“Yeah.” The word sounds like syrup, slow and sweet.
My whole body tenses against him, straining at the hardness, wishing for it. The fabric is in the way—my panties, his sweatpants. They might as well be steel bars. I can’t reach him, my inner muscles clenching around nothing.
He pushes my hair aside, kissing the side of my neck, nibbling. Then his teeth grasp hold of my skin. He bites me, and the shock of it, the delicious pain of it, makes me scream his name.
His fingers flick me, deep down, and I convulse in his embrace, pleasure washing over me in rapid, frothing waves, stealing the oxygen from my lungs, drowning out every ounce of shame. For blissful moments I’m aware of nothing except the gentle rocking motion. It’s him. He’s soothing me, stroking my belly, moving me carefully even while his erection throbs against my back.
I drowse like that, slumped on top of him, boneless. My head lolls on his shoulder. “Luca,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“That’s fucking right.” The tension in his voice runs over my skin, as rough as his calloused fingers.
My hips settle against him, squirming. “We can—”
“No.”
“But you need—”
“This close to a fight, I need to focus.”
Sitting up, I turn to face him. His face is drawn in harsh lines of stress. His eyes are a glittering emerald green. “Then why did you do that?”
“Because you wanted me to. Because you asked. Do you think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you? Making you come is a goddamn privilege. And if you still want me once the fight is over, it will be my privilege to fuck you, too.”
Chapter Eighteen
For the rest of the week I sit in the bleachers with Allie while Luca trains. And every night I patch him up. He might be a lion, but he’s my lion. When I put aside the first-aid kit, Luca’s rough voice tells me to pull down my pants. He reaches under my panties and touches me until I’m sobbing his name, gushing against his fingers, turning the fabric wet.
It’s a strange and sensual purgatory that I could live in forever.
Judgment day comes too soon.
The morning of the fight, I wake up to find the hotel suite empty. There’s a note by the coffeemaker. Went in early for strategy session. Allie will pick you up before the fight.
The fight doesn’t start until tonight. Why didn’t he bring me with him? Why didn’t he wake me up if he needed to leave early? I remember what he told me— This close to a fight, I need to focus. And I’m a distraction.
At least I can call Delilah during the day.
I find her finger painting with Candy, her face smeared with pink war paint. “Mama!”
“Hey, sweetie,” I tell her, my heart feeling full. I’ll get to her soon. And we’ll be free of the threat, free from my past. And then what? Where will we go next? “What are you painting?”
“Wainbow,” she says, holding up a picture with colorful streaks.
“That’s beautiful. And just what I needed to see today.”
“Mama!” Her voice is demanding, and I hear the questions in it. Why aren’t you here? When are you coming back?
“I miss you so much, baby,” I tell her with a sigh. “This will be over soon.”
At least I hope so.
Luca has told me a little of the plan.
Colin has a network of other fighters and ex-military guys stationed at the ticket entrance. Of course they’ve never seen him. Even Luca’s never met him. So I worked with someone who contracts with the police force to create a sketch.
With any luck they’ll apprehend him when he enters the stadium.
I’m a little nervous with the knowledge that I’ll be close to him soon. Even if he doesn’t make it inside, we’ll be in the same city. In the same building. We might have already been, if he’s stalked me here. I’ve been well insulated in the hotel suite and the gym—both heavily guarded places. And I’ve always had Luca at my side. Except now.
My breath catches. It would be the perfect time to approach me.
I gaze out the large windows overlooking the city. The buildings seem to go on for miles, highways running through them like arteries through muscle. Is he out there?
Or is he even closer?
The skin prickles on the back of my neck. With uncanny certainty I can feel him closing in. Maybe that’s just paranoia. Or maybe Luca understands the darker shadows of the mind enough to predict this.
On jelly legs I cross the plush carpeting to look out the peephole.
And let out a startled squeak at the distorted view of a man on the other side. Not my brother. Wearing a suit, from what I can see.
“Ma’am?” he says through the door. “Are you okay?”
My heart thuds with lingering adrenaline. “Yes. Um…who are you?”
“West Hightower, ma’am. Sorry to startle you. If you give Luca a call, he can verify my identity.”
Too late I remember that the elevator required a key card to open on this floor. I flip open the lock. “No, I’m sure you’re—”