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Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 12


  She tried to imagine putting her mouth on him and Regan coming. Her stomach knotted with anxiety while her core tightened with excitement. Maybe she was expecting too much too soon, but she was tired of feeling inferior to the women Regan and Kyle encountered daily. She bet none of them would have just laid there like she had. But holy hell, she hadn’t been able to do much more than that, too overwhelmed by Regan’s touch to even think straight. And to know that it was over, that her shooting star was just that—one brief, incredibly erotic encounter—brought tears to her eyes she could no longer hold back, because she would not, could not, share Regan with other women.

  She’d rather not have him at all than play second fiddle to his whores. As the moisture ran down her cheeks, she angrily wiped it away, cursing herself for being fool enough to ever think she could be what Regan Matthews wanted, what he needed.

  Her cell chirped again, and with an impatient swipe she unlocked the screen. The message was blurry, swimming through her tears. It was from Regan.

  I’m sorry.

  Yeah, well, so was she. Willow didn’t reply. Before she could stow her cell in her purse, another message appeared.

  It’s not what you think.

  It was exactly what she thought. How stupid did he think she was? Rolling her eyes, she let out an unladylike snort. Another message appeared on her screen.

  I can explain.

  She shot back the message: Don’t bother. Then powered down her phone. After getting out of her car, she slammed the door behind her and marched up to the house. Her foot had just hit the first step when she heard the sharp snap of a twig behind her. Willow froze, a jolt of alarm ratcheting through her. Whipping around, she let out a startled gasp at the sight of the man standing in her yard.

  “Ms. Scott?”

  Don’t bother.

  Fuck! Regan growled a nasty curse when he got into his car and could finally check his messages. He’d ducked out of the interview as soon as he could get away. Firing up the Camaro, he laid his foot onto the accelerator and peeled out of the parking lot. The engine hummed its approval as it revved through the gears and flew down the road. The interview and photo shoot with ATC had taken longer than he’d expected. Most of their questions centered on the theme of two best friends and sparring partners facing off inside the cage. He could see the writing on the wall and wondered just how long he and Kyle could keep avoiding the inevitable. Throughout the interview, he’d been distracted and edgy, probably came off like a royal prick, but he couldn’t help it. He was anxious to get the hell out of there.

  He needed to see Willow, to try to explain. He knew exactly how bad it looked. He also knew that Willow wasn’t the kind of woman who would tolerate getting jerked around. She deserved better, and being the girl of a famous MMA fighter was no easy lot. Now add the component of trying to hide said relationship, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they weren’t just setting themselves up for failure.

  He wanted to make this work. He loved Willow with all his heart. Now, he just needed to convince her of that. But holy fucking shit, did he rue the day Kyle discovered his treachery. He was putting everything he held dear on the line for a woman he didn’t deserve but couldn’t live without.

  “I apologize. I can see I’ve frightened you,” the man said, taking a step closer.

  There was something vaguely familiar about him that Willow couldn’t quite put her finger on. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asked, slipping her hand into her purse as she spoke, searching for the three-inch cylinder attached to her keychain.

  “No, you don’t,” he said, taking another step closer.

  Willow’s pulse raced. The man was tall, maybe in his mid-sixties. He might have been handsome in his day, but life had clearly stolen that from him long ago. His vibrant green eyes were his only redeeming feature, and even those were dulled by his yellowing sclera. His skin was an unhealthy orangey-bronze color. The man was clearly ill. If she had to guess, she’d say from some sort of liver failure, which was the only reason she stayed her hand once it found her Mace.

  “But I believe you might know my son, Regan Matthews?”

  Willow knew what evil looked like. She’s seen it in the face of Sean Campoli, but not once did she imagine it would come in the form of an ailing old man. But appearances could be deceiving, because there was no doubt in her mind that the devil himself was standing in her front yard.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” she told him coolly, turning her back and climbing the final steps.

  “Can’t or won’t?” Regan’s father countered. “I know you know him. This is where he used to stay. It’s important that I speak with my son, Ms. Scott.”

  When her foot hit the last step, she said, “Regan knows you’re trying to reach him.”

  She opened the screen door and had her hand on the knob when he called after her, “I’m dying, Ms. Scott. I haven’t got a lot of time left, and there are things I need to say to my son.”

  Willow closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the doorframe, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Slowly turning back toward the man she’d vicariously loathed most of her life, she said, “I’m sorry to hear that. When I see him, I will encourage him to contact you. That’s all I can do.”

  “That’s all I’m asking. Thank you.” He nodded in appreciation and turned, slowly making his way across her yard toward the car parked down the street.

  How long had he been sitting there waiting for her to come home? The idea left her troubled but no more than the thought of telling Regan his father was dying. Obviously, Kyle knew. That was why he’d pushed Regan to return his call. Since she currently wasn’t speaking to him, she’d tell Kyle about Regan’s father’s visit and let him decide how to deal with it. Right now, the only thing she wanted to do was take a bath, drink a glass of wine, and sulk a bit before crawling into bed and crying herself to sleep. Pathetic? Yep, but sometimes a girl needed to have a pity party before picking herself up and brushing herself off.

  Willow entered the house and headed straight for the bathroom to fill the tub before going to the kitchen for that glass of wine. Kyle wouldn’t approve of her drinking, but she didn’t care. He wasn’t here. She stopped in the laundry room on the way back to the bathroom and grabbed one of Kyle’s old CFA T-shirts and a white lace thong out of the dryer. She purposefully left her phone in her purse, sending a mental fuck you to Regan for lying to her. He said he wanted to explain, but there wasn’t anything to say short of telling her more lies.

  She poured a few drops of lavender oil into the bath to help her relax. Not that she expected it would do much good, but accompanied by the wine, it couldn’t hurt. She soaked in the tub until her skin was wrinkled, her wine was gone, and the water was cool. She was contemplating getting out of the tub when she heard the front door open and then slam closed. She’d locked it behind her, so it had to be Kyle coming home early.

  She rose, grabbed her bath towel, and quickly dried off before pulling on her T-shirt and panties. If she’d known he was coming home, she would have grabbed something a bit more conservative to wear. Stepping out of the bathroom, she checked down the hall. Finding the coast clear, she sprinted toward her bedroom and let out a startled yelp when she found Regan standing in the center of it.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  He spun around, eyes locking on hers, but they didn’t stay there for long. Slowly, those absinthe eyes dragged lower, pausing at her breasts. She knew he could see her nipples through the white threadbare cotton. She could feel them pebble beneath the consuming heat of his stare. As his attention dragged down to her belly, a tingle of awareness settled between her legs. He wet his lips as his gaze dropped to the hem of the T-shirt, which hung barely mid-thigh. Muttering a self-damming curse, Regan scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck.

  She forced herself to ignore her body’s heated response. Instead, she latched onto her anger as a lifeline for self-control. She was used to figh
ting her attraction to Regan. She’d been denying herself for as long as she could remember, though never standing in a room alone with him—half-naked. The lace of her thong riding up the crack of her ass made her acutely aware of the blooming ache in her core. The light brush of soft cotton teasing her nipples and bare bottom left her feeling erotically exposed and more than a little vulnerable.

  “What do you want?” she asked crisply.

  By the hunger in his eyes, she could guess the answer to that question, but then she reminded herself of his pocketful of phone numbers, all women who wanted to give Regan whatever he wanted. It must be nice to never want—to never know the sting of rejection—and to have pussy at your beck and call, day or night.

  “I think you know why I’m here.”

  Sure, she did. And as much as she wanted to indulge herself, she refused to become a cage-banger. “Go back to your harem, Regan. I’m not interested in becoming another notch on your jujitsu belt.”

  She went to storm past him, heading to her dresser to grab a proper pair of pajamas, but he snagged her wrist before she even realized he’d moved. His grip was firm, unyielding—but not painful.

  “Is that what you think you are?” he growled, glaring down at her. “You think I would risk destroying a relationship with my best friend over a simple fuck? Willow, the fact that I’m standing here right now, with you, when I could be with a handful of other women Kyle wouldn’t castrate me over, should prove to you just how much I want you. It should prove how much I love you, because if he walks in through that door and finds me here, he’s going to know we’re hooking up and our friendship is going to be over.”

  “Kyle’s not coming home.”

  “What?”

  She stepped closer and reached up, dragging the tip of her nail through the divot of his chiseled pecs. Regan had missed his calling. He should have been a lawyer for as convincing an argument as he made. And he had a point. He was taking a huge risk coming here, one he would never take if this was just a fling. And this was the second time he’d told her he loved her. Regan was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. He loved her, and the sound of those words set her heart on fire.

  “I said . . .” She placed her palms flat against his chiseled pecs and rose to her tiptoes. “He’s not . . .” She kissed his cheek. “Coming . . .” Then kissed the other. “Home,” she whispered against his lips before pressing her mouth against his.

  Regan tensed and did not return her kiss as she expected. Instead, his hands settled on her hips and gently pushed her heels back down to the ground. Her brows pulled tight with irritation. If he wanted her, if he loved her as much as he claimed, then why was he pushing her away?

  “I didn’t come here to have sex with you, Willow. I knew you were upset, and I wanted to make sure you were all right and set things straight between us—that’s all. I don’t want you thinking there’s anyone else, because there isn’t. You’re it for me.”

  The rasp of his husky voice and the honesty in his eyes sent his confession rocketing into her soul. “You’re it for me, too, Regan. It’s only ever been you.”

  Her whispered vow nearly undid him. She moved another step closer, and the intent in her eyes sent his heart hammering inside his chest and his blood rushing south. He wanted to take this slow. He’d never been in a relationship before, and goddammit, he didn’t want to fuck this one up. But she was making it difficult for him to pace himself.

  The scent of lavender hit his nostrils and laid siege to his cock. His mouth watered at the memory of her sinfully sweet taste. She was so close. All he needed to do was dip his head and meet her eager mouth, and he knew he would taste heaven. He was fighting a losing battle with his lust, and his control was slipping.

  They were alone with no fear of interruptions. How many nights had he lain in bed, imagining this moment, dreaming of what his name would sound like on her lips, cried out in the throes of passion as she came around his thrusting cock. The thing bucked impatiently, protesting his hesitation.

  “Willow, I think we should talk about this.” He was trying to be responsible, rational. The last thing he wanted was to go down this road and have her regretting it—regretting him. “You only have one first time.”

  She gave him a bold smile, full of all the daring courage that made this woman so fascinating to him. “Don’t tell me the virgin is scaring the tough, experienced MMA fighter,” she taunted.

  Regan chuckled. “Maybe a little bit,” he confessed, dragging a hand through his hair. He didn’t know the first thing about making love, and he was scared as hell he’d hurt her. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman. His desire for any other had waned when he’d realized he wanted only one—this one. Willow’s first time should be a beautiful memory she’d never forget, not some hard, fast fucking. But honest to God, his lust was so strong he wasn’t sure he was capable of giving her what she needed. She deserved to be handled with care, revered and cherished.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to be gentle with you.” His honesty was meant to check her, but it seemed only to embolden the little spitfire.

  “Who said anything about gentle? Regan, I want you, not what you think I want you to be.”

  She grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, dropping it on the floor. The air left his lungs with a hiss through clenched teeth. Her breasts were so beautiful—high and full with a natural teardrop shape that was so unlike the artificial population he was used to. His fingers itched to touch them. His mouth watered to taste those perfect strawberry tips.

  Oh, fuck . . .

  A man could stand only so much temptation. Willow caught his wrist and brought his hand to her breast, her nipple pressing into his palm as her pure blue eyes beseeched him to do this. And that was his breaking point.

  Regan slipped his free hand behind Willow’s neck, jerking her close as his mouth came crashing down on hers. There were no teasing, courting kisses. They were well beyond that. He’d wanted this too long. His grip on her breast tightened, fingers kneading into her soft flesh as his tongue dove into her mouth, tasting, taking, mimicking the primal way he planned to possess her.

  She’d pushed him too far. Need overruled rationality, and the only thought hammering through his mind right now was the familiar claim of his heart. Mine. Never had he reacted so strongly to a woman—always in control, always on his terms, but not this time. Something about Willow Scott was different. If he wasn’t careful, this woman was going to wreck him. She’d already stolen his sanity, demolished his integrity, and undermined his loyalty. Fuck, she was the one possessing him when it should be the other way around. But he couldn’t stop the fall.

  She tasted so good. Her mouth was as sweet as honey and just as delicious as he remembered. He shifted his hold on her breast, trapping her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the bead until he was rewarded with her startled gasp, which quickly morphed into a moan he greedily devoured. She was so sensitive, so responsive . . . Everywhere he touched seemed to light her on fire.

  It didn’t take long for her to match the tempo of his kiss, her sweet tongue finding a rhythm with his that made his erection swell. Pressure from his impending release built so swiftly his balls ached. Holy hell, if he wasn’t careful he’d come just from making out with her.

  Willow’s hands slipped under his T-shirt, her nails dragging up his chest, scraping over his nipples, sending little darts of electricity into the base of his cock. He broke contact with her mouth long enough to lose his shirt. Gripping her ass to jerk her tight against his erection, he was surprised when his hands connected with bare flesh. Fuck, she was wearing a thong.

  His mouth dropped to her throat, nipping, sucking. When he lifted her and carried her over to her bed, he was struck again with the disparaging difference between their sizes. She was so damn tiny and he was . . . not—especially below the belt. Fear of hurting her warred with the need to consume her.

  With a sharp men
tal command to get his shit together, he laid her on the bed and pulled off her panties, revealing a pale-blonde thatch of curls just above her sex. So fucking beautiful. He stood there a moment in utter awe, just taking her in. Something in his chest tightened, a painful cramp that took his breath away.

  “Fuck, baby, you’re so damn gorgeous. I’m afraid to touch you. All the times I’ve imagined you, thought of this moment . . . Sweetheart, you exceed my dreams.”

  She smiled up at him. “You dream of me?”

  “Every fucking night.” He crawled over her and pressed his mouth to hers, tongue slipping past her parted lips. Exhaling a soft moan, she lifted her arms and circled his neck, pulling him closer. Her breasts crushed against his chest, nipples pressing against his pecs. Could she feel his heart hammering against her breast? Or the echo of need pounding into his cock tucked tightly between her parted thighs? His jeans were the only thing preventing him from entering her slick folds—that and a condom. Wait. Shit. He didn’t have one.

  “Willow, it kills me to say this, but we have to stop. I don’t have a condom.”

  “It’s okay,” she whispered between kisses. “I’m on the pill. And I’m pretty sure I’m safe,” she teased.

  A throaty chuckle rumbled in his chest. Damn, he loved her sense of humor. “It’s not you I was worried about, sweetheart.” He lifted his head and met her eyes with total seriousness. “I wish I could tell you that you’re my first. I wish I could come to you as pure as the gift you’re giving me, but I can’t. And I’m so sorry for that. But I can promise you that I have never been with a woman unprotected, and in that, you are my first.”

  “I love you, Regan.”

  Hearing the confession tumble from her lips, he was moved beyond words. Humbled and unworthy didn’t begin to describe the feelings inside him right now. But God help him if he wasn’t selfish enough to take hold of what she was offering and never let go.