Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) (22 page)

He slid out, until just the head of his cock remained in her entrance and her eyes widened, then sank again slowly. They had hours alone, and no worries about a young son to run in and interrupt them. He intended to eke out every ounce of pleasure he could before he had to be back.

“Harder,” she begged. “Graham . . . Graham, please.”

“Trust me,” he whispered, pulling out again at an achingly slow pace, and back in again. He was so deep inside her, so tight against her. Nothing could separate them. Nothing would. He would love her forever, make her his forever. Use this lovemaking to cement in their minds the commitment their hearts had made to each other.

He could have stayed like that for hours, simply slipping and sliding in and around her body. Toying and teasing until they were sweaty and panting and near-crazy with need. Another day, another time, he probably would. For now, he contented himself to watch her face every time he pushed into her. Her eyelids twitched, her lips curved and she made a little humming sound of pleasure. As if she were napping in a hammock, and a gentle breeze rocked her.

But even his heart couldn't fully control his body, and soon he felt the buildup of an orgasm he was helpless to tamp down. Reaching under her raised thigh, he massaged at her clit with his thumb, taking his cues from her changing expressions, until her eyes flew open and met his.

“Graham,” she whispered, just before the wave crashed over her and she climaxed. He flexed and held on as long as possible, wanting to give fully to her, before he could hold out no longer, and
followed.

22

“I
don't know what kind of prize you get if you win this boxing tournament,” Kara said, idly scratching Graham's back, “but you get my vote for the gold medal in making love.”

“Aw, thanks baby.” He kissed her shoulder, as if that were the only part of her he could reach without moving. He was exhausted, that much she could see. But still, he'd managed to rock her softly into an amazing orgasm. The man's talents knew no bounds.

Snuggling against him, she sighed. “I'm sorry I can't stay for the finals. I changed the ticket you bought me to take me home day after tomorrow. I could only get three days off from work . . . and I had to beg pitifully for that.” Not to mention, she couldn't justify missing more than that, budget-wise.

“You came. That in itself is a miracle to me.” He nuzzled at her temple. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Maybe I shouldn't say that right after you rocked my world downstairs, but it's true.”

“‘Rocked your world downstairs,'” he repeated on a laugh. “That's a new one. But I believe you.”

“Good.” She waited to see if he would add anything, but he seemed content to just lay with her in his arms. “You've got another hour or so, right?”

“So sayeth the clock.”

“Maybe we could talk a little about the practicalities.”

“Practicalities. Not sure if I can manage it, since I think my brain is still liquid. Can I just say how much I appreciate your job? This whole flexy-bendy thing is really growing on me.”

“I bet,” she said. “But I mean, what happens when we get home. The termination is going to happen, but it takes a while.”

His body went from lax to stiff. She hated the change.

“Uh-huh. Usually it's at least six months, maybe more. The courts don't take it lightly, as well they shouldn't. But if he's agreeable, and you've got a good lawyer, it shouldn't be a huge problem.”

“Good. But I'm saying that things will have to change for me and Zach. I'm looking for cheaper places to rent, and I might have to pick up another couple of private clients for personal yoga in their homes. Zach's almost to an age he can stay by himself for a few hours if I have an evening client, so that will help, but—whoa!” She barely managed to clamp down on a shriek as Graham rolled her on top of him straddling his chest.

“There's a cheap place out in Hubert. My place. And if you want to take on extra clients, that's fine, but it's not necessary. Zach could stay by himself, but why, when he can stay with me at home?”

This is what she'd wanted him to bring up again. Finally. “Well, you hadn't mentioned that part. Besides, I'm not sure if it's smart for me to go directly from receiving child support to having a live-in boyfriend. Or would I be the live-in girlfriend? Never mind. The point is, maybe I should try to do it myself for just a little bit first.”

“You could,” he agreed, and her heart dropped like the Tower of Terror ride. A little fall, then a catch. Then another little fall, and another catch. “Or you could accept that we're going to be together forever, and just suck it up and move in with me. You have nothing to prove. And even if you did—which you don't—you've proven it for ten years. Jesus, Kara, you were eighteen, pregnant and alone. You figured it out. You've done it. You would have done it even without child support . . . or what measly child support he's let trickle in over the years. Give yourself some damn credit for past achievements, would you?”

Just like that, her heart rose again. “I see your point.”

“Then hear this next point. I want to marry you. I was going to ask you again when we got back home. You weren't escaping me that easily. I figured on planning out something soft and romantic and flowery. The kind of proposal you deserve.”

“I don't think anyone
deserves
a certain kind of proposal.”

“You deserve the best. The absolute best. And I was going to talk to Zach again, man to man. Give him the heads-up. Maybe take him with me ring shopping if I could sneak it past you.”

“Oh.” Her heart made the trek up now, into her throat. “Oh.”

“I'm not asking a ten-year-old permission, that's weird to me. But Zach and I are cool, and I figured having a good talk about it, one-on-one, would be the respectful way to handle it. The kid deserves respect.”

“Why are you so perfect?” she whispered, watching his dark brown eyes soften. He rose up, shifting her back to sit on his thighs, and kissed her. He was so gentle, so tender with it.

“Perfect for you, like you are for me. Not a perfect man, just a perfect match. I was going to wait. I still will, if you want me to, though at this point it feels almost like a technicality than a necessity. Do you want me to?”

She shook her head no. “Now, please.”

“Buck naked, in a cheap hotel room right after having wild sex. Yup, this is one for the grandkids.”

She pinched at the small space of skin between his pectoral muscle and his armpit. That caused him to yelp and palm her ass cheeks with both hands, squeezing in warning.

“If you want to do it again, I won't stop you. But I don't want to go back to North Carolina without the promise, Graham.”

“In that case . . . Kara LeAnn Smith, will you marry me?” He pressed his finger to her lips before she could answer. “Will you let me be a father to Zach? Will you make a few siblings for him with me? Will you trust me with your and Zach's lives?”

“Well,” she said after a minute, blinking because he'd become blurry in her vision. “After that, I'm not sure what woman in her right mind would say no.”

“That's a yes?”

“You idiot.” She kissed him, pulling him tight against her. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

“I love you. I love you both.”

“We love you right back.”

*   *   *

THE
knock on Graham's door at exactly twenty-one hundred hours made him smile. He got up and expected to see one of the coaches standing there, doing a head count. Instead, he found Reagan. “Hey there, pretty lady. Does your guy know you're knocking on my door instead of his?”

She smirked. “Bed check was relegated to me tonight. Coaches' meeting. You all set? What?”

He tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean, what?”

“You're smiling. Like, loony smiling. What . . . did something happen?”

He could tell her, but he had a feeling Kara would want
to share the news with her girlfriends. So he simply shrugged and said, “I got a win, I got to see my girl . . . no reason not to be smiling.”

“Hmm.” Her tone said
I'm not buying it
but she simply waved and walked down to the next room to knock. “Bed check!”

He pulled back in his room, prepared to close the door, but the door across from him opened and Greg poked his head out. “Bed check Nazi gone?”

“I can still hear you,” she said from down the hall.

“Love you!”

“Get back to bed!”

There was laughter from the other rooms in the hallway.

“Okay, quick, before the drill sergeant comes back. What happy pills did you take?”

The door next to Greg's opened and Brad's exasperated face stuck out. “Both of you shut the gossip train down, would you?”

“Sweeney's got news. I can smell it.” Greg turned his eagle eyes back at him. “'Fess up.”

“Wow, third degree much?”

“I still hear you,” Reagan sang from around the corner.

“God, she's a pain in the ass.” Greg grinned from ear to ear. “Mine. Now spill. Fast.”

“I . . . might have asked Kara a very important question.”

Both men stared at him, dumbfounded.

“She might have had a very positive reaction to that question.”

“Jesus H.,” Brad breathed out. “You really went for it.”

“And it paid off, apparently.” Risking it, Greg stepped out into the hall and held out an arm for a guy hug. “Congratulations, man. You're a lucky guy.”

“Yeah, lucky. Congrats and stuff. Night,” Brad said, zipping back in and closing his door silently.

Greg and Graham both smiled and shook their heads. The man was crazy about rules and not breaking them.

“Let's follow Grandpa's lead and hit the rack. We've got a huge day tomorrow.”

“Yup. And you wouldn't want your fiancée to see you lose like an asshole, would you?” Greg nudged his side with an elbow. “Night.”

Graham shut his door and headed for bed. Ten seconds later, there was a soft knock.

“Uh, Graham? I'm locked out.”

“Gregory Higgs!” Reagan yelled from down the hall. “Your ass is grass, Marine!”

“Fuck,” his friend croaked.

Graham laughed quietly and tucked himself back down.

23

H
is first match had been easier than yesterday's. After a third round KO, Graham advanced to the next round, as did most of his team members. They had a three hour break for lunch, which Graham intended to use to spend as much time as possible with Kara. He had one more day with her before she headed home. She'd miss the finals, but just having her there at all was a dream come true.

He took her out to lunch, picking somewhere close where he knew he could order the right combination of protein and carbs to keep his energy up for the next round. Kara stared at him when he ordered his chicken dry, no seasoning.

“Hidden salt,” he explained. “Normally I wouldn't care. It's just this week. Brad, now he's a stickler for that junk.” Handing the menu to the server after Kara ordered—the much more appetizing sounding classic burger and fries—he reached over and held her hand. His thumb rubbed over her left ring finger. “Any requests?”

“What, like karaoke?”

“No, for your ring.”

She scrunched her nose. “I don't know. I'm not big into jewelry so . . . something small? Like, not set too high. And nothing flashy, or with stones all the way around. Just the single stone on top is good. But not an oval or a pear. Emerald or princess is fine.”

He snorted. “But you don't know.”

She blushed. “Okay, so once you think about it a little, stuff comes to you. I haven't been designing my ring for years or anything. I don't have any hidden sketches of wedding dresses anywhere. It just wasn't on my mind. Even when I got pregnant, my first thought wasn't to rush down any altar.”

He played with her fingers a moment while their server dropped off a bread basket. He pushed it towards her, but she just set it aside. “No regrets? You weren't anti-marriage before this?”

“No. I just didn't think I'd get to experience it. I didn't think I'd be this lucky.” She squeezed his hand. “You are so unexpected in my world. So out of left field.”

He picked up her hand and kissed that same ring finger. “You blew me away from the start. I only wish I'd started seriously pursuing you sooner. I feel like we wasted weeks of time.”

“Not wasted. I have to be more cautious, naturally. I got to see you as a man first, before seeing you as a potential . . . something.”

“Is that what I am now?” he teased. “A something?”

“You're an everything.”

She humbled him. And he could not wait to get through the tournament and get home to continue his life with her and Zach.

*   *   *

KARA
stood beside Marianne as Coach Ace called the Marines over for a chat. Even those who had been knocked
out from the tournament were sticking to the team like glue. They were a unit. It was awesome to watch.

“I love my job,” Marianne said with a smile, arms crossed over her chest. “I'm going to miss working for the Marines, but I've already started sending out my résumé.”

“Really? Where?”

“California.” She leaned her head over to rest on Kara's shoulder for a moment. It was a gesture Kara remembered from their teen years, when they'd talked about boys, or needed to bitch about life. It was a call for support. “He asked me to move in with him last night.”

“I love how you say that. Move in, like you just have some friends come over one day with a few pickups and haul your stuff a few blocks over.” Like she would be doing.

“He's got an apartment full of stuff. I've got a furnished rental here. It won't be hard. Leaving here will be,” she added, wrapping an arm around Kara as the guys huddled in tighter. “Leaving Mom and Dad, and you. I've always been less than two hours away from home. But just look at him,” she added with a sigh.

It shouldn't have surprised her, but somehow, the thought of Marianne not being on the east coast, within an hour or so drive, was sad.

“I can't believe you won't be nearby. It's like the end of an era.”

“I know it. But how could I say no to that man?”

“No clue,” Kara said, deciding now was as good a time as any. “Since I couldn't say no to mine. He asked me to marry him.”

Marianne jerked against her, her hand tightening at Kara's waist. “Say what? He . . . what? You . . . what?”

“New rule: You can't say ‘what' for the rest of the day. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. Don't tell your parents though. I don't want them to accidentally spill the
beans to Zach. We want to tell him together, in person, when Graham comes home from here.”

“No, of course not. Wow . . . my best friend is getting married.” She paused. “You're not going to make me wear an ugly bridesmaid's dress, are you?”

“What, as opposed to your usual haute couture polo and khakis?” Kara laughed. “No, no bridesmaids. Small. Simple.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, I should probably check with Graham first, shouldn't I? He might have some ideas of his own for the wedding.”

They both looked at each other for a moment, then together said, “Nah.” And laughed.

“God, I'm going to miss you.” She hugged Marianne once more. “Now, they look like they're about to get started. Should I grab my seat?”

“First, would you mind doing me a favor? Levi is a no-show today. He's probably in a corner somewhere listening to depressing music and mourning the loss of Nikki. Again.” She rolled her eyes and dug out a key with a temporary plastic tag. “They gave us a storage closet each for supplies. Could you go in there—third door on the left behind the bleachers—and grab the cardboard box labeled ‘gauze'? It's pretty small, but they're breaking the huddle so I need to get started and I'm going to run out of gauze soon. Wiggle and jiggle if it doesn't automatically open.”

“Sure.” She took the key and put it in her pocket. They both watched as the Marines gathered together, hands all gathered up high in the center. Someone in the middle counted down, and together they let out a booming “Oo-rah!”

Kara rubbed up and down her arms as the hairs stood on end. Graham and Brad wandered by, giving her and Marianne a wave before walking toward the locker room to get changed from their street clothes into their boxing uniforms.

“Okay, that gets me, every time.”

Marianne nodded. “Ditto. Thanks, I'll see you in a sec.
Gotta prep the room!” And her friend was off, jogging away in her bright white athletic shoes, blonde hair bouncing from her tiny ponytail. With a smile, Kara walked over to the storage to get the box of gauze. She counted the third from the left, struggled with the key in the lock a little, then struggled to push the door open—well, Marianne
had
warned her the doors sucked—then walked in. As she felt for a light switch on the side by the door, she sniffed.

“What . . . is . . .” She spotted the small flame in the corner just as the door slammed shut behind her. She turned, fighting to find the doorknob, but in the dark it was nearly impossible. She took a deep breath to yell, but something covered her mouth. A hand, she thought dimly, as she was pulled away from the door.

“Shut up,” a male voice hissed by her ear. “Just shut the fuck up. I'll let you go soon, you just have to shut up and stay here awhile.”

Levi. She was 90 percent sure. Between the slender body being pressed up against her and the voice, she would have bet Zach's tiny college fund on it. She shook her head, trying to tell him who she was, trying to tell him about the fire, trying to get any words out, but he only squeezed her jaw until it hurt.

“Fucking shut up. God, you're as bad as them. We're just going to wait until this pile has burned, then we can go out and you can go on your way.”

He'd started the fire? Deliberately?
Inside?
What the hell was the matter with him? He had to be crazy. She couldn't tell what exactly the fire was feeding on, but it grew quickly, growing fast, burning in a blackening cardboard box that was surrounded by nothing else on the concrete ground. She was no Smokey the Bear, but even she knew this wasn't a fail-safe way to contain the flames. Crazy Pants apparently didn't know that. Or maybe didn't care . . .

And it was getting hotter. Perspiration beaded her
forehead. Behind his smothering hand, it was harder to catch a breath. “Please,” she moaned, though the word was garbled, nearly inaudible.

“Please? Please what? Let you go? Did the Marines let my brother go when he wanted to get out? No, they recalled him. They killed him. They murdered my brother. Why would I let you go?” His voice was low, and as she twisted just a little, she could see him staring intently at the fire, as if needing to see every last bit turn to ash.

“They're all assholes. All of them. They've made Nikki and I feel like nobodies, looking down on us. Hell, your own boyfriend screamed at her, and then turned her in for that stupid prank. Just a prank!”

His hand tightened reflexively, and she squeaked.

“I'm not like them. I don't kill. I show mercy. But mercy and forgiveness aren't the same thing, are they? Sometimes, you have to pay for your mistakes before you can be forgiven. Little ways, you know?”

She wriggled a little, testing his hold. He cinched his arm tighter, but she instinctively fought harder, clawing at his arm now in an attempt to find one millisecond of weakness she could break out of. Then he moved up to grip under her chin. His forearm cut into her windpipe, making the effort to breathe around his hand almost impossible. She quit struggling in order to save her breath.

“Yeah, you'll calm down. If they don't have uniforms, they can't compete, right? That'll hurt. They should have disbanded already. I don't know why they kept going. The MPs are idiots. Taking Nikki away. She's innocent!” he said in a guttural voice, and he squeezed with the final word. “One more mistake.”

Seeing stars, Kara knew even if he didn't intend to, he'd suffocate her. The air was too close. Too thick now. She wouldn't make it. Weak with lack of oxygen, she went completely lax against him, which forced his hold to shift just
enough that she swung her arms back and dug her thumbs into his eyes. Or as close to his eyes as she could reach. Simultaneously, she arched her back away and swung her heel up between them, aiming for his crotch.

Thank you, yoga, for giving me this range of motion.

She missed the crotch, but landed a solid blow somewhere on his inner thigh. And he let go enough that she could fall to her knees and crawl for the door. He lunged for her, landing on top of her and flattening her to the cool concrete of the storage room.

Opening her mouth, Kara fought to scream, but choked on a cough instead.

Gotta get out. Gotta get to the fresh air.

Hysterically, she thought she'd never before considered the stale, humid air of a gym to be fresh before. But she'd have given everything she had for one gulp of it now.

She bucked and fought, rolling with Levi for every inch. Boxes rained down around them, some on top of them. Her temple hit the metal edge of something and she retched, stomach heaving from the pain. But she kept fighting, even as her lungs burned and her limbs weakened.

And from the corner of her eye, she saw the flames rising higher.

*   *   *

“WHERE
the hell are the uniforms?” Tressler walked back out of the locker room, nearly bashing Greg in the head with the door as he shoved out. “Do you guys know where they are?”

Greg looked at Brad and Graham, then shrugged. “I don't know. I put mine in the hamper last night to be laundered, just like they said.”

Graham looked around, wondering who actually did the laundering. “I'll ask Coach.”

“We better find them soon. I'm third up, and I can't go
out there in my damn underwear.” Tressler stormed back in with a scowl. Brad rolled his eyes, shook his head and went to Marianne's training room. He wouldn't fight until last and had plenty of time to kill.

Graham was toward the middle of the day, with another potential match later in the evening if his first was a win. He jogged over to where Coach Cartwright and Coach Ace stood, heads together, discussing something.

“Coach, sorry to interrupt. Do you know where the uniforms are?”

Coach Ace raised dark brows, while Coach Cartwright turned in a circle, as if they were going to magically appear within arm's reach.

“Cook was in charge of those. Or maybe Ms. Robilard. Check with one of them.” Dismissing him, the coaches went back to their discussion.

Okay then. He looked around the gym, spotted Reagan standing beside the site manager—the event staff had been introduced to the teams on day one. He walked over. “Reagan, hey, sorry to bother you.”

“No problem. Al, we'll talk later?” She took Graham's arm and walked a few feet away. “What's up?”

“Looking for our uniforms. They're not in the locker room like they were yesterday. We were told to leave them in the hampers and they'd be laundered and ready for today.”

“Yes, I gave them to Marianne's intern. He might have left them in the training room. Let's go check.” She hooked an elbow with his, partly for stability, he knew, because of the sky high heels she insisted on wearing, and partly because she was just a friendly person. “You're doing well so far. How are things?”

“Things are good.” He waited for her to ask about the engagement, but she didn't. So Kara hadn't shared the news yet. He'd let her do so when she was ready. They entered the
training room together, finding a harried Marianne taping Simpson's ankle and looking around with wild eyes.

“You,” she said, pointing a finger at Reagan. “You have to help me. I'm alone, and I ran out of gauze. I'm using what they have,” she added, waving a hand at the Army and Air Force trainers, “but I like my stuff better. I sent Kara for the extra box in the storage room, and she hasn't come back. Either she forgot, or she couldn't find it, or someone abducted her and took her to the Bahamas where she will live forever and ever.”