Take Down, page 5
It was his confidence, the way he seemed to take up the entire space any time he was near. She had no idea how he did it—all she knew was that she liked it, and she wasn’t even entirely sure why. But she wanted to understand the way he affected her, both physically and emotionally. When she was with him, everything else seemed to drop away, and she found herself intensely focused on him in a way that was both startling and intriguing.
Taking another sip of her drink, she turned back to Jules, asking a question about the fights. “Did you—” She cut herself off because Jules wasn’t listening. Nick had come up behind her, wrapping his muscular arms around her waist and kissing her neck. Jules’ eyes were closed, and she tilted her head to the side, giving Nick better access. Something tightened in Megan’s chest, and she found herself unable to look away.
Nick spun Jules around and gripped her hips, pulling her against him as he smiled, murmuring something Megan couldn’t hear. Jules tipped her head up and kissed him, and it wasn’t just a quick peck on the lips. It was slow and intimate, and after a second, Nick pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. He glanced up and saw Megan, sending her a sheepish smile.
She felt like a third wheel, but she couldn’t begrudge them their happiness. She just wanted someone to look at her—hungry and happy and alive—the way Nick was looking at Jules. Squashing down the shard of jealousy trying to dig in deep, she merely smiled. Maybe it was time to go mingle. Based on the way Nick was looking at Jules, he was less than five minutes away from pulling her into some semiprivate space and having his way with her.
“Sorry,” Jules said, her lips a little bit swollen when she turned back around, a flush staining her cheeks.
Still smiling, Megan shook her head. “You kids have fun. I’m going to wander.” She sent them a wink and started making her way through the crowd. Glancing back over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but chuckle, because sure enough, Nick was leading Jules toward the back hall where the bathrooms were located.
Pushing aside the dull ache taking root in the center of her chest, she moved through the club, observing the crowd, taking mental notes about the atmosphere. She inched her way farther down the bar to where the crowd was thinner, and her breath caught when she saw Gabe standing at the end of the bar, talking to a woman Megan didn’t recognize. The skin at the small of her back warmed as she remembered the feeling of his hand on her, strong but gentle, warm and reassuring, as he’d guided her back toward her seat. His hair was pulled into a low ponytail with a few stray strands hanging around his face, and his black T-shirt was stretched tight across his muscular chest.
He was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on.
The woman leaned in close, her hand on Gabe’s bicep, saying something in his ear. He gave a small shake of his head and the woman tried again, her hand moving down to his thigh. Megan read his lips as he said the words “not tonight” and grabbed the woman’s wrist. With a sulky pout, she turned and began weaving her way through the club, leaving Gabe alone.
Megan stepped up to the bar and ordered two beers, ditching her overly sweet concoction, and as she waited for the drinks, she reminded herself of all the reasons she needed to let her crush on Gabe go. He was distant, closed, evasive. He didn’t date.
And yet here she was, walking up to him with a beer in each hand. He didn’t notice her until she slid onto the stool next to him, his eyebrows inching up as she set one of the bottles in front of him.
“Come here often?” she asked, but the music was too loud.
He shook his head. “What?” He bent down, bringing his ear closer to her mouth. He smelled good, like clean laundry and a hint of aftershave. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wanting to memorize that scent.
“What did you say?” His deep voice rumbled in her ear, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.
Shit, what had she said? “Oh, nothing. Just, you know. Hi. Or something.” She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. He’d flustered her with . . . God, with everything about him.
The corner of his mouth turned up, and he spoke, but his words were snatched away by the music. She leaned forward. “What?”
He leaned toward her and repeated himself. “Hi. Or something.”
Butterflies flapped mercilessly in her stomach. Was he actually flirting with her? She nudged the beer bottle closer to him. “On me. For chasing away that creep.”
He stared at the bottle for a long second, not touching it. He licked his lips and then picked it up with a small nod. He said something, but once again, she couldn’t hear, and she let out a small laugh.
“What?”
He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear. She went completely still, goose bumps rising on her skin. “Glad you’re okay.”
“I am.” She gave a shaky nod, unnerved at being so close to him.
“What?” he asked, setting his bottle back down on the bar.
She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his arm. For a brief moment, she froze, and so did he. Swallowing thickly, she said, “I said, I’m okay.”
He nodded, not looking at her. His jaw clenched, and he gave his head a small shake. “Come with me.” Without waiting for her response, he took her hand. Heat shot up her arm, and she let him guide her down off her stool, as though obeying him were the easiest, simplest thing in the world. Lacing his fingers with hers, he led her through the club, her heart pounding in time with the music. She didn’t know where he was taking her, or why, but she didn’t care. The way he’d taken control was hot, plain and simple.
They reached the far side of the club where a set of winding stairs led up to a hidden alcove. A man standing at the top of the stairs unclipped the velvet rope when he saw Gabe, letting them through. A small bar, illuminated in blue and gold, stood off to the left, while the rest of the floor was filled with high tables and booths, spaced evenly apart. Music still played through the speakers, but at a much lower volume. Gabe led her to an empty table.
She glanced down at where their hands were still joined. He let go and she felt the loss of him, cool air swirling around her fingers. In a few long strides, he circled to the other side of the high table, setting his beer down and then propping his elbows on the table. The muscles in his arms bunched and flexed as he moved, the cut lines highlighted by the dim lighting.
“I couldn’t hear a damn word you were saying down there,” he said.
“Oh.” Apparently, he’d managed to short-circuit her brain. With his touch, with his voice, with his quiet control.
“So, you were saying?” He looked at her expectantly, and she couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, interested, bored, or what.
She let out a small laugh, and the light in his eyes shifted. “Not much of anything, really. Just hello and thank you.”
“We on the record right now?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
She smiled, shaking her head. “Nope. I’m off duty, which means you’re off the hook.”
He nodded slowly, his lips pursed. What would those lips feel like on her? Heat worked its way down her spine at the thought. “Off duty, but no date?”
His question caught her off guard, and she sputtered on her drink. “Uh, no. No date.” She cleared her throat, trying to get herself together. She leaned forward on the table, mirroring his posture. “Unless we’re counting you.”
“Me?”
“Well, you did put on a very convincing performance earlier.”
“Ah.” The light in his eyes shifted again. “No, we’re not counting that.”
“Too bad.”
His eyes snapped up to hers, and she couldn’t look away. Could barely breathe under the weight of his gaze. It was as though everything around them had disappeared, as though the only thing anchoring her to the ground was that blue stare. She could lose herself in it, and damn, was that appealing.
After several seconds, he took another sip of his beer, ending the moment. “Guess I’ll be fighting Oliveira next,” he said, switching gears.
Great. Now he felt like talking about fighting. “Looks like,” she said, taking a sip of her beer and nodding, trying to ignore her disappointment that he’d changed the topic. “How do you feel about that?”
He tipped his head, considering. “Fine. It’ll be good to teach him a lesson.” He blew out a long breath and leveled her with his gaze before continuing. “He needs to learn the value of earning something. You have no appreciation for anything if it’s all at your fingertips thanks to the size of your bank account, you know?”
“And you feel you’ve earned it?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She knew this wasn’t an interview.
“I’ve earned everything I have, both good and bad.”
“You think you’ve earned bad things?” Too bad this wasn’t on the record, because the conversation was getting interesting.
“Didn’t say that.” He took a long pull of his beer, his Adam’s apple working as he swallowed. “I earned my black belt in karate when I was sixteen. It takes hard work, discipline, determination, and skill to do that. I earned my way into Imperial, not with money or some stupid schtick, but by fighting my way up the amateur ranks in California. Switching from karate to MMA, you learn pretty quickly that a black belt only covers about two inches of your ass—the rest is up to you.”
She laughed, wishing she could include this new, more relaxed and open side of him in her next article. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned forward, enjoying listening to him talk.
“I earned the belt in Imperial the same way,” he continued. “Sweat. Blood. Grinding, day in and day out. And now here. Everything I’ve had, I’ve fought for. Every scar I have, I’ve earned.” He paused, his eyes now down on the table, his voice going quieter. “And everything I’ve lost, I’ve deserved.”
She wanted so badly to ask him about what he’d lost—she could fill pages with what he wasn’t telling her. But she’d told him they were off the record, and she didn’t want to push him away just when he’d started to open up. Before she could decide what to ask next, he turned the tables on her.
“How’d you get into journalism?” he asked, looking at her with open interest.
She opened and closed her mouth, surprised by his question. He was attracted to her—she knew that with a pretty high level of certainty. But this was . . . different. As though he was genuinely curious about her.
Licking her lips, she took a page out of his book and told him a partial truth, not wanting to get into why she’d moved to Las Vegas and was now working freelance. “It was always something I’d been interested in, so when the opportunity to pursue it came up a few years ago, I went for it.” After dealing with cancer, she’d decided to stop wasting her time at a job she hated and pursue what she’d always wanted to do, even if it meant starting her career over. But she didn’t want to talk about the cancer, not tonight, and not with him. It wasn’t something she shared easily, because she hated the way the light in people’s eyes shifted when they knew. And while she wanted lots of things from Gabe, his pity wasn’t one of them.
His eyes narrowed slightly, and she wondered if he was going to challenge her. “And how’s the article coming?” he asked, letting it go.
“Pretty well, I think. I handed the draft of the first one in to my editor yesterday. It should hit the site right after Christmas. You have plans for the holidays?”
“No.” He didn’t ask her about her plans, only stared at her in silence.
Well, all right then. She made a mental note, trying to keep a running tab of all the topics that were apparent conversation killers with Gabe.
Now that he was finally opening up to her, the last thing she wanted to do was kill the conversation. Talking to him, being the center of his focus, felt good. Really, really good.
And right now, tonight, she definitely wanted to prioritize feeling good over chasing answers she knew he wouldn’t give her. Suddenly, she wondered if she’d have to earn those answers—with time, trust, persistence—just like he’d earned his achievements. She wanted to know more about him so badly that she saw pieces of information about him as prizes she wanted to claim—not for the story, but for herself.
When it came to Gabe Maddox, she wanted so much. And she was willing to work for it.
6
“THEY’D LOCKED THE door and we couldn’t get back inside. The headmaster found us in the morning and let’s just say all the bathrooms on our floor were spotless for the next month.”
Gabe smiled at the image of teenage Megan and Jules getting caught sneaking out of their fancy boarding school on a run for ice cream. “As long as it was just for ice cream.” Damn. He’d been borderline flirting with her the whole conversation. He needed to stop, because whatever this was between them couldn’t go any further. But it was so easy listening to her talk. There was a comfort in her he hadn’t felt in a long time—a comfort he knew he didn’t deserve, no matter how much he found himself wanting it. Every time he thought he should walk away, she’d laugh and draw him back in.
Megan tilted her head, picking up on his barely disguised jealousy. “The first time was for ice cream, but by our senior year we’d discovered the boys’ school.” She gave him a teasing grin, and he could barely tear his eyes away from it.
First he’d been jealous of the guy who’d been forcing his attention on her in the hallway, and now he was jealous of the teenage boys who’d lured her out of her boarding school in the middle of the night. Damn. Megan Sinclair was dangerous. For the first time since his life had been torn apart, he wanted things he had no right to.
An uncomfortable ache accompanied the thought, so he rubbed his hand over his chest. “Shit. It’s after one o’clock,” he said when he caught a glimpse of his watch.
“Really? I didn’t realize it was so late.” She reached for her tiny purse on the table and pulled out her phone.
Neither had he. They’d talked a little about the music he liked to listen to during his workouts, which had led to a brief discussion of movies. They’d found out that they both liked superhero movies, even the cheesy ones. Then he’d asked her how she and Jules knew each other, and even though he hated talking to people, he’d kept asking her questions, wanting her to keep talking. They’d touched on her rooming with Jules in boarding school, then moved on to a brief discussion of her parents, who had retired to Las Vegas a few years ago, and then they’d somehow come full circle to the trouble she’d gotten into.
He usually avoided small talk with the women he dated. Hell, “dated” implied it was something more than sex, which it never was. But with Megan, he wanted to know everything about her, and that scared the hell out of him. He barely knew her, and she was already making him crazy with everything he couldn’t have. How quickly would she get under his skin if they took this further?
“And I’ve missed three texts from Jules,” she said, her eyes wide as her thumbs flew over her phone’s screen, typing out a quick reply.
“Did you ride here with her?” He was surprised that he wanted her to say yes and that Jules had assumed she’d found another way home and left. He imagined taking Megan home and walking her to her door. They’d kiss and she’d lean back against the door, her perfect breasts pressed against his chest. He’d fill his palms with her ass and pull her against him. Then she’d ask him to come inside and he’d say yes, as long as she understood that it was only one night. No-strings sex.
“No, but I don’t want her to worry.” Finished with her text, she put her phone away. “Not that she was. I think Nick kept her occupied.” She laughed and the sound moved down inside him, warming all his cold, hollow places. It sounded stupid, but the longer they talked, the more he felt that dark place deep within him settle down. It wasn’t angry or hurting.
Everything was quiet. And quiet felt good.
“I have to go. I have an early workout tomorrow.” He pushed back from the table, and she straightened.
“On Sunday? Fighters don’t get a day off?”
“Not if they want to win.” But that wasn’t necessarily true. He knew plenty of fighters who took a day off on the weekend to spend time with their families. But he didn’t because both his body and mind craved the exhaustion that came with relentless training.
Her eyebrow rose, and he knew she wanted to comment, but she only said, “I need to go too.” She stepped away from their table, and he followed her.
“Are you in the parking garage?” he asked. When she nodded, he said, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” He wasn’t quite ready to give her up for the night. His hand had automatically found her lower back again and he applied gentle pressure to guide her into step beside him. His palm tingled, aching to slide lower. His fingers wanted to curl into the fabric of her dress so he could trace the skin of her thighs, but that could only ever be a fantasy because Megan gave off a good-girl vibe. He’d bet she’d never been tied to her bed, thoroughly enjoying it as a man fucked her senseless. She wouldn’t want the only thing he had to offer. But he couldn’t deny that the thought of corrupting her . . . fuck. It went beyond his wildest fantasies imagining her tied up, blindfolded, shaking, begging, coming undone.
They made their way through the club, the crowd thinner than before, as they headed out. Megan was an attractive woman, so men noticed when she walked by, but they’d see him and look away. And he liked that they thought she was his. He fought the urge to move his hand to her hip and pull her closer as they walked, as if she really belonged to him.
The constant dinging of slot machines in the MGM hotel lobby gave way to easy-listening music in the hallway that led to the garage. He spent half the walk reminding himself of all the reasons he should leave her alone and the other half fighting an erection. She was tense as well. The muscles beneath his palm were tight and she wasn’t even bothering to chat, which he’d noticed she did when she was nervous.
