Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (6 page)

“Yes, she is, and she’s late—again. How many times can that girl’s classes run behind? I’m sick of covering for her. Coach cuts her more slack than Dean does. Then again, I’d expect the president of the CFA to be a ballbuster, and I’d expect Will to make it a priority to get her ass to work on time.”

“Give her some breathing room, man, she’ll come around. She’s still young, trying to figure things out and find her flow. You remember what it’s like.”

Kill’s brow arched. “Do I? When I was her age, I was a full-time parent and fighting to put food on the table.”

The doors slammed out front, and a moment later Willow came bursting into the weight room. “Look who the cat dragged in,” Kill grumbled.

“Sorry I’m late, Kyle. Oh, hi, Nikko. Missed seeing you around here for the last few days.”

“Hey, Willow. Good to see you, too.”

She came over and gave him a quick hug. He tried to fight the involuntary reflex to pull back because his body wasn’t having any of it. If she noticed his discomfort, she gave no indication, and even if she had, he doubted she’d let it stop her. Willow was free with her affection, nonjudgmental, and giving to a fault. The thing about her was when she said shit like,
It’s good to see you
, or,
I missed you
, she actually meant it. That girl was pure goodness. Kill was lucky to have someone like that in his life.

Willow turned to her brother, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. Like magic, that fighter’s scowl instantly dissolved. Damn, that girl had him wrapped around her cute little finger. It was entertaining as hell to watch, especially if you knew what a dour hard-ass Kyle “The Killer” Scott truly was.

“Classes ran late again.”

Nikko didn’t miss how Willow’s gaze darted to the floor as she rushed to give her brother an explanation. Huh . . . he wondered why she was lying. What was she hiding from him?

“That’s the third time this week, Will.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Thanks for covering for me.”

“I’m a fighter, Willow, not a housekeeper. I need to be training, not doing the gym’s laundry.”

She bit her bottom lip, looking truly remorseful. “I’m really sorry, Kyle. It won’t happen again.”

They both knew it would, but her brother refrained from pointing it out. Exhaling a sigh, he dragged his hand through his hair. “It’s fine, Will. Don’t worry about it. I can’t very well spar without my partner, anyway, who, by the way, is forty-five minutes late. I swear I’m getting both of you watches for Christmas.”

Willow turned away, but not before Nikko saw the guilty blush staining her cheeks.
No fucking way
. . .

“I’d better get to work,” she said, heading toward the laundry room. “Thanks again, Kyle, I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one,” he called after her. “So I expect lasagna with garlic bread for supper Thursday night. And not that frozen shit you tried to get away with the last time, either. I want Mom’s homemade recipe.”

“You got it,” she called, opening the door to the laundry room and waving good-bye as she rushed inside.

Nikko couldn’t hold back the grin tugging at his lips when Kill swung that surly scowl back on him and growled, “What are you smiling at?”

The dude truly didn’t know. Nikko held up his hands defensively and chuckled. “Nothin’ man . . .” He was not about to be the asshole that told this guy his best friend, who also happened to be his sparring partner, was fucking his baby sister.

Right on cue, Regan “Rapscallion” Matthews came flying through the door. “Sorry I’m late, man,” he called on his way to the locker room. “Just give me a second to change and I’ll be ready to go.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Kill yelled across the gym.

“Car trouble.”

“Your cell broken, too?”

“Nah, man. I had a flat.”

Had Willow flat on her back is probably more like it.
This place was turning into a regular
Days of Our Lives
.

T
he moment the door closed, the sexy stranger had her shoved up against it, the whirr of the jet engines drowning out her startled yelp. Vi wasn’t sure what to expect, but this was not it. It took her all of two seconds to realize she was out of her league, another two to realize she’d made a huge mistake, and another two to panic.

His mouth came down on hers with a savage intensity that stole her breath. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good. He felt
really
good—too good—and it scared the hell out of her. This was too much. The emotions he was stirring, the energy that lit up her nerve endings as he pressed his hard body against hers. She came online and connected to him on a level she’d never felt before. It was like being caught outside during an electrical storm, with the energy crackling around her prickling over her skin, making the fine hairs stand on end, warning something powerful was about to strike.

He tasted like pure sin. The way he kissed her, the way his mouth moved over hers so expertly and commandingly—it was like magic, drugging her, beckoning her toward the dark side. This was so much more than she’d bargained for. And he wasn’t wasting any time trying to finesse it. His hands were all over her—touching, claiming, grabbing and stroking
. . .

Instead of feeling liberated, like the strong, independent woman she’d set out to prove she was, Vi felt totally lost in herself and the magnificence of his touch. If she didn’t stop him, his fire would consume her and she’d leave this bathroom nothing more than a pile of ash. Belatedly, she realized this was not the man to reinvent herself with. This was a man who was a powder keg ready to go off and she was his flame.

“Stop
. . .
” She wasn’t sure if she’d actually said the words or if he was ignoring her. They were sounding in her head, but warring with the temptation to give herself over to what would no doubt be the hottest, rawest sex of her life. But the truth of it was, deep down, she was just a scared little girl, playing make-believe and pretending to be someone she wasn’t. How long before he realized she was a phony? This wasn’t her
. . .
She didn’t have casual sex in the bathroom with strangers—not even gorgeous, insanely sexy, and a little bit scary strangers.

“Stop
. . .
Um—” Oh, jeez, she didn’t even know his name! Vi wedged her hands between them, bracing her palms against his pecs and shoved. It was like trying to budge a block of concrete. She could feel the ridges of his muscles beneath his T-shirt. The man was flesh-covered steel.

On his own accord he stepped back, putting a small measure of breathing room between them—room they both needed because he was breathing pretty heavily. When his gaze connected with hers, she gasped, surprised at the tumult of emotions raging in those silvery depths. She got the feeling it was something she wasn’t meant to see, because in the next second it was gone, hooded by a stoic countenance and an unreadable expression of apathy. If she hadn’t seen it for herself, she never would have believed even a flicker of emotion existed behind those steel-gray eyes.

“What’s the matter, Clover? You look like you’re ready to wilt, and I haven’t even plucked you yet.”

Oh, mercy, she wanted to be plucked—in every metaphorical sense of the word.

Forcing back her reservations, she boldly met his gaze and said, “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to make sure you have a condom before things get out of hand.”

Who was she kidding? Things were already out of hand.

His top lip twitched, curling up in an amused grin. Holy shit, this guy was gorgeous.

“I got you, Clover. Just hang on and enjoy the ride
. . .
”

Before her lust-drunk mind could track what was happening, the man had her skirt up, her panties down, and her ass perched on the counter. Reaching behind his back, he pulled off his shirt to get it out of the way, and that was when time stopped. Her gaze fixed on the most impressive display of male flesh she’d ever seen. He was huge and definitely cut. As she took in the sight of him, she noticed a smattering of scars on his right side, but they only added to his raw, masculine beauty.

She was so awestruck and dazed. Her mind didn’t snap back to reality until he moved between her parted thighs and entered her with one well-timed thrust. She grabbed on to his shoulders for balance, her nails digging into his flesh. His hands gripped her waist, his calloused fingers pressing into her hips. Her core contracted at the sweet invasion. She’d never been filled so fully, so completely. He touched parts of her no man had ever reached. Vi wrapped her legs around him, not yet ready to let him go. Her heels dug into his ass, pulling him closer, and he emitted a growl of pure male satisfaction.

Fisting his hand in her hair, he jerked her head back with just enough force to let her know who was in control. The sting in her scalp sent a thrill arrowing right where his cock was buried deep inside her. Their eyes met—momentarily held in a breathless moment of anticipation as he stared down at her. Something passed between them. It was indescribable and yet so poignant, she convinced herself she’d imagined it—and then it was gone. Before she could give it another thought, his mouth came down on hers as he scooped her into his arms, backing her up against the door. With her spine pressed against the cool aluminum, this man, who no longer felt like a stranger, fucked her until she shattered into a million pieces.
Her release tore from her on a broken cry that startled Violet from her sleep, the spasm of her empty core gripping at a memory that had haunted her ever since she stepped off that plane. Her body coated in a fine sheen of sweat, she uttered a tortured groan and rolled onto her side, burying her head between the pillows as if that would somehow block out the memory of Nikko Del Toro.

Unable to fall back asleep after waking in the grips of a phantom orgasm, she lay there tortured by thoughts of the man. Images of the first time they’d met flashed through her mind like a screen projector replaying the X-rated film on an endless loop.

When her alarm finally went off hours later, she cursed it and hit the Silence button before tossing back the covers. With a sigh of frustration, she marched over to her closet and stood in front of it, trying to decide what to wear. She would not dress for him, she vowed, her pulse quickening at the thought of seeing Nikko in a few short hours. She’d have thought having him walk back into her life after thinking she’d never see him again was divine intervention, had it not been at her office. As it was, she could only think it a sick, cruel twist of fate.

Muttering a curse, Vi grabbed her most professional suit from the closet, a navy-blue number with silver pinstriping. She coiffed her hair in an updo that made her look more like a staunch librarian than a therapist. She might not be able to help being attracted to Nikko, but she could certainly do everything in her power to pretend she wasn’t. Looking the part of a professional was key to establishing boundaries, and something told her that man wasn’t big on boundaries.

Feeling more confident and in control, Vi gave herself one more
front and back check before heading out the door. She left early, know
ing she’d have to allow extra time to stop for coffee. There was no way she was going to face this day without a triple-shot depth charge.

Traffic was unusually light for a Tuesday morning and she arrived at the office early. Settling in, she used the extra time to input her notes from yesterday into Nikko’s file. She was busy dictating when the office phone rang. She glanced at the clock. It was after eight; Pen would get it. When it continued to ring, she picked up the receiver.

“Morrison Mental Health Services . . .”

“Violet?”

Shit
. . . “Barry, I can’t talk right now. This isn’t a good time.”

“It’s never a good time, Violet. We need to talk.”

No, they didn’t. That’s what she paid her lawyer for. She could hear the impatience in his voice through his pleading guise—manipulative prick. “You need to stop calling me, Barry. If you don’t, I’m going to have to contact my lawyer.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before disconnecting the call.

This was not the way she wanted to start the day. Why couldn’t he just accept the fact that they were over and no amount of talking, no amount of apologies, could ever erase the past? Thank God he didn’t have her cell. It was bad enough he’d gotten ahold of her work and home numbers.

The soft knock on her door sent her head snapping up. “You’re late,” she told Pen, who stood in the doorway.

Pen folded her arms over her chest and cocked a hip. “No, I’m not.
I was making coffee. I didn’t realize your arm was broken. Next time I’ll use my bionic one to answer the phone from the waiting room.”

Shit, she deserved that. Tossing her cheaters on the desk, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, Pen. That was rude. I’m going on, like, zero sleep and Barry just called.”

Her friend dropped the attitude and stepped inside the office, closing the door behind her. Genuine concern pulled her brows tight. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know. To talk? I hung up.”

“Good. Now maybe the creep will get the hint.”

She doubted it.

“Your eight thirty is here.”

“Great, thanks. Send her in.”

“Sure.” Pen turned to go.

“Hey, Pen . . .” She grabbed Nikko’s release of information from his file and handed it to her. “Can you fax this over to Camp Pendleton and get a copy of Nikko Del Toro’s military file? Jim’s going to need it.”

“No problem. I’m surprised you’re giving him up. You usually do all the CFA accounts.”

“Not this one.”

She could tell Pen wanted to press her, but thankfully she had a patient waiting for her in the lobby. “Please send Mrs. Keller in.”

Despite her busy schedule, the morning dragged by. As eleven drew closer, her pulse quickened, nervous energy humming through her veins. She blamed it on the Depth Charge, loath to admit the true source of her anxiety. The thought of seeing Nikko again filled her with mixed emotions—many of which she’d rather not ponder but found it nearly impossible not to. She was lost in such thoughts when the intercom on her desk buzzed, startling her as Pen’s too-cheery voice announced, “Mr. Del Toro is here to see you.”

Vi’s heart kicked into a full-on gallop.
You can do this,
she told herself.
Just keep it professional. Stay on topic. You’re going to do great.
She stopped just short of mimicking SNL’s Stuart Smalley by saying, “And gosh darn it, people like you . . .”

When she reached across the desk to press the intercom, she noticed her hand was shaking. “Please send him in.”

Seconds felt like minutes as she waited for the door to open, long enough that her palms began to sweat. Perhaps she wouldn’t be nearly as nervous if she hadn’t spent the night remembering Nikko with his pants around his knees and his hands up her skirt as his hot mouth devoured her—

“Hi, Clover . . .”

The husky lilt of his voice was exactly how she remembered it. “Nikko. Please, come in.” She gestured to the chair in front of her and scooted closer to her desk. Shifting in her seat, she recrossed her legs, accidently rapping her knee on the mounted hard drive beneath her desk.
Son of a bi—

“You all right?” he asked, pausing before taking his seat when the
thwap
echoed beneath her desk.

Her gaze locked on his and something pinched in her chest at the flash of concern in his silvery-gray stare. No one should have the right to be this handsome. Even dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, the cut of his definably hard body was unmistakable. “I’m fine.” She dismissed his concern with a wave.

“So, how’s the paperwork coming? I know the psychological profile can be a bit daunting.”

He stretched out in a lazy sprawl, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I’m almost done.”

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?”

His brow arched in question, but he didn’t respond.

“It’s all right,” she prompted. “You can tell me if there’s something on your mind.”

His gaze swept over her, his eyes darkening, making her feel tingly and overheated.

Slowly, he shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy on her, was he? Ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room, she cleared her throat and tried making small talk. They visited for a while, and he answered most of her questions, usually with several-word answers, but entirely deflected the personal ones. Though it may seem like she was steering their dialogue, she wasn’t arrogant enough to believe for one minute he wasn’t the one in control here.

“Let’s talk about the CFA,” she suggested, hijacking the conversation.

A shadow crossed his face. “What do you want to know about it?”