Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Read online

  His teal eyes lit with interest, and she could see him studying her a moment before making the name connection. “No shit? Your brother’s Kyle ‘The Killer’ Scott?”

  She nodded, taking a sip of her soda.

  “Damn, girl. Now I’m glad I didn’t break your heart.”

  Her laughter rang out, drawing eyes from the table next to them. “He trains with Miller MMA. If you want, you could come down there sometime. I’m sure he’d show you around.”

  “Thanks, Willow. That’s awesome. I might just do that.”

  It was close to midnight by the time Carson pulled into the driveway to drop her off. He’d been a nice distraction for the evening. But as the car rolled to a stop, it was like her silver coach had suddenly turned into a pumpkin again as the weight of her burdens came pressing down on her. She wasn’t ready to deal with Regan or his painful rejection.

  “You all right?”

  She glanced at Carson, whose carefree smile was now tipped with concern. “I’m fine. Why?”

  “Because you have the same expression on your face you get whenever you’re within three feet of Bartholomew.”

  Forcing a halfhearted chuckle, she scolded, “Stop teasing me.”

  “But it’s so fun. I can’t help myself.” They sat there in silence for a moment, and then Carson considered her with all seriousness. “He’s a lucky guy, Willow. I hope he realizes that.”

  Aww . . . that’s sweet. “Thanks. But unfortunately, I don’t think he sees it that way.”

  “Well, if you ever decide he’s not worth the wait, you know where to find me.”

  “A&P Lab, room 201.”

  His cocky grin was back. “You got it. See ya next week.”

  Chapter 5

  Willow was avoiding him, and today it was going to stop. Almost a week had come and gone since their blowup in the gym, and Regan had hardly seen her since. Was she spending her free time with her lab partner? She had to be spending it with someone, and it sure as hell wasn’t with him. If he found any more reasons to loiter around Kyle’s, the dude was going to start getting suspicious. For crissake, they could only play so much Call of Duty.

  She was coming into the gym later than usual, working shifts opposite his training schedule. And even if, by some chance, he could catch her alone, he dared not risk causing another scene here. If they did happen to cross paths, she was careful to keep her distance, averting her gaze, pretending she didn’t see him when he knew damn well she did, because he was not imagining that electricity in the air.

  Her hasty confession and parting words continued to haunt him—unrelenting misery for his troubled soul, as if he needed any more shit to pile on top of that thing. In truth, her avoidance was probably nothing more than he deserved after the way he’d hurt her. But dammit, what did she expect from him? She wanted something he wasn’t sure he was capable of giving her, even if Kyle hadn’t been standing in their way.

  He’d stopped trying to call her after the first couple of days, afraid that if his friend got a glimpse of his sister’s phone and saw how many times he’d tried to contact her, he’d be getting a restraining order against Regan—right after he kicked his ass.

  Willow had never shut him out like this before, not even when she was grappling with the loss of both her parents and the trauma of nearly dying. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t leave him with a big fucking hole in his heart, especially with all this Sean Campoli shit on the horizon. He knew this had to be gutting her, and she wouldn’t talk to Kyle about it because—like sister, like brother—she tried to protect him with her silence.

  Willow had been a part of Regan’s daily grind for so long he didn’t know how to do life without her—and it was starting to show. He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. He looked like hell. Exhaustion constantly dogged him. In the cage, he wasn’t fighting for shit. Regan couldn’t remember the last time his focus was this shredded. And today he’d hit his breaking point. After getting his ass handed to him in the cage—again—Regan had decided enough was enough. He’d ducked into the shower for a quick rinse off and headed out.

  Before his mind caught up with his matter and had the opportunity to convince him what a horrible idea this was, Regan was parking his car in front of the UNLV Science Department. That he knew Willow’s class schedule was just another detail he was choosing to overlook. When she talked, he listened. Big deal.

  His need to see her overruled his wisdom, and with single-minded determination, he cut the engine. He was about to step out of the car when his cell rang. He checked the time: fifteen minutes before her A&P Lab let out. After hesitating another second, he dug his cell out of his pocket. It was probably Coach wondering where the hell he was.

  Nope. Unavailable. Curiosity had him swiping his thumb over the screen to accept the call. “Hello?”

  “Regan?” the voice was deeper, raspier than he remembered, but the familiarity still slammed into him with the force of a roundhouse kick to the gut.

  The air left his lungs in a whoosh, temporarily robbing him of breath to speak. Not that he had anything to say to the bastard. Regan disconnected the call and repocketed his phone. After all these years, now he had to get this call. And how had he gotten Regan’s number, anyway? Un-fucking-believable.

  The timing couldn’t be worse. Muttering a foul curse and tamping down the rise of pissed-off flooding through his veins, Regan slammed the door, hit the remote to lock his car, and headed toward the science department, wondering what in the hell he was thinking. Perhaps this call had been an omen—God’s way of reminding him how worthless he was. But the selfish bastard in him still wanted her, even if they could be only friends. He just didn’t want to lose that connection with her. They’d come too far together, been through too much . . .

  After some wandering around and a lot of where the fuck am I? He found A&P Lab room 201 with a few minutes to spare. Waiting outside the door, he nervously paced the hall. She probably wouldn’t be happy to see him here, but he had things that needed saying. After a few passes, the door opened and students began filing out with books in hand. He stood by the wall, back braced against the cool bricks, watching the students leave while he searched for platinum hair and a slender frame.

  His chest tightened at the sight of her—she wore a V-neck floral-patterned button-up and a black maxi-skirt. With each step, her toes flashed beneath the hem. And those black strappy sandals with her bright-pink nails . . . Hot as fucking hell. A far cry from the sweats and Miller MMA T-shirts she usually wore at work and around the house. Is she dressing up for this douche-tard? Is that him? Neither of them noticed Regan standing there. They were laughing about something, but he couldn’t hear what over the chatter of the other students. The rise of jealousy was swift and immediate. It didn’t matter that he had no claim on her, no right to feel this way—his heart would certainly beg to differ.

  “Willow . . .” he called above the din of the crowd.

  She stopped, tensed, and slowly turned around. Surprise flashed in her vibrant eyes, but it quickly morphed into irritation. She said something to the guy, presumably her lab partner, and cut through the crowd, making her way over to Regan. The closer she came, the harder his heart began kicking in his chest. Fuck. He couldn’t believe it, but he was actually nervous. When was the last time talking to a woman had made him break a sweat? Never, that’s when. But just the thought of having this conversation with Willow, here in the hall of the science department, was making his palms wet.

  “Regan? What are you doing here?”

  He stepped away from the wall and turned as she cautiously approached him, angling them away from the students, hoping for privacy. “I want to talk to you.”

  “I think we’ve both said all there is to say,” she replied coolly.

  “Hardly. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “I’ve been trying to move on with my life.”

  He chuffed a derisive snort. “Just like that? I thought you said you loved me.” His voic
e was ripe with accusation, as if she’d cursed him rather than bestowed on him the gift of her heart.

  “No, not ‘just like that,’ and what does it matter? I’m just a stupid child, right? What could I possibly know about love?” she snapped. “Leave me alone, Regan.”

  Willow made a move to push past him, but he caught her arm, guiding her back between him and the wall.

  “Listen, Willow, I—”

  “Hey, asshole, maybe you don’t hear so well. She said to leave her alone.”

  A hand clamped on Regan’s bicep with a surprising amount of intent and attempted to jerk him around. He went with it, spinning to face the asshole dumb enough to grab him. It took a whole two seconds for recognition to flash in the guy’s eyes aggressing on him, and to his credit, there wasn’t any fear—just a healthy dose of respect. He took his hands off Regan pretty fucking fast. Huh . . . brave and smart.

  The dude’s gaze cut to Willow, brows jacked tight. “Holy shit, Willow. You didn’t tell me the guy you were crushing on was Rapscallion Matthews. Fuck, now I’m glad we didn’t hook up. You gotta give a guy a heads-up on this kind of shit.”

  Hook up? Had they been thinking about “hooking up”? Regan was second-guessing his opinion about this guy’s IQ—only an idiot would admit to wanting to fuck Regan’s girl to his face.

  Regan turned his attention back to Willow, who had a bit more color in her cheeks than she usually wore. “You told him about me?” he demanded, not sure if that pleased him or not. S’pose that depended on what she’d said.

  Willow didn’t confirm or deny. “Regan, you need to go. I’m going to be late for English class. This isn’t the time or the place—”

  “You’re right. It’s not. But this is the only place I can find you these days, the only place where we can have a little privacy.”

  He glared at Willow’s self-appointed bodyguard. “That’s your cue, Romeo. Get lost.”

  The guy had the balls to eye Willow, silently seeking her permission to scram.

  She must not have wanted her lab partner to be missing any teeth because she nodded at him to go. “It’s all right, Carson. I’ll call you later.”

  The fuck she would—not if he had anything to say about it.

  When they were finally alone—well, as alone as they could be standing in a hall with students racing from one class to the next—he turned his full attention to her and felt something inside his chest cramp. “I miss you.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could bite them back.

  Her eyes softened enough to give him a shred of hope she wasn’t completely lost to him. Then she said, “I know how you feel, but it changes nothing.” The resignation in her voice sent his pulse hammering inside his chest. This wasn’t the Willow he knew. This woman was cold, reserved, and resigned to hold on to this wall separating them. “I can’t get over you if we’re always in each other’s space.”

  Get over me? What the fuck? Frustration surged inside him, along with a healthy dose of panic, snapping the frayed ends of his self-control.

  “Goddammit, Willow!” He slammed his palms against the wall on both sides of her head, caging her inside his guard. The bang echoed down the hall. She flinched but did not cower, holding his stare with that stubborn determination he so admired—when it wasn’t being used against him, that was.

  Desperation clawed at his gut, anger making him reckless. “You need to hear me say it? Is that it?” he barked. “Will that make you happy? Knowing that I’m suffering just as much as you? Fine then, I’ll say it. I love you, Willow.”

  She gasped—a sharp catch of breath. Her eyes widened with shock. “Why?”

  His brow arched in question. Why? Seriously? This was the reaction he got when he finally told the woman he loved her? Definitely not the response he’d been expecting. But then again, when did Willow ever behave the way he thought she would?

  “Why, after all this time, when I’ve finally started to accept that we’re never going to be together, do you suddenly decide you want me?”

  She didn’t get it. Did she really not know? “Willow, I’ve always wanted you. It’s just taken me this long to realize I can’t live without you.” What the hell . . . In for a penny, in for a pound, right? “I don’t know when it happened, but it feels like forever. You’ve always been a part of my life, and I don’t want to lose you now—not over this. But the thought of betraying Kyle kills me. There isn’t much that makes me a good man. If I give up my integrity, what will I have left?”

  “You’ll have me,” she pointed out, looking frustrated.

  Fuck, she was killing him. He captured her face with his hands, eyes imploring her to understand. “But at what cost, Willow? How can you respect me when I can’t respect myself?”

  Her brows tightened, that infamous temper flaring. “So, that’s it? You tell me you’re in love with me, but it changes nothing?”

  He didn’t know what he was saying. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.

  They stared at each other in a wordless standoff. Finally, she exhaled a breath he didn’t know she’d been holding and shook her head. “You’re a stubborn man, Regan Matthews, and a fool.”

  He could have told her that. Wasn’t any news to him.

  “You’re lucky I love you”—an unmistakable note of warning tinged her voice, putting him on notice—“and that I happen to be just as stubborn as you are. I’m not giving up on us, Regan, not without a fight.”

  But hadn’t she done that already? Given up on them? It had sure as hell felt like it when she was avoiding him last week and “trying to get over him.” Unless she was calling his bluff. In which case, it totally worked. He’d folded like a house of cards.

  Willow stepped closer. Her heat radiated against his chest as her light lavender scent coiled around him, filling his senses, lulling his defenses, and firing up his lust. His hands dropped to her hips—to keep her at bay or to pull her closer he wasn’t sure. She rose to her tiptoes, bringing her lips so temptingly close he could feel her breath brushing against his face. He froze, waiting for her to close the distance, to take the decision out of his hands because, holy hell, the guilt weighing down on him right now was almost as strong as the lust rocketing through his veins.

  What would she taste like? What would it feel like to have her mouth against his? Hot and untethered or sweet and ardent? The one time he’d felt the soft fullness of those lips she’d been sixteen and probably somewhat hammered. Her kiss then had been shy and unpracticed against his neck, but still so fucking hot. It had taken every bit of his strength to push her away that night, and he wasn’t sure he possessed the will to do it again.

  He’d never been brave enough to take her into his arms and comfort her again. Hell, the memory was so close to the surface, the feeling of her sweet body pressed up against his. His reaction had been swift and most unwelcome, yet undeniable all the same. It hadn’t been the first time he’d thought of her in a less-than-platonic way, but it had been the first time his body had rebelled against the “Do Not Touch” order he’d given it.

  Hesitation hovered between them another few seconds, tension ratcheting up the need to kiss her, to taste her. But she didn’t do it—didn’t bring her mouth into contact with his. Instead, her whispered words kissed his parted lips. “The gloves are coming off, Matthews, and I’m not quitting. Not until one of us taps.”

  Oh, fuck me . . .

  “Game on.”

  Chapter 6

  Her mouth was so close to his she could feel his quickened breaths against her lips; almost taste that peppermint vapor from the Altoids he always ate. It would be nothing to bridge that scant distance separating them, yet everything if she did. The temptation to kiss him was nearly too powerful to resist, but somehow, she found the willpower to step back. Regan needed to own this thing between them, to take control of it. Besides, she didn’t exactly want their first real kiss to be in the hall outside the science department.

  “I’ll see you
for supper tonight.”

  “You will?” His dark brow arched in question.

  “Won’t I? It’s Thursday.”

  Recognition flared in his eyes, as if he’d just now remembered what day it was, but she doubted he’d forgotten. Was that why he’d come here this afternoon? To smooth things over with her before tonight?

  “You still want me to come over? Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  He gave her a crooked grin that made her pulse quicken. The power this gorgeous man had over her wasn’t even fair. He hadn’t taken his hands off her waist yet, his thumb brushing over the curve of her hip bones—back and forth, light, teasing. She wondered if he even realized he was doing it. But Lord help her, she felt his touch all the way between her legs. Her core tightened in surprise at the contact. Did he have any idea how much she wanted him?

  “That depends,” she said, keeping her tone flirtatious.

  “On what?”

  Was he expecting her to ask him to kiss her, because she wanted him to? Going for unpredictable, she stared into his absinthe eyes and said, “On if you help me paint my room this weekend.”

  The surprised expression on his face almost made her laugh. “Are you serious?”

  “Uh-huh. What did you think I was going to say?”

  He shook his head, refusing to answer.

  “I gotta go or I’m going to be late for English.” She was having a hard time stepping away from him, and just maybe he wasn’t ready to let her go, either, because the tips of his fingers flexed, tightening his grip. This was the first time he’d ever touched her with any hint of intimacy or possession, and it felt . . . right.

  “So, you and me, we’re good?” he clarified, searching her eyes for confirmation before letting her go.