Knock Out (Worth the Fight) Page 13

  Despite the rush of lust triggered by her highly sensitive nipples, she halted his exploration. His rejection still stung.

  She decided on the truth. “Keane, what I was offering is no longer on the table, so to speak. You made it clear where we stand.”

  A long exhale of breath said he’d heard her.

  “Let’s call it a night. Time to sleep it off. Tomorrow, you’ve got another ungodly day of training. I’m holding you to our agreement, no matter what happens between us.”

  The arms around her didn’t relax. She wasn’t going anywhere until he let her. Why was he here in the dark living room, clearly plastered, and not asleep in bed?

  Perhaps if he talked about whatever was bothering him, he could put his sorrow to rest. And focus on the fight. Focus on...her.

  “What’s up with you? Maybe I can help. Do you want to talk?”

  He stiffened beneath her. “Shit...no.”

  Logan sighed deeply. Nothing but a headache, trying to help someone who didn’t want it.

  “Listen, Logan. Everything I said before is true. It’s not you—fuck, a few years back when I was a different guy, we might’ve had a chance.”

  “You are rather intimidating, but there is a softer side to you that shows up occasionally.” Her voice was sharp, and took on a sarcastic quality as she added, “A shame tonight wasn’t such a night.” Good, she’d give him a humble taste of you-can’t-have-me pie.

  “Hmph, you don’t know me. You don’t want to know me.”

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  “Well, that’s one too many in my book.” She shifted and he held on tight. Quietly, she offered, “I’ve had my share of problems this year, as you know. Some days, it was hard to get up out of bed, and not just because of the paparazzi. My whole life is broken. Everything I dreamed about is shattered. Yet, I get up every day and try to make the best of it.”

  “You are so naïve,” he replied, but his voice sounded hoarse.

  Still, his bluntness pissed her off. “Naïve? Maybe, though I’m not about to drown my misery in liquor. Or take my irritation out on other people. If you ask me, that’s the cowardly way out.”

  There was no mistaking the tension in his body beneath her. Yet his actions surprised her. He let her go. She climbed up and out of reach, to the far end of the couch.

  But Keane wasn’t finished, and what he said next froze her in place. “Cowardly, huh? I’d say it’s preservation. Of self and of others.”

  He sounded downright miserable. Perhaps it was the booze, or a guilty conscience, but Logan sensed he was on the verge of talking—really talking—to her. Whatever it was, it was on the tip of his tongue. She couldn’t let him swallow it back.

  “Are you having trouble sleeping? Is that why you’re here on the sofa?” she asked, a soft invitation for him to confide in her. Better he be on this sofa than in a bar, or in Rosie’s bed, she reminded herself.

  He grunted.

  “Why don’t I make you some chamomile tea? Relax you so you rest. Even sober you up some.”

  Keane sat up on the couch, swinging his long legs onto the carpet. Silence followed his movements, and he was once again a large, dark shadow lounging next to her. “I’m going back out for a while.”

  Logan’s heart raced in her chest. Given the time—almost 3:00 a.m.—his business wasn’t at a bar. This time, a woman waited for him. It irked her. She’d literally spread her legs for him, and he’d turned her down flat, yet he desired a woman’s company. It didn’t make sense. Helplessly, she added, “What about training?”

  A long exhale sounded beside her. “Look, I’m not backing out of the fight. No need to worry about that—hell, bashing heads in sounds damn appealing.”

  While his words should have been reassuring, she wanted more from him than the assurance he’d fight. His earlier comment rang out in her head, something about Stevie not being able to keep his eyes off her. Keane had been annoyed. A feeling that showed he was affected by her in some way. Hmm. She squared her shoulders. There was more than one way to tame a fighter.

  Sliding closer to him on the couch, she pressed her legs against his. In the dim light, she saw him hunch over and brace his arms on his legs, as if preparing to stand. Quickly, she held out her carrot. “Your friend Stevie was funny. Nice guy.”

  “Fuckin’ Stevie,” he grunted and shifted, ready to stand.

  “Is he dating anyone?”

  In one swift movement, he was on his feet. Facing her, he thrust his hands to his sides and flexed his fingers. The moon cast a cool highlight on his furrowed brow, twilight on a desert canyon.

  The teapot’s whistle sang out, ruining everything.

  Logan clambered off the sofa and, without looking at him, moved into the kitchen and turned it off. Listening for the sound of the front door closing behind him. This is what she wanted, right? Her hands-off-Logan approach to dealing with him.

  As she sat down in a kitchen chair, she felt his presence in the door.

  He hadn’t left.

  Feeling reckless, and unsure of the outcome but oh-so-sure she was proving a point—especially being they were back in the kitchen—she continued, “Well, is he?”

  He shifted, a big, shadowy puma preparing to pounce. At least, that’s what she thought he looked like with the tension rolling off of him there in the moonlight.

  She lowered her shoulder, hoping there was enough light. The uncooperative sweatshirt cooperated and plunged deeply, revealing a pale, naked shoulder and a good portion of her collarbone. She angled her head and swung her hair, offering an unobstructed view of the side of her neck and a good portion of the top of her arm. Just a taste of what he’d passed up.

  The only warning she had of his next move was his sharp inhalation of breath.

  In four long strides and one swoop, he scooped her up in his arms. Without a word, he carried her out of the kitchen and living room, up the stairs, down the hall, past the guest room, and then the temporary gym. A well-placed kick and his bedroom door flew open. The vibrating wood echoed the sound of her heart pounding against her chest. Common sense screamed out caution but she ignored it.

  He stalked inside and over to his bed. With one bounce, she landed in the center of it.

  Before she could even mutter the word yoyo, he crawled across the mattress and in an instant, his mouth claimed hers.

  The kiss made her forget everything. Nothing mattered except his seductive, urgent tongue. She was overwhelmed first by his tenderness, then by a raw, all-consuming sexuality that made her toes curl. It was an endless, drugging kiss.

  Until he broke his lips away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He’d made the same comment earlier. He was trying to communicate something important. Something emotional.

  Talk about size. For whatever reason, this was a huge issue for him. She certainly didn’t want a repeat episode of their kitchen table dance. “Are you really that...big?” Logan questioned, hoping he’d believe the quiver in her tone was from excitement. Well, part of it was.

  His massive physique took up most of the center of the mattress as he knelt before her. Of course he was big.

  He snorted. “That’s not what I mean. You’ll be prepared to take me, I promise.”

  Prepared to take me... All the nerve endings in her body tingled at his words. But instead of jumping on him, Logan crossed her legs on the mattress. The air needed clearing, and Keane’s troubles needed to be addressed.

  “I’m tougher than I look. You don’t want a permanent relationship. Fine. Six fights is all you need to win for me to get back on my feet. Then, my life will be back to normal. And I’ll chalk up our time here together as a necessary transitional stage.”

  Her declaration sounded hollow. She w
asn’t the kind of woman who took things lightly—especially mind-blowing sex, which was the only given here. Especially mind-blowing sex with this hunk of a man, someone who, judging by the tightness in her chest, she’d come to care for. Who am I kidding?

  “You can’t help me. No one can.”

  “Help you with what?”

  “Forget it.” He stood and quietly undressed.

  Her mouth went dry at the sight of him. His erection was beautiful, so strong and masculine, just like every other part of him.

  “Take off your clothes, honey.”

  Whatever he’d been trying to say was lost as his eyes flared, his hands fisted in her hair and, with a gentle backward tug of her head, his lips captured her own.

  * * *

  Logan’s eyes seemed greener, bright and shiny. A passion-filled oasis from the turmoil in his life.

  A long-overdue reprieve with her fist wrapped around his hardened cock. Fuck, and he’d thought that kiss—the one he’d ended seconds ago when her hand slid into his pants—had been hot. With each long stroke, she broke down any lingering twinges of conscience that reminded him once again how this was a bad idea.

  “You’re so...um...” she whispered, her tone husky with desire.

  He grunted as her palm moved along his length.

  “Does this feel nice?” she murmured sweetly.

  Nice. That word grated on his nerves, reminding him just how nice he wasn’t. He felt like rolling her over and fucking her six ways to Sunday, with no regard for how many bruises she’d find tomorrow morning. Instead, he’d settle for smashing his fist into the pillow. Safer for both of them that way. Time to get the fuck out of Dodge before it was too late.

  Yanking his leg free, he rolled onto his back. Her grasp on him stayed firm, unbroken. He let out a long, frustrated exhale.

  She came up onto her knees. “What is it with you? For the record, I’m not buying it.”

  “Don’t push me. Nice isn’t what you’ll get with me.”

  “Bleeding leotards,” he heard her mutter. “We’ve got to do something about this pillow talk. All this yoyo-mojo because of one silly word.”

  She cocked her head, narrowed her eyes at him and hesitated for a second before speaking in a low voice, laced with desire. “Then, nice isn’t what you’ll get.” In less than a heartbeat, she took the length of him in her mouth.

  “Jesus.” His hips came up off the mattress. The warm, wet pressure felt so fucking good. He’d tried pulling back, both physically and emotionally, but Logan just wasn’t getting the message. Better off with someone who knew very little about him, someone who wouldn’t be prying into his business, making him talk about things better left unsaid. But for the life of him, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Well, the persistent minx had dug her own grave.

  Her head bobbed. He couldn’t get enough of her. Weaving his fingers into her hair, he resisted the urge to plunge deeper. Instead, he massaged her scalp with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

  Minutes passed and the tension grew as she sucked him hard. Closer, and closer. Finally, the wicked woman withdrew with a loud smacking sound. Keane made a low noise deep in his throat.

  “Hmm, Mr. Few Words wants more, does he? Can’t remember ever being so turned...oh!”

  In one smooth sweep, he flipped her up and over onto her back and pinned her legs open—wide open. His mouth moved between her thighs, his tongue licked and swirled at her core, then plunged deep.

  It was her turn to shoot her hips off the mattress. “Oh, my...” she moaned. Seconds later, her thighs began to tremble and he knew she was close.

  “Couldn’t leave me in peace, could you? I’m going to take you hard and fast. You understand?” He reached for the nightstand drawer where he kept condoms. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he rolled the latex over himself. He moved on top of her and rubbed his cock against her moist juncture.

  “Yes, hard and fast.” Her legs shifted on the mattress, spreading her wider. “Please.”

  Tucking his hips back, he flexed and his cock parted her folds. Inch by inch, he glided into her until the thick tip was fully embedded. Despite his warning, he didn’t want to hurt her or, truth be told, frighten her with the fierce extent of his lust. She was tight, so fucking tight, and her inner muscles pulsing around him caused him to harden even more.

  “God, more. Please... Is this your hard and fast?”

  He flexed his ass, driving in another fraction of an inch, and her hips tilted up to take him in further. “Please...”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Luscious,” he groaned. And with one long thrust, he slid all the way inside her until he was fully seated.

  “Oh!” she cried out, shaking. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hips bucked upward. Butterfly-light convulsions fluttered around his cock, moist and warm. Even in his drunk, lust-fueled haze, he understood her response. A short, sharp orgasm.

  Bewildered and pleased, he relaxed and waited for the glow to subside before resuming his thrusts.

  “You know, the room isn’t that dark, Keane. I can see you smiling,” she muttered, throaty and deep from her release.

  Sexy, satisfied minx. His lips twitched.

  “Are you going to grin all night? Or are you going to move...you know, hard and fast?”

  His laughter rang out, foreign and carefree. Until she withdrew her hips and gave his cock a long, firm stroke.

  He hunched over, his chest pressed on top of hers. His mouth found her neck and with a quick jerk of his ass, he plunged deep, once, then back out. All sense of time and place were lost as he soon found the perfect rhythm.

  She sought his mouth and sighed deeply. Her nails ran along his back and her hips thrust up to greet him. Her luscious tits rubbed against his chest in tune with his movements, causing his cock to pulse and swell.

  “Oh, my God...”

  Her sweet cry brought him to climax along with her.

  * * *

  He must have fallen into a deep sleep, with Luscious as a body pillow pinned beneath him. Either the early morning light filtering into his bedroom had awoken him, or the sinking of the mattress beneath him.

  Squinting, he peered at Logan’s lovely ass as she bent to retrieve her clothing from the floor.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded, without thinking.

  She jumped. Holding her clothing to hide herself, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Um...I thought I’d head back to—”

  Whether it was alcohol or the fact he wasn’t fully awake, whatever it was caused him to spring from the bed and stand before her.

  Despite her gasp, her eyes greeted him with a lusty perusal of his body. The effects of her attention jutted out proudly between them.

  Reaching, he grasped her waist, stepped back toward the mattress, and sat down, maneuvering her so she stood straddling his legs.

  “Put your knees on the mattress.”

  The look on her face was priceless, a mixture of surprise and excitement.

  He quickly rolled a condom onto his rigid length. With one hand, he positioned his cock between her legs and with the other, he tugged her down onto him.

  “Your turn to be fast and furious, Luscious.”

  Her eyes sparkled gently until she took his words to heart. Then, they sparkled brighter than stars in a desert night.

  * * *

  When Keane woke again, her head was nestled on his pillow and her legs were twined with his. Even in sleep, Logan was sexy as hell. Her lips were pink, and plumper than usual—swollen from his kisses. She smelled like sweet vanilla mixed with the scent of their passion. When was the last time he’d studied a woman after sex?

  He should feel ornery. Mean. His typical morning reveille. But this wasn’t a typical morning. Despite the hangover, he
was well-rested and satisfied. The light filling the room said it was midday. Maybe later.

  Logan blinked her eyes open, and he glanced back down at her. “You’re not getting rid of me now, you know. I could lie here all day.”

  Warning bells went off in his head. Damn, he wasn’t a cuddling, romantic kind of morning guy—even being well-rested.

  “If you could see the look on your face. Boy, it’s a good thing you established the rules ahead of time or I might be heartbroken right now. What I meant was...” She motioned upward with her thumb.

  The beautifully refurbished copper tin ceiling—one of his first renovations. He grunted, careful not to show the swell of pleasure rising up in him. She liked his ceiling.

  “The former owner had them covered with drop-ceiling tiles,” he heard himself saying. Frowning, he wondered what else she’d be capable of prying out of him if he wasn’t careful.

  “It’s beautiful, Keane. I almost had an amazing ceiling once, in a pre-war apartment I found on the Upper West Side. God, I loved that place. Good bones, you know what I mean?”

  Her voice caught, and he studied her face. Sadness lurked behind the green depths of her eyes. “What happened, you sold it?”

  She sat up in the bed and self-consciously adjusted the covers around her chest. He followed suit.

  “I put up most of my savings toward it but it didn’t work out,” she responded, her words bitter.

  Instinctively, he reached over and slid his arm behind her, cradling her head. “So, what happened?”

  “Pierre happened. When we got engaged, we pooled our finances together—which really means he depleted my bank account—to buy an apartment. I’d been away in London, dancing. It was a high point in my career.” Her lips lifted but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “When I returned, Pierre’d already purchased a place, and not the pre-war we’d been searching for but a modern co-op. He called it his big surprise, as if that justified his actions. Wasn’t the only surprise that jealous, egotistical jerk had for me, either.”

  Mention of that asshole made him scowl. “You took his ass to court, right? Sued him for robbing you blind?”