Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (13 page)

“Are you telling me you’re not?” she challenged, and God forgive her for praying he would deny it.

Aiden held her stare, seemingly caught in an internal battle before he exhaled a frustrated sigh and roughly dragged his fingers through his hair. “It’s not that simple, Ryann.”

Not that simple? Oh, it was very simple. “You either are or you aren’t, Aiden. It’s not quantum physics we’re talking about here. So which one is it?”

“Technically, I
am
engaged.”

Oh, my God! She couldn’t believe he just admitted it! Ryann saw red. How dare he touch her like she meant something to him, kiss her like his very breath depended on consuming hers, and then in the next moment admit to being bound to another. “You asshole!”

She lunged for him, but Aiden caught her wrist before her palm could connect with his face, robbing her even that small satisfaction. She struggled and flailed as he pinned her down to the mattress, saying nothing as she fought to get free. She didn’t want to want him, didn’t want to be attracted to him—didn’t want to care about him.

Unbidden, the threat of tears burned the back of her eyelids, but she refused to give them quarter. This was ridiculous, she barely knew this man. She would
not
cry over Aiden Kruze, dammit! But lack of sleep and sheer emotional exhaustion was working against her. This was not her proudest moment. Oh, hell . . . who was she kidding? This was fucking embarrassing.

Exhausted, she stopped fighting, hating the way her body responded as her quickened breaths rubbed her chest against his. A tingling current of erotic energy made her sensitive skin feel hot and too tight. As she struggled to quell her unwelcome response, Aiden remained silent, seemingly unaffected as he watched her with that impenetrable glower he gave his opponents in the cage.

After a moment, he bit out a nasty curse. “Are you quite done yet?” When she didn’t respond, he growled, “Holy hell, you try my patience. Right now I can’t decide what I want to do more, throttle you or fuck you.”

The vulgarity of his profanity should have shocked her more, and it definitely should not have rekindled the ache blooming between her thighs. What in the hell was wrong with her? She thought she knew herself better than this. Playing it safe had always been her MO. The kind of guys she gravitated toward were predictable and well . . . boring, though she preferred to think of them as safe. There was nothing predictable about this MMA fighter/lawyer who seemed to be the epitome of contradictions.

“Do you honestly think if I had any intention of getting married next week that I would be in bed with you right now?” The offense in his tone told her the question was rhetorical. “What kind of a piece-of-shit prick do you take me for, Ryann?”

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, he dragged his fingers through his hair again and pinned her with a stare that seemed to be searching for something she didn’t dare hope for. This was crazy—the man went through women like toilet paper. How many before her had hoped to be that special one? How many had imagined a connection with him that wasn’t there when he held them in his arms and kissed them like they were all he ever wanted? Of course he made them feel special. If he didn’t, they wouldn’t be clambering into his bed and he wouldn’t be Aiden “Disco Stick” Kruze.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked her.

Surprised by his question, she blurted the first answer that came to mind that wouldn’t give away her internal struggle. “Because you’re insanely hot and apparently I’m an idiot.”

He chuffed, a grunt that equated to
Figures
, not looking at all surprised or pleased by the backward compliment. “That’s not what I meant. What I want to know is why are you here? Why are you working for my mother?”

Oh, that . . .
She shrugged, going for nonchalance but failing miserably. “I have my reasons.”

“Which are?”

“None of your business,” she replied, notching her chin defiantly. “Why are you engaged to someone you have no intention of marrying?”

He scowled. “It’s none of your business.”

So they were at an impasse. Neither of them willing to show the cards they held so closely guarded. For one insane moment, Ryann considered telling him everything—about her father, his debt, and Vincent Moralli. But then what would that solve? By the sounds of it, this guy had enough of his own problems without Ryann unloading hers on him, too. Besides, there wasn’t anything he could do to help her, anyway—except return to his family so she could collect the money she needed to pay off her father’s debt.

Time seemed to stand still as he hovered over her. His mesmerizing amber stare, torn and conflicted. Then, as if decided on something, he scrubbed his hand over the back if his neck and muttered a growl that sounded a lot like defeat.

“Eighteen months ago, when my father was running for his second term as US senator, he took a hefty campaign contribution from a very rich, influential family in New York. Large funds are often flagged for investigation, and in order to divert suspicion as to why this man would be supporting my father, the two families conspired to arrange a marriage between myself and their daughter. That way, no one could prove ulterior motives. They could claim it was familial support rather than what it truly was—a buyoff to loosen regulations making certain lucrative and illegal activities easier to get away with.”

Ryann couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re not serious. Aiden, this is the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages are unheard of anymore.”

“Not so unheard of when you’re worth ten million dollars.”

Holy. Shit.
“Ten
million
dollars?”

He nodded. “That’s how much money in illegal campaign contributions my father took over the course of a year. My father drew up the marriage contract and set the wedding date without me even knowing it.”

“Are you serious? How did you find out?”

“By accident, I assure you. I was going through some of my father’s files, looking for information on a court case he asked me to take over, when I found the contract and discovered what he’d done.”

“Oh, my God, Aiden, that’s terrible. What did you do?”

“I confronted him about it. We had a huge fight. I told him there was no way I was getting married to some woman I’d never even met. I don’t give a shit who she is. He told me I didn’t have a choice, and unless I wanted to be disinherited, I was going to marry her. I told him he could go fuck himself. That night I packed up my shit and walked away from it all—all their money and all their bullshit. I haven’t spoken to either of my parents since.”

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Ryann felt terrible at discovering she was likely on the wrong side of this family dispute. When she thought of what she’d done to Aiden to get him this far, guilt fisted in her gut. She was hardly better than they were, and the worst part of it was, as much as she didn’t agree with what his family was doing, and as much as she hated the idea of working for them, she didn’t have any choice. If she didn’t get Aiden back to Madeline by Friday, she wouldn’t have the money to pay off Moralli. She was running out of time. There wasn’t any other way to earn that much cash this late in the game.

“I’m sorry, Aiden. If I’d known . . .” The apology fell from her lips. Remorse became a vise that tightened around her chest—for what she’d done and what she still had to do. “I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “You wouldn’t.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Was there more to Aiden’s confession than she dared to hope?

Exhaling a deep sigh, he flopped back on his side of the bed. He fixed his gaze on the ceiling and muttered a nasty curse that belayed nothing of his refined upbringing and everything of the steely, tough-as-nails fighter he’d become. “I don’t fucking know. This is crazy, Ryann. I just didn’t want you to think I would mess around with you if I was actually getting married.”

Did he truly care that much about what she thought of him? If she wasn’t careful, this MMA fighter was going to pass her guard and lay some serious ground and pound to her resistance.

Aiden rolled onto his side and propped his head beneath his hand and watched her—a model-gorgeous pose that became a visual seduction of her senses. She tried not to notice he was naked except for a pair of low-riding boxer-briefs. But it was hard not to think about it when only a short while ago that powerful, sexy body had been covering hers, delivering pleasure of the likes she’d never experienced before. She knew, without a doubt, if she’d allowed things to go further, he would have taken her to new heights, surpassing her embarrassingly limited experience.

Her curiosity and undeniable attraction to him were powerful aphrodisiacs. How easy it would be to give herself over to this man’s wicked charms. Ryann’s only fear was that when it came to Aiden, she wasn’t sure she could separate her head from her heart. The last thing she wanted to do was give it over to a man who would undoubtedly break it.

Holding his stare, the question tumbled from her lips. “What do you want from me, Aiden?”

He blew out a ripe curse. “Fuck, Ryann, I don’t know. I don’t know what this is any more than you do. I’ve never met a woman who can stir my anger one moment and my passion the next. All I know is that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the day you walked into my gym. And when I saw that guy with his hands on you today . . . Something inside me just came undone, which makes zero sense because I know you’re not mine, but—”

She cut him off by throwing herself against him and crushing her lips to his. His surprised
oomph
was a throaty grunt as he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. This was crazy. And no doubt she was going to regret it, but Aiden’s blunt honesty proved she wasn’t the only one feeling this unexplainable connection, and his confession fractured her last bit of self-control. More than anything, she found herself wanting to know what it felt like to be his.

Despite her position advantage, his hand threaded into her hair, knotting into his fist as he held her exactly where he wanted her, tipping her head at just the right angle so he could take over their kiss. His mouth was demanding, his tongue conquering, proving that just like in the cage, Aiden Kruze was as in control and as dangerous on his back as he was on his feet. His other hand slid over her ass and squeezed a handful of flesh as he jerked her against him.

Through the thin cotton of her pajamas, his heat seared her. Every muscular peak and plane molded against her body. She could feel the pounding of his heart against her sensitive breasts, proving she wasn’t the only one coming undone. His hold on her was unrelenting, sending a wild thrill skirting through her veins. The fevered pitch in which he kissed her took her breath away. Never had Ryann felt this much emotion, this much passion, in the arms of a man—he verily vibrated with it.

It was so easy to let go with him and know it was going to be the most amazing sex of her life. Already the knot of tension coiling in the pit of her stomach was driving her to the edge. He broke their kiss, giving her lungs much-needed oxygen. Like a diver bursting from the water, she inhaled sharply as Aiden’s mouth moved down the side of her throat. He nipped the sensitive flesh just above her shoulder, the mixture of pain and pleasure ripping a startled gasp from her parted lips. His answering chuckle was a deep, masculine growl vibrating against her pulse point. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, how deeply he affected her and how thoroughly he devastated her.

She knew the moment playtime was over—sensed the shift in the purpose of his touch when it went from teasing and exploring to purposeful and deliberate. One minute she was on top of him, and the next, he rolled her, putting Ryann on her back with swift ease, reminding her this wasn’t just any man she was messing with here. She was at the mercy of an MMA fighter trained in all forms of submission.

As he moved down her body, he slipped the straps of her nightshirt off her shoulders, baring her breasts to his assessing gaze. She’d never focused much on her breasts before. Growing up a tomboy and being in a profession that was mostly dominated by men, she’d found the large swells of flesh more a burden than a blessing and often took care to minimize their appearance.

But looking at herself now through Aiden’s amber eyes, which seemed to take in every inch of bare flesh and missed nothing, she felt decidedly exposed and knew a moment of self-consciousness trapped beneath his bold stare. Instinctively, she raised an arm to cover herself, but he caught her wrist before she could block his view. “No, don’t. Just . . . give me a minute. Let me look at you.”

Was that . . . awe in his husky voice? No, that was wishful thinking on her part, and thoughts like that were dangerous ones to have. It wasn’t until his grip on her wrist tightened that she realized he wasn’t as unaffected as she thought. He was shaking, the subtle tremor a testament to his struggle for control.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous . . .”

His strong, callused hands—a fighter’s hands—caged her narrow waist and slowly dragged themselves up her ribs and covered her breasts. Taking his time, he tested their weight in his hands, seeming to appreciate the way they spilled past the tips of his fingers. His grip was firm, yet revering. Little darts of pleasure zinged beneath her skin when his thumbs brushed over her beaded nipples. He trapped them against his index fingers and applied pressure until a gasp of pain and pleasure broke her lips. His eyes greedily consumed her, as if he were studying her reactions, searing them into his mind. Was he testing her?—discovering her threshold?

Unbidden, she arched into his hands as a tingling current of white-hot need shot into her core. Her muscles contracted, aching to be filled, to be stretched by him. At her emptiness, a small whimper escaped her throat. His top lip tugged into a satisfied, lopsided grin at her body’s shameless response, but she was too far gone to care about her pride.

“You like that, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question—he knew the answer easily enough. “Hell, Ryann, you’re so hot, so ready, your body’s like a little firecracker just waiting to go off. I wonder how many times I could make you come.”