Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (30 page)

“Yeah, he doesn’t strike me a cat person. Or an animal person, really.”

“He’s not. I wanted to get a small dog too, but he said hell, no. He said whenever I’d like to move out and start paying rent I can get as many animals as I want.” Her eyes flickered to the cardboard bowls on the coffee table. “Which one’s mine?”

Cillian handed her a bowl and she took it eagerly, popping off the lid. It was filled with frozen yogurt she suspected was chocolate peanut butter cup flavor and covered with a variety of junky toppings, just like she liked.

She accepted the plastic orange spoon he offered her and poked through the yogurt, spooning up a bite. She closed her eyes in delight. “My favorite. Thank you.”

“I remember you loading up on that one the other night.”

“And what’d you get? Something boring again, I’m sure.”

He laughed and reached for his bowl. “You know me.”

Sammi clicked on the TV and scrolled through the channels as they ate their snacks. As she breezed past ESPN, she doubled back, seeing the word “MMA” flash across the screen; a reporter was talking about the tournament in Albany.

“Previously, the privately funded tournament will now be doubling the amount of fighters, due to state gaming regulations regarding the size of the purse. How the first set of eight fighters feels about this is unclear, as we’ve gotten no reply for our requests for comments, but it’s safe to say that the stakes have just been raised for everyone.”

Sammi muted the TV. “What’s this mean for you? Sorry. I don’t know the first thing about MMA.”

“No, it’s okay.” Cillian set his empty bowl back on the coffee table. “It just means that my chances of winning have statistically plummeted.” He shrugged. “And that it’ll be a wicked long weekend.”

“Plummeted? Really? You’re so good.”

“Just statistically. That’s where all my training comes in. In that sense, my odds are pretty much the same as everyone else’s. Training’s everything.”

Sammi nodded, pulling her spoon out of her mouth and pointing it at him. “What’s your song gonna be?”

Cillian blinked. “What?”

“Your walk-out music. Fighters always have walk-out music.”

Cillian shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that at all. Probably nothing.”

“You gotta have something. You can’t have nothing.”

Cillian smiled at her. “What difference does it make?”

“It makes all the difference!” Sammi exclaimed. “Are you kidding me? You gotta pick the song that gets you riled up, ready to fight. It matters.”

He shrugged. “So what song do you think I should have?”

“Well, I don’t know. Only you know that. But you gotta find one. And it has to be good.”

He laughed, folding his arms over his chest. “Okay. I’ll work on it. But I’m only doing this for you.”

“Thank you.” Sammi leaned her head on a sofa pillow and punched the volume back up.

“How’s your dance comin’ along?”

“All finished, just have to work out the kinks. I got a little time until June.”

“June? That mean you’re doin’ the showcase?”

She shrugged one shoulder, glancing down at the cushion, playing with a loose thread. “Probably. I mean, yes. Yes, I am.”

“Can’t wait.”

She lifted her head. “You’d wanna come?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Oh.” Fuck.
No pressure at all.

“If I’m invited, that is. What song did you pick?”

Sammi smiled. “You’re invited, I guess. As for the song, if I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

Cillian smirked. “Damn. That’s cold.”

At that moment, a local commercial came on, advertising the performance of
Giselle
on May 14th—two nights away. She’d almost—
almost
— forgotten that the performance was just around the corner.

Cillian was watching her. “Still no luck with tickets? Scalpers, internet, nothin’?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s okay. I’ve seen it live before. I have it on DVD.”

“Well, how ‘bout this? Thursday night, we hang out, take your mind off it.”

Sammi blinked. “That’s nice of you. But it’s okay, I’m just being dramatic about it.”

“So how ‘bout we just hang out together…because we want to?”

“You mean…like, a date?”
Could you sound any more like a child?

“Would that be so bad?”

Are you fucking kidding me?
“Ah, no.”

“How about dinner and a movie? I’ve been wantin’ to check out that Italian place downtown, La Cucina.”

Sammi’s ears perked up. “That’s my favorite restaurant.”

Cillian nodded. “Yeah? Coincidence.”

“Best Italian food in the city, outside my mom’s kitchen.”

“It’s a date? Can you get off work in time for dinner at, say, six, movie after that?”

“No problem.”

“Good. There’s somethin’ else I wanna ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“My parents are having a barbecue Sunday, and my sister’s gonna be there with the kids. They, uh—they want to meet you.”

Sammi brows shot up. “Really?”

Cillian cleared his throat, glancing down at his shoes. “Yeah. They’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh.”
He’s been talking about me.
Heat blossomed in her cheeks. “Sure. I’d love to go.”

He smiled. “Great. Hope your mom won’t mind. I can tell Sunday dinners are important to your family.”

Yep, and Ma’s gonna have a shit-fit.
“They’ll live without me for one night.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up in a grin. “You sure? I don’t want your pops and Uncle Gino whackin’ me.”

Sammi giggled. “You’ll be fine. Pretty sure, anyway. So, twice in one week…hope you won’t get sick of me.”

“No way.”

“I’m interested to see what Sunday dinner at with your family looks like compared to mine.”

“It should be a little quieter, for starters. You guys are…
loud
.”

Sammi tossed her head back and laughed. “Part of our charm.”

“That, and death threats.”

She shoved his shoulder playfully. “So, is that why you wanted to come over here? To bring me yogurt and ask me on two dates?”

Cillian shrugged. “That, and I just wanted to see you.”

“You did?” A little surge of pleasure went through her.

Cillian reached over and took her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Sammi looked at her hand, small in his large, strong one. Cautiously, her thumb brushed the back of his hand.  It was a hand that had pulled triggers, gripped knives, broken faces and bones. But now it just held hers gently, the fingers calloused and rough against her skin.

After a moment, Cillian sighed and glanced at his watch. Sammi looked at the clock and saw that it was almost ten.

“I guess I gotta get back. I need to finish some paperwork, then I’m sparring with Baz after we close. Twelve days to go.”

“Yeah, you better get to work.” Sammi allowed him to take her by the hands and pull her to her feet. “Thanks for—everything. Yogurt. Inviting me to hang out with you. You had me at the yogurt, though, just so you know.”

“I did? I’ll have to remember that. Froyo, and she’s putty in my hands.”

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. A crisp, clean smell clung to his skin and his clothes. Sammi leaned in and inhaled deeply.

“You always smell so good.” Her nose grazed the base of his throat and she glanced up. “Sorry. Is that weird?”

Cillian shook his head. His jaw tensed slightly as he lowered his gaze to her lips.

Sammi swallowed, working up her nerve.
You want this. Just…take it.

As if he were aflame, she ran her fingertips lightly up his arm to his shoulder, skirting up the curve of his neck to graze the back of his head. Pressing herself up on her toes, she leaned in close and brushed his lips with hers.

The light pressure of his lips cautiously returning her kiss was enough to set her skin ablaze and her grip on the back of his neck tightened unconsciously. As if that was his cue, he pulled her against his body, his lips closing around her bottom lip, pulling gently at it.

Oh, yes.

A soft moan breathed from her mouth into his, and she was all innocent eagerness, her lips hungry for his. He responded in kind, slipping one hand under her hair to massage the base of her skull lightly as he took her mouth in earnest.

Her hands explored his muscular back before she wrapped her arms around his neck. She let her tongue slip between her lips, brushing it against his. His hands tightened on her waist and a moment later, the soft caress of his tongue against hers pulled another breathy moan from her throat.

Her head spun like she was drunk, but instead of the queasy feeling in her belly, there was only warm pleasure.

I’ve been missing out.

She leaned so far into him he stumbled a quick step back and his little chuckle against her lips tickled her skin. His hands slipped beneath her hair, cupping her face, his sumptuous lips pulling gently at hers, his tongue soft and expert as it stroked into her mouth.

The slow burn that started low in her belly spread further south, concentrating itself in a needy tingle right between her thighs. The intensity of the flare of pleasure, of
want
, that pulsed there made her gasp softly.

Instantly, he pulled away, his brow furrowed and eyes intense as they searched hers.

“What is it? You okay? Want me to stop?”

“Don’t stop.” Her hands pulled greedily at his shirt to bring him closer. If she climbed into his body, she couldn’t get close enough.

Cillian fisted a gentle hand into her hair and slid his other arm around her as he moved his lips over hers, a luxurious combination of brushing and pressing and pulling, before he coaxed her lips apart again. He teased her tongue with his, sucking lightly at the tip, and the light pressure made her dizzy.

He gave her another slow, decadent kiss before his teeth nipped her bottom lip and he pulled his lips away.

“I wish I could stay, but I gotta go.” His rough, stubbly cheek brushed her face as the whispered words tickled her ear and made her shiver.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—sidetrack you.”

He trailed his lips along the side of her neck and chuckled again, the sound sending ripples of tingles across her skin, her knees actually buckling a little. “Yeah, you did.”

At the door, he turned to her, his eyes searching hers as he reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. His lips curved up on one side, then he reached for her and pulled her toward him for one more kiss.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” His lips skated up the slope of her nose and landed against her forehead. “Call you later.”

Sammi could only nod as she watched him start down the hall. “Cillian?”

He turned around. “Yes?”

A surge of emotion tightened her throat, confusing feelings of yearning and gratitude and something stronger than that swirling like a tiny tornado in her heart. 

Where have you been all my life?

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

Sweat poured down Cillian’s face as he chomped on his mouth guard, shuffling his feet quickly as his eyes locked onto his opponent.

They circled each other in the ring, their movements different as their fighting styles were different, but all the same, they each possessed similar traits. Each man moved with his head low, favoring his right side, eyes shifting in a mirrored fashion. Their legs took a similar stride length, their feet moved fast, fists rising into the same loose guard position. It was like they were brothers, and in a way, they were.

Brothers-in-arms.

Matthews’ eyes bored into him, taking in everything about Cillian—the way he breathed, the direction he looked, which side of his body was turned toward him, which way his feet pointed, how he shuffled—in the instant before he lunged.

Cillian knew what he was looking for, because it was also what he looked for, what any good fighter would look for. He focused on his buddy and quickly blocked the jab Matthews threw, and then shifted to the other side and blocked the follow-on hook. He lifted a knee to block a rib-height kick, and used his strength to shove Matthews away before he could sweep his feet out from underneath him.

“Good,” Matthews called to him, pulling out his mouth guard. “Very good. You’re much faster now, Killy.”

“I was fast before, you prick.”

“Not like this.” Matthews shook his head and flashed a grin. “Not like this.” He popped his guard back in his mouth.

Cillian had consistently sparred with Baz during his training, but now that he was getting closer to the tournament, he needed to crank it up a notch. Basanta was a good, strong, skilled fighter, but Matthews was also a certified combatives trainer, excelling in several martial art forms, and had once fought in the cage himself. His schedule didn’t allow him to train Cillian, but sparring with him was just as beneficial.

He and Matthews had grown up in the same neighborhood in Southie. Matthews had once rescued Cillian from a beat-down from a bully when they were eight; the bully had been a couple grades older, and was bigger too, but Matthews, despite being the same size as Cillian, had pulled the bully off with inhuman strength and proceeded to pummel him.