Fighting to Forget (Fighting, #3)

“Oh, yeah, I just wanted to see if I could steal Mac for a second.”


One eyebrow lifts along with the corner of her mouth. “Sure.” Layla turns to Mac. “We’ll be pigging out if you need us.” She takes Raven’s arm and leads her down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Only then do I have the courage to meet Mac’s stare. Her eyebrows are pinched and head cocked to the side like she’s trying to figure me out.

“Mac, I um. . .” I scrub my hand through my hair. Why is this so hard? “If you want, would you like to go, with me, on a—”

“Yes.” There’s a hint of a smile in her voice.

“Yes? But you don’t know what I was asking.”

She shrugs and steps in close. “I had a feeling. And honestly, there isn’t much you could ask that I’d say no to.”

A grin pulls at my lips. “Yeah?”

She nods.

“So . . .” I run a lock of her hair through my fingers, making sure to brush my fingertips against her cheek. So fucking soft. “What if I’d asked you to rob a bank? Your answer would be . . .?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm.” My fingers trail a path down her arm, now exposed without her leather jacket, and goose bumps chase after my touch.

“And if I asked for your bike?”

“Yes.” She’s breathless.

“Really? Huh.” I step in close, and I’m overcome by her sweet, tropical smell. “And um . . .” Hooking my fingers beneath her chin, I tilt her head back. “What if I asked . . .?”

The heat of her soft curves presses against my ribs and I’m suddenly hyperaware of my own heartbeat. Her breath is quick against my lips, unleashing a fierce euphoria that makes me dizzy.

“Yes.” She pushes up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. But unlike the two times before, she glides the tip of her tongue along my bottom lip.

The wet heat ignites a desperate need that has me driving my fingers into her hair. She smiles against my lips before tilting her head and opening to me. I groan into the warm heat of her mouth. Our tongues slide together, the first contact so intense that my eyes slam shut and I push her back against the wall. I pinch my eyes closed, thrashing in the waves of both abhorrence and my fierce appetite for more.

She moans and arches against the drywall, shoving her fingers into my hair, fisting until my scalp burns. The sting feels so damn good.

“Fuck yeah,” I say against her lips.

Her teeth rake against my tongue and then latch on to my piercing. She pulls against it with possession, an animalistic bite that forces me to pull her back by her hair. She lets go only to tilt her head and devour me deeper. The violence behind the kiss is mind-numbing.

It’s been so long since I’ve kissed a woman like this. Hell, I’ve never kissed a woman like this.

The sound of voices reminds me we’re in Jonah’s hallway and not in the privacy of our own lust-laden room.

I break the kiss but keep my hold on her hair. “Shit, that was hot.” There’s no rush of nausea in my stomach, only the slight quiver of excitement.

“When’s the game over?” she says breathlessly. Her hands slide down from my hair to my chest.

“An hour or so.”

“Can we go out after?”

Her eagerness to pick up where we’ve left off reminds me that I was asking her out on a date before I kissed her into a wall.

I step back and admire how sexy she looks, pinned against the wall, her lips swollen and a brighter shade of red than usual. Her shirt must’ve lifted a little during our rough encounter because a wedge of the porcelain skin of her stomach draws my eyes. I take a moment to let myself imagine what it would be like to run my hands all over that skin. I’d trace the tender flesh of her belly button before shoving my hand down the front of her jeans and—ugh! Revulsion stabs me through the gut. I clench my shirt and swallow back the sour taste in my throat.

“Rex? What’s wrong?” Mac’s voice is heavy either with leftover arousal or concern. Her hand comes down to rest on my arm.

I jerk away from her and step back. Her eyes go wide and she lifts her hands in the universal sign of “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m okay, just a muscle cramp from training today.” I shouldn’t lie, but the truth isn’t happening.

She glares at me, not angry-looking, but more as if she’s studying me.

I release the death grip on my shirt and force a smile. “There. It’s gone.”

Her stare sears through me. “You’re sure?”

“Dude, you missed it.” Caleb is down the hallway headed toward us. “Blake just lost three hundred bucks to Killian.” His eyes move between Mac and me. “What’s going on?” The fuck-you glare he’s aimed at me says he knows exactly what’s going on here.

It doesn’t take a genius to scent the afterburn of the no-holds kiss she and I just shared.

J.B. Salsbury's books