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“Beautiful. The color of chili powder.” His voice deep and full of gravel. “Let’s find out how many times we can make you explode.”

He moved so darn fast his comment was lost on her. Her long, bare leg rested on top of his thigh. With one hand, he deftly unbuttoned her blouse. His other hand lingered, stubbornly refusing to shift lower, to the delicate nub swollen with need. Just a little attention, that’s all she required. Caden promised an explosion, not realizing that the powder keg of lust begging for his touch was about ready to blast the roof off this motel.

Sooner, rather than later.

Her blouse fell open and he worked an arm free and slid it off her. He worked his palms over her breasts and grinned at her moan. Grabbing the hem of her cami, he worked it up and over her head.

Then, his fingers returned to her curls while his other hand cupped her breast, testing out the weight of it.

He pinched a nipple, gentle but with enough force that a jolt of electricity shot through her.

Light as a whisper, he thumbed her nub. Just enough to make her buck toward his hand.

Caden laughed.

She reached over and cupped the rigid length of him through his sweats.

His laughter stopped. But, boy-oh-boy, his fingers certainly didn’t. His thumbs played her body like a song, alternating between a firm rub of her nipple and a slick slide over her folds.

She grinned at the feel of his cock jerking beneath her palm.

In the next cycle of thumbs, his at last sank into her warm wetness. Then he rubbed his digit over her nub, moistening it. “Tsk. Tsk. Why so serious?” he murmured playfully.

Curse him
. This devil knew just how to play her and get her revved up and raring to go, both in and out of bed.

He traced the trial of moisture left by his thumb with a finger, over and across her curls and, with a gentle nudge, worked it inside of her. She opened to him like a spring rose as he added another finger and established a mind-altering rhythm. His fingers plunged deeper, more forcefully, and he shifted her leg higher on his hip.

Her body began cresting in a slow-rising hum.

Suddenly, he was gone.

She bit back a cry of protest.

Then, cried out in surprise as he rolled their bodies so her back was to the mattress and her legs spread open with him between them.

He laughed. “I’m about to wipe that frown straight off your face, chili bean. Know what I want?”

Oh, multiple responses to that question sprang to mind. Dang, if she didn’t want the same things, all of them.
Now.

“Now?” he chuckled
.

Oh
,
crap.
I
said it aloud
.

“Now, now, patience comes to those that wait.” He bent over and licked a nipple.

Yes
.

He pulled back. “Are you getting the drift of where things are going?”

Jeez.
“Can we get there already? Please, take off your sweats.”

He sat back, still straddling her with his legs bearing his weight. “No can do.”

She growled low in her throat.

He laughed. “That’s the spirit. You see, I need to know the answer to a question that’s been on my mind.”

“Listen, Chatty Cathy...”

He snorted, then burst out laughing, deep and genuine, like he’d been holding it back and waiting for the right time to grace her with the sound of it. When it ended, he tilted his head and bit down lightly on her other nipple. His other hand found her core and his fingers drew a line between her wet folds.

Instantly, her body picked up where it held left off seconds ago. She spread her legs wider.

“Point taken. But one more thing,” he whispered in her ear. She didn’t care, as his hands were talking as well. “I wanna know how sweet chili pepper tastes.”

Holy crapola.
His words stirred up a lust so swift she nearly climaxed on the spot.

The bed shifted. His breath warmed her stomach. His tongue caressed her skin. Lightly at first, then more firmly as he licked his way along the same path his fingers had taken earlier, around her belly button and down a straight line to her curls. He paused and with both hands, spread her legs wider. Then, his tongue was everywhere. Roaming over her nub, licking between her folds, and plunging so deep inside of her, she groaned.

He didn’t say another word. That gorgeous tongue of his—what else did she expect?—did all the talking.

She’d swear she saw a smile on his face as he sucked, licked and plundered her.

Nothing in his actions were rough or hard. The complete opposite, in fact, with the expert way he played her body. For the first time in her life, she felt cherished.

So close.

Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging him in. Feeling the heat from his tongue’s long strokes as she peaked and spiraled out of control.

Chapter Eleven

HAYMAKER: A good ole fashioned punch, most often witnessed in barnyards.

Caden cursed under his breath as he plucked the last pink petal off the single rose he’d purchased back in the manager’s office. What made him dream up this dumb move, he didn’t know. He sprinkled the final handful onto Sophie’s pillow.

She murmured incomprehensibly. The smile that
he’d
put on her lips remained.

Another considerate gesture from an inconsiderate guy.

Thoughtfulness wasn’t his usual mode of operation. A long, hard fuck or women pleasuring him, not the other way around, that was the deal. Hell, he was a selfish guy. Usually he held his women physically close—hell, buried balls deep inside them—but kept himself emotionally distant. No romantic bullshit. No regrets. No weird desire to climb back in bed and freakin’ spoon up against her.

Sophie sneezed and her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn’t wake.

He grinned down at her, pleased she was exhausted. He’d brought her to climax twice, first with his mouth, then with his fingers. Enjoyed it, too. Thinking about the way her skin flushed pink and the little moan she gave as she peaked made him hard.

Once more he contemplated crawling back into bed and wrapping himself around her, just the position he’d found himself in when he’d woken up.

His cold, calculated manner—one of several steel-thick layers protecting his own vulnerability—hadn’t discouraged her in the slightest. Though for a second, when he’d mentioned how she’d slept her way to the top, he’d thought he’d actually hurt her. As for throwing her off track with sex-talk, that had them both wanting to get down-and-dirty quicker than a country swing dance. Shaking his head, he moved away from the bed and finished stuffing his clothing into his bag, leaving a fresh set out to change into.

Sophie’d seen past his bullshit.

Neat, tidy, unemotional and mutually satisfying. That’s how he liked to keep things. Sentimental suicide, that’s what this was.

All the more reason to hightail it out of Dodge.

Which is what he’d been trying to do for the past half hour, having woken the motel manager up to get the garage keys. And the goddamn rose.

As he stripped, the nagging sensation that he’d made some kind of unspoken promise persisted.

He looked around the room, spotted the camera bag she’d placed on the chair by the wall, then turned back to the woman sleeping soundly in bed. He’s seen a side of her he hadn’t expected. Someone had hurt her, likely an ex—Hank Cawfield? That the pain still lingered was clear. It left her softer than expected, more vulnerable.

Surprising. Yet nothing about last night was typical.

Suddenly, he had the desire to leave her with something, something more than the petals he’d tossed on her pillow and the smile he’d put on her lips.

Striding over to the chair, he removed her camcorder from the bag, then returned to bed and settled back down on the mattress beside her. Adjusting the sheet around his nakedness, he flipped open the viewfinder, held up the camcorder, and hit record.

“Hey, there. This is Caden Kelly. I decided to throw a bone out to Sophie Morelle, who’s been relentlessly bugging me to reveal all.” He paused. Yeah, he’d like to do nothing better right now than throw the covers off, reveal
all
—namely his thick, heavy member—then throw
her
the bone and fuck her right out of his system.
Shit for bricks
. Absentmindedly, he moved his free hand to her pillow and lifted a lock of auburn hair before he continued on with a safer topic. Wrapping it around his fingers tempered the resurgence of lust that had gripped him by the balls. “First, let’s start with two of my favorite fighting styles, Sanshou and Greco-Roman wrestling, and how I trained with masters in each specifically for Tetnus.”

He went on to describe how learning to kick properly was the foundation for a fighter’s being effective in the Octagon, and how a well-balanced fighter needed to be trained in multiple disciplines, and have a wide variety of maneuvers perfected if they wanted to fight professionally. Lost himself for a good five minutes as he shared his passion for mixed martial arts, until Sophie let out a thunderous sneeze and brought his attention back to her.

Guess I’m not being an attentive enough bed partner
, he thought wickedly. Lifting his hand, he studied the smooth strands of hair curled around his fingers. He smirked into the camera before lowering it to reveal his chest, then...her.

Man, she was gorgeous, her cheeks still flushed pink with pleasure and her hair spread out across the pillow like dark, rich sunbeams.

The thought caused him to frown. What time was it? The morning sun had begun to break through the dingy curtains. A signal—time to bolt, and with a clearer conscience.

He’d finish their exclusive in Vegas, after he’d time to get his head back on straight.

For now, he’d settle for putting some mileage on the Aston.

Though the company he’d be keeping wasn’t as sweet. Call it goodwill or whatnot, he’d granted her another favor by agreeing to take Jerry along for the ride. She could have free rein over the Boys on the newly repaired bus without the sleazeball’s interference.

Besides, time with Jerry meant time to figure out what he knew about the steroids. While filming, it had dawned on him that he could record the loudmouth using an iPhone app and get solid proof that the man was dealing drugs. Then turn both the duffel bag and the audio over to Bracken when they hit Vegas.

Better the media focus on the hardcore bouts and martial arts skills that set MMA fighters apart from other athletes, than substance abuse. A scandal would ruin Tetnus, threaten his comeback, put him back to work as a cock jockey quicker than you could say “chili bean.” Caden hadn’t come this far to have some asshole ruin it all.

Running his hand through his hair, he raked his gaze over her. Liking how her creamy pale skin seemed even more flushed than it had earlier. Naughty minx. Was she dreaming about him? Man, how he liked the idea that he’d rocked her world. His lips twitched as his eyes fell on the pale pink rose petal plastered to her cheek.

She sneezed once more, his signal it was time to split. On his way out, he turned the a/c unit off.

Hell, he didn’t want to like her.

* * *

“Gosh darn it,” Sophie exclaimed, struggling to find her equilibrium on the hard, vinyl bus seat. Grabbing hold of the seatback in front of her, she braced herself for another pothole. The day had gone from bad to worse, and was headed toward horrific. It was all playboy extraordinaire Caden Kiss-n-Dash Kelly’s fault.

She hoped someone put a ding in the Aston Martin and his insurance premium skyrocketed.

“Bobby Tom, ya think you can take those pits in the roadway a bit slower? My teeth are about to fall outta my gums,” Sal hollered at the bus driver from his seat next to her. “Hate to say it, but Jerry did a helluva better job in the driver’s seat. Of course, the gas pedal could’ve nipped him in the ole ankle and he’d still refuse to press down on it.” Sal attempted to murmur under his breath, but his kind of quiet was loud enough the entire population of Vegas probably heard him.

The bus driver pumped the pedal and slammed into another pothole. It seemed like Sophie wasn’t the only one looking for retaliation of some sort.

“One more pothole, and I’m taking over the wheel,” the old-timer grumbled, settling back into their seat and closing his eyes.

She grimaced.

The action caused an immediate burn on her face, but she tucked her hands beneath her legs and refused to give into the itch. Scowling was a surefire way of aggravating the rash covering her left cheek and a large expanse of her upper chest.

No one deserved to wake up as she had, feeling as if an invisible pillow was smothering her, suffocating her. What she initially thought were pink candy wrappers sprinkled over the pillows and sheets had turned out to be rose petals. Harmless pink candy wrappers?
Wrong-o-mundo.

Lethal, allergen-laden pink roses?

Exact-o-mundo.

Sophie frowned, and ignored the resulting itch. What had Caden been thinking? Leaving flowers for a woman after sex was tacky as hell. But when the woman was highly allergic to flowers, it was plain ole hellish, like he’d littered the bed with African snapping beetles, or worse.

Bad enough it felt as if massive cotton balls had been shoved inside her nostrils. But her cheek and chest swelled up too, irritated beyond belief and itching like holy bejeezus.

Was he trying to kill her?

Not that Caden would have stuck around for her funeral, or anything. Heck, he could have at least have woken her up after...

She frowned. What had she expected from the king of players, anyway?

Not toxic roses
,
that’s for sure.

Bet Mr. Houdini himself couldn’t have pulled off such a well-executed vanishing act. His missing bag had been all the proof she needed that he hadn’t simply stepped outside. Nope. Caden had made a run for it, disappeared, and was probably long gone. She hadn’t seen it coming—not after what had transpired last night.

No words. Nada. Except for the stinking rose petals.

Fortunately, he’d taken Jerry with him. Left her with semi-helpful Sal, albeit on this lame excuse of a bus that stank of bad aftershave and that was warmer than a sauna in the Sonoran Desert.

She rubbed her cheek and instantly regretted it. The Benadryl hadn’t yet kicked in. Mercifully, Sal had made the bus take a pit stop at Target, where she’d purchased some supplies. It took some stealth avoiding the Boys, by being the first person off the bus and the last one back on it, though most had had their butts kicked in last night’s street fights and were sleeping away their defeats or hanging their heads.

Anger rose up inside of her, thinking about the money she’d used to make the purchase.

A single bill from the substantial roll of Franklins had covered everything. Caden had left a thick wad of hundreds on the nightstand on her side of the bed. Payment for her services, which was ironic in itself, considering last night had been all about her pleasure.

She’d reimburse him, hundred by bleeding hundred, when her documentary took off. Or—and boy, did this strike a nerve—was this some form of compensation for a broken promise? Payment for dodging his exclusive once again?

Houdini Jr. had better believe that she meant to hold him to his promises.

She stood and grabbed her camera case from the overhead bin, reminded how there were much more important things to think about than him.

Sal snored gently in the seat next to her. So much for him smoothing things over with the Boys. Yep, the old-timer had been as helpful as a rock. Sophie was reminded once more that she had no one to depend upon but own resourceful self.

Carefully, she headed toward the back of the bus. Heck, maybe her rash would make the Boys take pity on her, empathize with her, considering their own battered faces and coagulated cuts.

Misery loved company, right?

“How the hell did she get back on the bus?” someone snorted. Sophie tottered forward in search of a friendly face.

“She’s got that camera out again.”

“Bad luck, a woman traveling on our bus. Look what happened to us last night.”

A superstitious crew? Or just ignorant of the fact that Jerry was the person actually responsible for their battered bodies?

Midway down the aisle, the bus rolled. Sophie caught herself before she tumbled face-first into the laps of two of the Boys to her left. Before she could fully collect her footing, a flash of green landed at her feet.

She caught Anthony—sitting solo in the seat to her right—honing in on the thick wad. His eyes lit up with interest.

Sophie seized the moment.

Scooping up the bills, she waved them in front of his face. “Look, I know I got off to a rocky start with you guys—”

He grunted loudly, cutting her off. “Jaysin better not wake up and find you on this bus or things are gonna get ugly.”

It was Sophie’s turn to freeze. Jaysin? “He was released from the hospital?” she whispered. No way would she have gotten on the bus if she’d known he was on it.”Jumped outta the ambulance before they could haul him away. Ripped the IV right out of his arm. Took out two of the medics when they tried to stop him.”

Nervously, she glanced back down the aisle and contemplated returning to her seat up front. Play it safe and hide out until they stopped. As much as she wanted this documentary, Jaysin was too unpredictable. Too unstable. Too dangerous. She’d sneak off the bus with Jaysin none the wiser.

If she made it to the next pit stop alive.

Or she’d befriend another bodyguard. Her gaze fell back on Anthony, who was still eyeballing the money. Before he could guess her intent, she climbed over his lap, squirming her way between his body and the seat back. Nudging him over and away from the window, she smoothed out her slacks and put her camera bag on her lap.

His massive bulk would be a buffer between her and Jaysin, if he spotted her. Anthony opened his mouth but closed it at the sight of the bills she waved in his face. She hit him with her best Sophie Morelle smile.

He stiffened beside her.
Okay
,
wrong approach.

One slick-talking exclusive had snuck out on her this morning and she was about to miss another opportunity with Anthony. Somehow, she had to connect with him. She searched her mind for the right words to butter him up. In a low voice, she began. “You could be the next big thing in MMA.”

“Like Caden?”

She clenched her teeth before answering, “Bigger than Caden.”

His head tilted slightly to the side, seemingly interested.
Good boy.

“I’d like to show America what a day in the life of an average fighter is like. You’d be one of only a few fighters featured in my film.”

“I’m not an average fighter,” he growled. “Find someone else.” He squirmed away from her, like a child upset by his mother’s reprimand.

Dang it.