Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

“You’re right. Reinventing the Steel is crap.” Her eyes dance and soften. “Just making sure you’re okay.”


I take my first full breath, and feel my shoulders unwind. “Did I pass?”

She pulls her top lip into her mouth with her tongue, a grin still playing across her lips, and nods.

Kicking my foot out, I allow her smile to soothe me, and lean back against a parked car. “Their best album was—”

“Vulgar Display of Power.” She sniffs as if it’s no big deal that she robbed me of those exact words.

I lose the battle with my lips and smirk. “Yeah.”

And with that, my heart rate is back to normal, my mind clear. That crap about her husband isn’t cool, and I’d still like to pull a series of fist-meet-face action on the douche-bag, but at least I’m not in danger of hurting anyone around me.

Fuckin’ DNA. I’ve always loved fighting, the power that surges through my body with every punch. It’s addicting. But this shit’s been happening outside of the octagon more than I’m comfortable with. It’s like some dormant cells straight from the General suddenly came to life. As if the shit he pulled in the past didn’t fuck me up enough, his cyborg cells are kickin’ in to finish the job.

“I need to call a cab.” Her voice pulls me from my biological Armageddon.

The light from her phone casts a blue glow against her face and hair. Her perfect teeth tug on her lower lip while she scrolls through her directory.

Damn, she’s beautiful. “Don’t go.”

She recoils slightly. Shit. I scrub my face with my hands. No clue why I’m asking her to stay. But the thought of watching her drive away makes my skin itch and my bones ache.

For the first time, it’s not all about wanting to fuck her. I’d be a disgrace to the male species if I didn’t entertain the idea once or twelve times. But this feels different. It’s like wanting to hit replay on my favorite song, or watch ten more minutes of a good flick. I’m not ready for it to end. “Where’s Axelle?”

She pulls a long strand of hair over her shoulder and twirls the end. “Double feature at The Cineplex.”

“Let’s go somewhere. You and me.”

Her eyes get wide and dart to where the SUV was parked earlier. “Oh… uh…”

“Just to hang out.” I hold my hands up and put on my most innocent face. Yeah, right. Like I have an innocent face. A laugh catches in my throat. “Really, on my honor.”

She ducks her chin and giggles, the trilling sound of her laughter settling against every inch of my skin. “Oh, yeah, I saw you and your honor in full force earlier tonight.”

“I’ll keep my honor in its zipper cage. Promise.” And fuck, but for the first time in a long time, I mean it. Getting Layla naked isn’t the priority. Shocker.

“Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?”

Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.

Layla

“Oh my gosh, Blake. This is… wow.” My mouth is hanging open as we walk into the living room of Blake’s condo. Ha! Condo is a joke of a word that doesn’t do justice to this place.

The open floor plan allows me to see everything from the kitchen to the dining room to the sunken living room. Clearly lacking a woman’s touch, everything is sleek dark leather, granite, and stainless steel.

But what gives this place the wow-factor is the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. I drop my purse on the real leather couch—I know it’s real because I can smell it—and move across the room. Pressing my face up against the glass, the steam from my breath turns the bright twinkling lights of the Las Vegas strip into abstract watercolors.

The sound of the wall sliding open jerks my face from the window. “The glass wall opens?” I stand back and watch in fascination as the glass folds in panels, dissolving the line between inside and outside.

“It’s a nice night. Let’s sit on the patio.” He smiles, ignoring my question.

“But…” I point from floor to ceiling. “The wall just… like… poof… disappears.” Even I can hear the excitement in my voice, but who cares? This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

With a tilt of his head, he motions for me to follow him to a set of gorgeous teak lounge chairs complete with perfectly white, overstuffed cushions. We take our separate seats. Not wanting to put my dirty shoes on the cushions, I kick off my biker boots. He doesn’t need to take his shoes off as his long legs take up the entire length of the seat, leaving his feet to hang off the end.

“How tall are you?” The question rolls off my tongue in such a casual way that I forget I’m in the home of a virtual stranger.

“Six-two.”

Wow. That’s super tall. A whole foot taller than me.

We sit in silence, our eyes cast out into the night, the cool air still and relaxing. My mind drifts, taking a reprieve from the usual crap that eats away at me daily. I lay my head back and think about how long it’s been since I’ve been this comfortable around a man. Alone. Gosh, years. And even back then I—

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