless, as his ruggedly handsome features transformed by a jaw-dropping, make-me-yours-tonight sensual smile.

  “Your lips, Luscious. Open your lips.”

  God, she’d just spread her legs wide, and he was talking about her mouth!

  Her lips parted as she closed her eyes and gasped. Something salty touched her lower lip and her embarrassment was forgotten. Slowly, Keane caressed her mouth with the smooth edamame pod he’d plucked from the bowl on the table, using it as an erotic toy. Her tongue darted out for a taste and he offered up the bean. She devoured it as if it were an oyster, or some other rumored aphrodisiac.

  He slowly ran a finger along the moist seam of her lips, making her knees weak. Withdrawing it, his tongue ran along the same path, licking up the salty trail.

  Her lips parted invitingly.

  This time, his invasion was more aggressive and she found herself breathless from a kiss that made her blood sizzle and skin hot.

  He pulled back and caressed her shoulder. “Couldn’t take his eyes off this either, ol’ Stevie.”

  Her heart did a perfect cartwheel as she opened her eyes. “I doubt he noticed or even cared about a bit of shoulder.”

  His mouth moved across her collarbone and over one shoulder, turning her legs into wobbly liquid Jell-O. Then, everything seemed to happen at once.

  With a gentle tug, he lifted the sweatshirt from her body and over her head. His eyes smoldered, catching sight of her red lace demi-bra. Thank God their earlier encounter had made her toss the tan support bra back into the drawer and dig out this bit of flimsy material—one of several sexy yet unused bras she’d bought after Pierre had proposed. This particular bra hoisted her boobs up as if offering plums to the gods.

  He pulled back. “All night, I wanted another look and taste—no more. You’re sexy as hell but too nice. Too freakin’ good for the likes of me, not my type. Too complicated. And I don’t do complicated. Understand?”

  Logan tensed. Complicated? He was a poster child for complicated. Sexy and sweet one moment, and snarling deep in his throat and ready to pounce in the next. As for not being his type—just who did this mass of muscle think he was? Mikhail Baryshnikov? He was not even close to being her type...which made her falling for him all the more irrational.

  His fingers contradicted his words. They ran upward across her sides, finally angling in for a smooth caress of her breasts.

  Her body hummed with need, even if his words still bristled. No strings attached, huh? The liar. Looks like Keane wasn’t going down without a fight. I’ll show him nice. In the recesses of her mind, a familiar horn sounded, like the kind used to announce a mixed martial arts
bout. Her opponent stood just inches away, challenging her with his narrowed eyes. She bit her lower lip. Now was not the time for hesitation. Time to strike out and humble her cocky opponent. Reveal the weakness he all but handed to her on a silver platter, one engraved with the words You’re mine. For once, she was thankful for her tall, thin build and how her average-sized breasts appeared gargantuan—or so she’d heard. Might as well put these babies to good use.

  Locking eyes with his, she thrust her chest forward and moved a hand to the bra’s clasp. His eyes flared as the demi-bra snapped open and she shrugged it off and onto the table. She shifted back onto her elbows.

  Her breath caught, and her breasts jiggled. That was all that was needed. The horn had been sounded. Round one was about to commence.

  With a low growl, he shifted back, ripped his sweatshirt over his head, muscles rippling up and down his sculpted torso with the movement, and tossed it on top of hers.

  All the breath she’d been holding inside escaped in a sudden rush at the sight of the dark snaking lines of his tattoo. She wanted to run her tongue along its path, along his hills and valleys, and further south. Keane had another plan.

  He swooped in, gently grasped her arms and tugged her up, moving her forward to perch on the edge of the table. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  She did as commanded. Her thighs flexed against his warm firm body and she felt herself hoisted higher, their bodies closely connected and his arms secure behind her back. His head lowered, bypassing her lips so his mouth could capture one full nipple. Gently he sucked and rolled his tongue. The wicked man.

  Arching forward, she pushed her breast further into his hot, wet mouth.

  “Oh, my...”

  A few seconds later, his mouth released its prize.

  Her nipple pebbled in protest. He pursed his lips and blew. A warm breath of air trickled over her wet areola. Moisture heated her core.

  Their eyes met. Hers full of wonder, and his with a sensual, knowing gleam.

  He adjusted her position, bouncing her against him as if she were a feather rather than a strong, fit woman. Her erect nipples skimmed along the length of his warm chest, skin pulling on skin—turning them swollen with want.

  He maneuvered her onto the table with little effort. This time as she reclined backward, he followed, moving with her and over her. A bowl rattled an instant before his mouth devoured her own.

  Time felt suspended. Her emotions ran wild. Nervousness gave way to desire which, in turn, led to disbelief. The tingling of her breasts, the rush of lust through her middle and down between her legs caused her to shudder. Her libido shot into overdrive as he fitted his body over hers. Oh, yeah.

  She felt the rigid length of him press against her belly. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting firmer contact. His growl was absorbed by her mouth.

  A quick flicker of self-satisfaction shone deep inside her. All those unsatisfying years with Pierre...what a waste. The heat rolling from deep inside down to the juncture between her thighs wiped away any lasting thoughts of that jerk. Suddenly, it didn’t matter whether Keane was her type or vice versa. Nothing mattered more than having this fighter inside her.

  Running her hands down his sides, she hitched her thumbs beneath the elastic of his sweatpants and boxer shorts. Before losing her nerve, she tugged them down, over his hips and ass.

  His back stiffened along with his cock. Long and thick, and pressing against her mound. Her eyes almost rolled back in her head. She spread her thighs wider.

  “A girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” she muttered, her tone ripe with need, and awe. Hell, she had years to make up for, starting now. All Keane had to do was look at her and moisture coated her panties.

  His lips left hers. Her eyes snapped open to see his mouth tightened into a fine line. She had the impression he was going to pull away, a second before he did.

  “Where are you going? I thought you wanted this.” Her declaration sounded lustful, and desperate.

  Yanking up his clothing, he moved off the table.

  “Fuck.” He ran his hands across his temples and back over his hair.

  “Keane...?”

  “I thought I could do this. But you’re gonna end up hurt.” He offered her his hand. Her legs swung around and her bottom scooted across to the end of the table as she let him help her down.

  Once her shaky legs were planted firmly on the ground, he stalked over to the refrigerator, opened it and took out another beer. With a quick pop of the cap, he brought it to his lips and drank deeply.

  “But...you weren’t hurting me. You’ve been nothing but gentle and considerate.”

  “Fuck. That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re too fuckin’ nice,” he murmured the last part, then took another swig of beer. “We’re done here.”

  She was in a constant state of confusion with the wild mood swings of his—and this time, her frustration found a voice. “What is your problem? You know, everyone said you were a mean bastard with a heart as hard as steel. But I didn’t want to believe it.”

  The bottle tilted as he swallowed another mouthful. He finally turned to look at her. “Look, Logan, what do you want, for me to nail you on the kitchen table?” He placed the near-empty beer bottle beside the sink, like he was ready to pick up where they’d left off now that he’d had his say.

  His communication skills sucked.

  Logan laughed, the hollow sound filling the kitchen. “Is that why you stopped? Mr. Man-Of-Few-Words is now worried about his bedside manner?”

  Keane snorted.

  “What do you think I wanted, a marriage proposal?” He’d awakened something inside her, a sexual hunger she hadn’t known existed. A taste of what she’d been missing. Then he’d abruptly snatched it away, leaving her with that empty feeling she’d felt far too often of late.

  An odd expression crossed his features but vanished in a snap. “Nothing’s changed. It’s just like you’ve heard, I’m a moody, mean prick. If it’s sex you want, no problem. But don’t get used to it. Like Rosie said, I don’t do relationships.”

  Rosie. Hearing Easywrap’s name was like falling into a bed of thorny roses. Black ones. “You are so infuriating. What do I have to do, mail you an invitation? As if yanking your sweats down wasn’t enough of one.” She stomped her foot and her bare breasts bounced, reminding her she was topless. Her arms crossed over her chest protectively.

  Great, just great. Logan had to hand it to herself, she was a seasoned expert on falling for men who only thought about themselves.

  The lines around his eyes softened, but Logan was too furious to care. She grabbed her sweatshirt and tugged it on. Peep show is over, buddy.

  “Since we’re on a need to know basis, and you’ve been so considerate in enlightening me about your own concerns, I have news for you: you’re miles from being my type.” She stalked over to him and poked a finger at his bare chest to prove her point.

  He stared down at her intently. “Shit.” With another muttered curse, he wiped a hand back and forth over his cropped hair.

  “Once our agreement is fulfilled, I’ll leave you to the thieving blondes...more your type,” she added, before marching out of the kitchen and heading upstairs.

  Moments later, the front door slammed. Logan had no doubts about where he was headed. She punched a pillow. Smooth move, Rettino. Way to chase him right into the arms of that spandex-clad airhead. His type of less-complicatedness.

  Chapter Nine

  DOUBLE UNDERHOOK: When a fighter swings his/her arms beneath an opponent’s and knocks them off balance

  No more yoyo-mojo, Logan vowed, as she rolled over in bed and turned on the light. If anything, she’d learned over the past year that tomorrow was another day—one she would survive, with or without Keane.

 
From now on, it’s hands-off the merchandise, buddy.

  Bad enough her newfound sexuality was like an itch begging to be scratched. But the man she wanted, that infuriating, fickle, unpredictable man, held her at arms’ length when all she wanted to do was crawl up within them. And if all that wasn’t enough, her newly developing feelings for him weren’t reciprocated.

  Shifting her sweatshirt back up her shoulder, she tread barefoot downstairs. A cup of chamomile tea might help calm her mind. Hell, she’d drink an entire pot if it’d numb the effects of the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on.

  She sighed, and folded her arms across her chest to keep warm against the chill of the living room.

  The house was dark and quiet as she followed a path of moonbeams into the kitchen. She poured fresh water into a kettle and set it to boil on the stovetop.

  With a sigh, she headed to the living room to wait, and plopped herself down on the sofa. Instead of a soft cushion, her bottom met a solid wall of muscle.

  “Holy crap,” she cried out, as she lost her balance and tumbled back across the body sprawled out there.

  “Persistent, aren’t you, Luscious?” Keane’s deep voice breathed into her ear.

  She squirmed on his lap and tried to sit up, but Keane wrapped an arm around her ribcage, just beneath her breasts, and refused to let go.

  “You’re back. I didn’t see you. What are you doing? Didn’t you get what you wanted?”

  Keane leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “What I wanted...” He snorted, tugging her tighter. She felt the heat of his body against her back, all the way from her ankles to the top of her shoulders.

  “Keane, you smell like a brew pub. Let me go. We tried this once already, and you weren’t interested. Or is that your thing, get hammered and then get it on?” The words came tumbling out, thick with irritation.

  “I’m bad news,” he said, softly. His hands shifted and cupped her breasts over her sweatshirt. “But I think about you and this,” his finger caressed a nipple, as he continued, “all the fucking time.”