“But we need to stick to our deal. Plus-one. I’m just your plus-one.” Her skin prickled beneath his heavy regard.
“That what it felt like to you in my arms?”
No, more like falling in love. Staring down at his hand holding hers, his longer, thicker fingers gentle around hers, she couldn’t lie. “No.” The whisper hurt because her heart was just so damned swollen.
“Me either.”
“I’m scared. This can’t be real.”
“I’ve never had anything that felt this real. Ever. “
She jerked her head up, their stares colliding. Felt the impact right to her bones. Powerful awareness stretched between them, and Kat actually felt herself pulling back against it, trying to fight the magnetic pull of Sloane. “So what do we do?”
“I go to South America. You film your commercial-grade trailer. We talk on the phone, and I bet we both convince ourselves this isn’t real.”
A bubble of relief popped, giving her room to take a breath. Right. Things had gotten emotional when Sloane shared what happened to Sara. They’d separate for five days or a week and get perspective. “This thing will fade. We just got a little too intense.” Kat opened her door and eased out. Once she tested her weight on her leg, she looked up.
Sloane stood there, six-and-a-half feet of some serious beefcake spilling out of that tank top and shorts.
“You’re going to the gym now?” It was early and he’d barely slept.
Settling his hands on her shoulders, he touched the pads of his thumbs to the bared skin over her collarbone. “Changing the subject?”
“Yes.”
He grinned at her. “A run then the gym.”
“Drake says you train like a demon.”
“I retired from competitive fighting, not the discipline. I like training. It keeps me sharp.”
Totally plausible, but she dug deeper. “You really don’t want to do that pay-per-view fight thing that Ronnie T. Devonshire talked about? Caged Vengeance?” Did he miss it the way the other retired fighters seemed to?
He eased one finger over her brow. “That really bothered you?”
What could she say? It made her stomach turn and twist. Made her chest hurt. “It’s too dangerous.”
“You don’t know how good I am. Maybe it’s time I showed you. I have DVDs of my fights. Or you can come watch me spar.”
She shuddered. “I don’t want to see you bloodied and hurt. No matter how good you are, there’s always someone who could get a lucky shot, or who might be better. You’re the one that said part of the reason you quit is you’d been lucky not to sustain a serious injury but your luck could run out.” She looked up to the sky breaking with the lightest edge of pink dawn. “Sometimes the sounds of hitting triggers something.”
“Flashbacks?”
Lowering her chin to face him, she nodded. “Yeah. Flashbacks.” Not only was she tired of her issues, she didn’t have the right to tell Sloane what to do. “I need to go to work.”
He tucked his hand around her nape, leaned in close and kissed her.
Kat melted into it until he groaned and lifted his head. His eyes blazed. “We stop now, or I’m not going to just walk you to the door, I’m coming in.”
* * *
Sloane glanced at the text message confirming that his plane was ready and had the necessary clearances as he headed into his kitchen at the butt crack of dawn Monday morning.
“You’re still going through with this.”
Drake sat at the massive granite island. The pendant lighting didn’t soften the way cancer ravaged the man, making him look closer to seventy than his mid-fifties. The former UFC championship fighter had once carried two hundred plus pounds of powerful muscle. But the man on the barstool was so thin, his bones likely rattled against each other when he walked. His skin had a sickly cast to it. Only his eyes hadn’t changed. They were still hard and determined. Drake had been the one constant in Sloane’s life since he was fifteen years old.
Now Drake was dying.
Sloane took
“That what it felt like to you in my arms?”
No, more like falling in love. Staring down at his hand holding hers, his longer, thicker fingers gentle around hers, she couldn’t lie. “No.” The whisper hurt because her heart was just so damned swollen.
“Me either.”
“I’m scared. This can’t be real.”
“I’ve never had anything that felt this real. Ever. “
She jerked her head up, their stares colliding. Felt the impact right to her bones. Powerful awareness stretched between them, and Kat actually felt herself pulling back against it, trying to fight the magnetic pull of Sloane. “So what do we do?”
“I go to South America. You film your commercial-grade trailer. We talk on the phone, and I bet we both convince ourselves this isn’t real.”
A bubble of relief popped, giving her room to take a breath. Right. Things had gotten emotional when Sloane shared what happened to Sara. They’d separate for five days or a week and get perspective. “This thing will fade. We just got a little too intense.” Kat opened her door and eased out. Once she tested her weight on her leg, she looked up.
Sloane stood there, six-and-a-half feet of some serious beefcake spilling out of that tank top and shorts.
“You’re going to the gym now?” It was early and he’d barely slept.
Settling his hands on her shoulders, he touched the pads of his thumbs to the bared skin over her collarbone. “Changing the subject?”
“Yes.”
He grinned at her. “A run then the gym.”
“Drake says you train like a demon.”
“I retired from competitive fighting, not the discipline. I like training. It keeps me sharp.”
Totally plausible, but she dug deeper. “You really don’t want to do that pay-per-view fight thing that Ronnie T. Devonshire talked about? Caged Vengeance?” Did he miss it the way the other retired fighters seemed to?
He eased one finger over her brow. “That really bothered you?”
What could she say? It made her stomach turn and twist. Made her chest hurt. “It’s too dangerous.”
“You don’t know how good I am. Maybe it’s time I showed you. I have DVDs of my fights. Or you can come watch me spar.”
She shuddered. “I don’t want to see you bloodied and hurt. No matter how good you are, there’s always someone who could get a lucky shot, or who might be better. You’re the one that said part of the reason you quit is you’d been lucky not to sustain a serious injury but your luck could run out.” She looked up to the sky breaking with the lightest edge of pink dawn. “Sometimes the sounds of hitting triggers something.”
“Flashbacks?”
Lowering her chin to face him, she nodded. “Yeah. Flashbacks.” Not only was she tired of her issues, she didn’t have the right to tell Sloane what to do. “I need to go to work.”
He tucked his hand around her nape, leaned in close and kissed her.
Kat melted into it until he groaned and lifted his head. His eyes blazed. “We stop now, or I’m not going to just walk you to the door, I’m coming in.”
* * *
Sloane glanced at the text message confirming that his plane was ready and had the necessary clearances as he headed into his kitchen at the butt crack of dawn Monday morning.
“You’re still going through with this.”
Drake sat at the massive granite island. The pendant lighting didn’t soften the way cancer ravaged the man, making him look closer to seventy than his mid-fifties. The former UFC championship fighter had once carried two hundred plus pounds of powerful muscle. But the man on the barstool was so thin, his bones likely rattled against each other when he walked. His skin had a sickly cast to it. Only his eyes hadn’t changed. They were still hard and determined. Drake had been the one constant in Sloane’s life since he was fifteen years old.
Now Drake was dying.
Sloane took
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