Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) (36 page)

He cups my jaw with both hands and tilts my head to look me in the eyes. “Not nearly as magnificent as you.”

“You say that, but she’s, like, model gorgeous. And she’s totally into you.” Dropping my gaze, I slip my fingers into the ends of my hair and wrap one strand around my forefinger.

“Is that what you’re worried about? Me and—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Please don’t say it.” I scrunch my face hoping, it will block out the image of his words.
Me and Camille.
Ick.

I feel his eyes on me. “Hear me, Mouse.” Thumbing my lower lip, he drags my gaze to his. “I’d rather cut my own dick off than put it inside anyone else. No bullshit.”

Oh my gosh.
Warmth floods my chest. I can’t believe he just said that.

“Blake?”

“Hmm?”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“That’s me, Mr. Romance.”

I giggle and push up on my tiptoes to kiss his smiling lips. “You’re something else, Blake “The Snake” Daniels. Always a surprise.”

“Yeah? You lookin’ for a surprise?” He grips my bottom with both hands.

A squeak shoots from my lips. “Save it for tonight. Right now, I’m hungry. Feed me.”

“Oh, I’ll feed you.” The rough baritone of his words combines with his wicked smile.

An aching low in my belly hums its request, drowning out the grumbling of my empty stomach.

Lunch smunch.

Twenty-five

Blake

It’s early. Through the plastic vertical blinds, I’ve watched the black night fade into purple and then blue. Sometime around purple, my woman rolled onto me. Her soft lips brushed against my pec and then moved down, getting me up in more ways than one.

After she gave me my wake-up call, I returned the favor.
Twice.

Our legs are tangled together. Her head rests on my chest, and her arm lies over my belly. I run my fingers through her hair in long strokes. It’s almost time for me to go, but leaving her bed makes me feel heavy. Every footstep toward the door is like dragging bricks.

“Snake?” My nickname from her lips drips like honey to my ears.

“Hmm?”

She swirls her fingers around the tattoo at my ribs. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I don’t know if you’re comfortable talking about it. If not, that’s fine, but I’m curious.”

“You can ask me anything, Mouse. I’ve got nothing to hide from you.”

“Why were you only in the Marines for two years?”

Except that.
Her question dropkicks my post-coital bliss right out the window.

I don’t want to hide anything from Layla, but I’m not excited about baring my ass to her either. Some stories can make a man look like a dipshit. This is mine.

I let out a long, deliberate exhale to calm my nerves. “Promise you’ll hear me out?”

She moves to look at me, her eyebrows pinched together. “Of course.”

“I never wanted to go into the military in the first place. My dad put the big fat fucking kibosh on my music, shipped me off to military school, and I found myself out of options. I liked combat training, so I threw myself into becoming the best. I couldn’t wait to use what I’d learned, to fight and protect my country. But orders never came. I brought it up to my pops, asked him why the fuck everyone else was going off to fight except me. He told me I’d never see a battle field.”

“I can see that. I mean, I’d be sick if I had to send Axelle into war.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, because you love Axelle. With my dad, it was all about control. I swear the guy got off on watching me suffer. Taking away my music, training me for a fight I’d never get a chance to win.”

She drops her cheek to my chest and resumes tracing swirling patterns on my skin.

“Guys I knew since military school were being shipped overseas. A lot of them never came back. I felt so damn helpless. One day I woke up and realized that I’d
let
my dad control my life. I was a grown man, and I’d given up so much of what I wanted. I decided that day I was getting out. No matter what it took.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I started an underground fighting circuit. After a few warnings, I finally got what I wanted.”

“What was that?”

“Discharged. Disorderly conduct.” The words taste bitter. I want her to see me as honorable, not as a fit-throwing kid with daddy issues. I wait for the information to sink in and hope it doesn’t change the way she feels about me.

She doesn’t say a word, or jump off the bed in revulsion. “I’m surprised your dad didn’t fight to keep you in.”

“He did for a while, until he realized that I’d eventually beat him at his own game. He’d rather let me go than have me spend the rest of my military career embarrassing him.” I run my hand through her hair, leaching comfort from the silky locks. “You know the most fucked-up part? I didn’t feel good when I’d finally won. I felt like a coward. It’s exactly what he wanted me to feel. So even though I got out, I still lost.” I rub my eyes with my free hand.

Reliving the day I was discharged, when I saw the disappointment in my father’s eyes and knew that nothing I could do would ever be good enough, still hurts. When will I finally stop caring?

She burrows into my side in silent thought. “You know, just because someone makes you feel like a loser, doesn’t mean you are. Look at your fighting career. From where I sit, I’d say you won. And in less than two weeks, when you go up against “The Fade”, you’ll prove it again.”

Her insightful words settle in the dark void behind my ribs, making me instantly feel better. I kiss her head, unable to vocalize how much I appreciate her understanding. More than ready for a subject change, I focus on the fight. “Two weeks. Can’t wait.” I’m so prepared, not even a flutter of nervous energy stirs at the thought. Or maybe it’s the thickness that hangs in my blood from the weight of our conversation. “Which reminds me, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” My stomach rolls with anxiety.

What does it say about a man who can walk into the ring to face a trained fighter and not even flinch, but the thought of asking his woman out makes him twitchy?

She nuzzles in closer. “What is it?”

I’m grateful she doesn’t tip her face to look at me. I don’t need the extra pressure. Pulling in a deep breath, I charge forward. “In five days, I’d like to take you out.”

Her neck stiffens a second before she lifts her head and props her chin on my chest. “On a date?”

“Not
just
a date.”

Her eyebrows pinch together and her gaze slides to the side then back to mine. “I don’t get it.”

“Pretty simple, Mouse. I’m asking if you’ll be my Valentine.”

A lazy smile curls her lips, seductive and sexy as hell. “Yeah?”

“That a question or an answer, sweetheart?”

“Both.” She dips her chin, a faint blush visible even in the dawn-hued light. “I’ve never had a Valentine.”

A woman married for sixteen years has never had a Valentine? Every time I learn of a new way her ex failed her, the burning in my chest that’s becoming as familiar as my own heartbeat flares up. I count to ten, take deep breaths, and force a steady voice. “That’s all right, Mouse. I’m a virgin Valentiner, too.”

She giggles and drops her cheek back to my chest. As soon as her eyes are off me, I scrape off my bogus smile. My pulse races. She has to be able to hear it from her position.

“What are we going to do?”

I’m still counting to calm myself down and release the lock my jaw has on my mouth. “Just be ready by seven. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’m excited.” She squeezes me tighter. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t go thanking me yet. My creativity is pretty pathetic. Although, I’m sure I could get us a private table at Zeus’s Playground. Maybe even free lap dances for the night.” I brace myself, expecting a slap on the chest at my teasing.

“I’ve never been to a strip club before.” Her hand moves from my waist to her mouth, and she chews her fingernail. “That’d be interesting.”

Well, fuck me silly.

“Mouse. No way I’d take you to a strip club on Valentine’s Day. I’m a dick, not an asshole.”

She relaxes back into my side. “Not sure there’s a difference.”

“You want to go to a strip club, I’ll take you another time.” That’ll be good. I’ll give her a stack of dollar bills to play with. I picture her sliding cash into a stripper’s G-string. My stomach pitches with jealousy at just the thought. No fucking way do I want her hands on anyone’s underwear. Guy or girl. And the men in the club would be lusting their asses off.
No. Fuck no.
“Or not.”

It wasn’t too long ago that the thought of two women together would have me straining in my shorts. Right before I met Layla, I had a hard time getting off with only one girl. And now, I’m happily shackled to one.

One.

It’s amazing how the right woman can change a man. I’ve seen it happen to others, but thought it’d never happen to me. And yet, here I am. Valentine dates, no one in bed with us except
us
, and all the baggage two people can carry.

Fuck, I’ve never been happier.

The light outside gets brighter, and I know I’ve delayed my escape as long as I can. “I better go. Axelle’ll be up soon.” I kiss her head and start to roll from her hold.

Her legs tighten around me. “Don’t go.”

I turn back to see her grinning. Her hair is scattered across the pillow, framing her face and neck. So damn gorgeous, my breath catches in my throat.

She shrugs one shoulder. “We can tell her you came over early for coffee and to take me to work. She’ll be excited to have the Bronco. She won’t know you spent the night.”

That would work. I have clothes in my workout bag, and I could shower at the training center. I lean in and kiss her soft lips. “Sounds good to me. I’ll get coffee and breakfast going. You shower.”

Her arms slide up her naked body and over her head. Even under the thin sheet, I can see that her nipples are hard from the chill in the room. She moans with an unhurried stretch that arches her back and pushes her breasts out from beneath the sheet.
Fuck me.

While her eyes are closed, I take advantage and make my move. My mouth covers one pink tip, sucking deep. She jumps with surprise then groans and wraps her hands around my head, holding me to her. Her body writhes beneath me. I’d do anything to bury myself inside her until tomorrow.

I pull back with a nip to her tender flesh. “Time’s up, sweetheart. It’ll have to wait.”

Her protesting whimper makes me grin against her heated skin. I run my nose between her breasts, dragging her sweet vanilla scent into my lungs. My hand finds her sheet-covered ass. I smack it hard enough to get her attention. “Shower.”

Her eyes narrow. “That sounded like an order.”

My teeth sink into my lip to hide my smile. I shake my head and move from her warm body to the chair across the room where I tossed my clothes last night. Throwing my boxers and jeans on, I think about my training schedule for this week, hoping it’ll kill my raging hard-on.

The sheets shift behind me, and I force my eyes to my button fly to keep from looking. If I see her strolling across the dim room naked, I won’t be able to control myself. The sound of her sock-clad feet against the carpet move behind me. She smacks my ass as she passes with a feminine giggle. Fuck, but my dick roars back to life.

I hang out in her room for the few minutes it takes to get my body in check. It’s never been this hard to force back my sexual impulses. I’m out of control when it comes to her. She’s crack cocaine to my temper and libido.

I’m in the kitchen making coffee when I hear Axelle’s bedroom door open. I don’t look, not wanting to catch her off guard, but she needs to know I’m here. “Mornin’ kiddo,” I call down the short hallway.

“Oh hey.” She shuffles into the kitchen, and from the corner of my eye, I can see she’s in bubblegum pink flannel pajamas.

“Coffee?” I hold a mug in her direction.

“Um… yeah, that’d be great.”

I move out of her away so she can grab her coffee.

After filling her cup with an insane amount of cream and sugar, she faces me. Taking a sip, she looks at me from head to toe. “Did you spend the night?”

Layla wanted me to tell her I showed up early, and going against her wishes is probably a shitty idea. But Axelle’s a smart girl. And lying to her will only make her not trust me. The last thing this girl needs in her life is another man she can’t trust.

“Yeah, I did.” I put down my coffee mug and lean against the counter, ankles crossed. “Not gonna lie to you, Axelle. I’m crazy about your mom. Spending the night without her sucks. But if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll stop.” I will. It’ll be painful, but I’d do it if it means gaining Axelle’s trust.

She takes a long sip of her coffee, then another. Her sky blue eyes lock on mine, and I can tell that she’s thinking hard about something. “Do you love her?”

Twenty-six

Blake

My throat swells. I cough, clearing my airway to speak. How the hell do I answer that? Do I love her? Do I? I pound my chest a couple times and look everywhere but at Axelle.

“Are you all right?” Layla—
thank God—
emerges from the hallway in a robe, with a towel wrapped around her head.

“Fine.” I cough again. “Yeah, fine.” Shit, talk about a sucker-punch. Where the fuck did that question come from?

Layla gives Axelle shit for having coffee, but her tone is teasing and lighthearted. They talk about something—what, I have no idea. I’m stuck on Axelle’s question. If I were forced at gunpoint to answer that question, I’m pretty sure I’d get shot. How would a guy like me even know what love is?

Jonah and Owen claim to be in love. They’re protective, possessive, and would sell their own balls if it made their women happy. I suppose I feel the same about Layla. But how do I know for sure? And in order to love someone, don’t they have to love back? My head pounds as my thoughts travel down a road of confusion and unanswered questions.