Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

Our mouths meet in a soft kiss, once, twice, and then I run my tongue along her lower lip. She opens for me, and my senses are flooded with peppermint and vanilla. Reaching down, I cup her ass and pull her in close. Hot and sweet and all fucking mine.

I break the kiss and nip at her mouth. “Good morning, Mouse.” Tracing her hairline, I run her silky long hair through my fingers. “You look hot. Guess you couldn’t find any baggy sweatpants and a pea-green turtleneck to wear, huh?”

She scrunches up her gorgeous face. “I don’t think they let girls into Flesh dressed like that.” She laughs and moves her hands to my chest. Her smile falls. “I’m a little nervous.”

Unable to resist the temptation of her skin inches from my lips, I kiss her shoulder. She tilts her head for me to drop kisses up her neck. “Nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. Not with me there.”

She nods through a shiver. “This is my first opportunity to prove to Taylor that I can handle more responsibility. I really don’t want to screw it up.”

“You won’t. These things run themselves.” I pull her hands from my chest and kiss each one. “Come on, you’ll see.”

I’m so ready to get this day over with. My blood’s already burning to get Layla home and in my arms. My balls were aching before, but they’re throbbing now. And my woman looking like she jumped from a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition isn’t making my situation any easier.

If Layla wasn’t so set on proving herself to Taylor, I’d seduce her into calling in sick and staying with me all day. There’s no reason why Jonah couldn’t handle the party. But fuck, I’ve got to promote my fight. Fine, we’ll go to the stupid party, and then it’s back to my house for dinner… topless.

*


One hour and seventeen minutes until this shit is over, and then I’m throwing Layla over my shoulder and getting her the fuck out of here. I knew being at Flesh would be torture, but this is outright agony.

The narrow pool, lined with waterfalls, is packed with topless girls and guys. A female DJ dressed in a bikini and stiletto heels spins records, and the pounding music energizes the atmosphere. The outdoor heaters make it a perfect eighty degrees as women of every shape, and only the small size, strut around mostly naked. The smell of booze, chlorine, and suntan lotion hangs heavy in the air. Guys with their chests puffed out drop their life savings on thirty-dollar drinks to entice women out of their tops.

Even with the abundance of bare-breasted women to gawk at, my eyes are fixed firmly on Layla, where they’ve been for the past two hours and forty-three minutes. She’s all class, and professional as hell, flittering about to make contact with each semi-celebrity, shmoozing the pool manager, and even staging photo ops. I’ve had to threaten bodily harm to a handful of guys before word got around that she’s off limits. And yet, they’re still staring. Fuckers.

“Hey, Snake.” A bouncy little brunette comes to lean against the bar next to me.

Ah, shit. Not again. I’ve been brushing women off since I got here. It’s becoming a struggle to remain polite.

Like the majority of the women here, she’s topless. I give her a quick nod in acknowledgement and slide my gaze back to Layla. She’s removed her net-sweater and is walking around in her linen pants and string bikini top. Dammit. I should have marked those gorgeous breasts up with my mouth when I had the chance. That would’ve kept her covered.

“I like your tattoo.”

I cringe at the squeaky voice of the girl next to me. She traces my tattoo with her fingertip.

Glaring at her through my sunglasses, I push her hand away from my chest. “Don’t.”

She shrugs and sticks her overly enhanced breasts out. “You look hot.” She licks her lips.

There was a time when I would’ve appreciated her advances. She’s cute and more than willing. The way she talks, the look in her eyes— it all says she’s open for play. A few weeks ago, I would have been all over it, but that was then. Now her attention is annoying as shit.

“Let’s go for a swim.” The heat of her body presses against my arm.

I glare at where her bare chest is pressed against me and then take a step to put some distance between us. “No, thanks.” I move my eyes back to Layla—fuck. Where is she? I search the crowd for her blonde head. Dammit.

The brunette is talking to me about something, but I’m not paying a damn bit of attention. I see Jonah and the guys moving toward me. Maybe they’ll know where she went.

Don’t freak out. She’s probably in the bathroom.

“Hey, B. You got company?” Rex grins wide at the girl and I resist the urge to toss his ass in the pool.

Jonah shoves Rex and shakes his head, smiling.

“You guys see Layla over there? I lost her.”

They turn back to look at the direction they came then swing their eyes back to me. “Yeah, I think she’s over there rubbing suntan oil on some dude,” Jonah says.

“Nah, that wasn’t her.” Rex spins and motions to the opposite side of the pool. “She’s over there, playing Twister with those frat guys.”

J.B. Salsbury's books