“What?”
Pete nods. “This is his last season. The final match of the season will be Rem’s last.”
NINETEEN
CIRCUIT PARTY
Maverick
The two-story Denver home is pulsing with music inside. Fighters I know and fighters I don’t know bustle around with their teams, groupies, and the high-end Denver crowd. I’m not talking to anyone. Everyone knows better than to come near me. I suspect I’m putting out some major back-off waves, and there’s a wide radius around me that people are steering clear of.
I watch her in a lounge area. She’s with a couple of other women she just seemed to meet. The group is talking, but Reese isn’t. I watch her tuck her hair behind her ear, and not for a second do I miss the way her eyes slide over to meet mine. Her breasts coming up and down with each breath. Her eyes escape me again. Then come back.
To find me still watching her.
Every time they do this . . . her eyes, come back and hold . . . I get harder and harder.
I’m stone-hard and still waiting to make a move until she can’t take my stare anymore.
She shifts in place, then messes with her hair. I want to mess that hair too. I was taking it slow. But now she knows who I am. And I know who she is.
If I don’t grab her now, I’ll lose her from my grasp.
I don’t want more distance between us when there is already too much as far as I’m concerned.
I’ve wanted her closer. Every second since she said that I was with her.
She’s drinking a bottle of water, meeting my eyes across the rim as she takes a sip. She sets it down and stares at me. My blood is heading south faster than a thousand-ton drop. I’m slammed. I probably look like shit. Oz sewed up my cut, and for sure it’ll scar this time around from his hands. That scar brings to mind the girl who said, He’s with me.
I am with her. And tonight, she’s with me.
She breaks her gaze, at last goes to her feet, and starts down the hall. I push away from the wall and start forward.
She looks back at me, and her eyes widen and her lips part, and I like that they part. I like that she knows, with every step I take, what it means.
♥ ♥ ♥
Reese
I COULDN’T SIT there anymore. Avoiding the bar, drinking my water while everybody talked about Avenger. And I felt his eyes on me, giving me a thousand knots in my stomach. I glance back, and he’s following me. He’s like a legend already. The juiciest, naughtiest word on everyone’s lips tonight is “Maverick.” The fact that he’s Scorpion’s son is threatening enough, but the fact that he has amazing talent and caught Remy’s attention is just cause for more gossip.
I don’t know a lot about his father. Only what I’ve heard from the team, and before tonight, I hadn’t really paid close attention.
All I know is that he was a bad man, and that what I feel when I look at Maverick just now should be bad.
Bad.
I head to the ladies’ room, safe. Away from his eyes.
But not away from this aching, throbbing want inside me.
No sooner do I step inside than Maverick comes in behind me. I hear a pair of startled gasps from the two ladies by the sink.
Maverick opens the door and levels them with a gaze. “Out,” he says, firm and oh so quiet.
My eyes widen and a thread of fear and anticipation unfurls inside me.
He narrows his eyes as the girls quickly shuffle outside, then he kicks the door shut. We’re alone. So alone there could be nobody else in the world.
He has a massive presence. He’s lean and young but acts old and wise, as if he’s traveled to the future and knows exactly what he’s supposed to become.
What else does he know?
Does he know he will one day kiss me?
Will he still want to one day kiss me? Taste me?
“I’m pissed off, and I’m high on the fight, and you’re not making it easy to come down from that high.” His voice breaks with huskiness.
“No?” I ask in a silky voice.
I don’t know where this voice comes from; I never even knew I had it in me to speak like this to a man.
He exhales. He sounds frustrated. Is he frustrated? He drags a hand over his hair and then takes a step, leans forward—our eyes level. “No.”
“Maybe it’s the sugar from the sports drinks.”
“It’s not the sugar,” he dismisses.
He remains without touching me for a moment.
I’m sad and frustrated about what I learned, and I’m frustrated and desperate and feeling reckless and I don’t know. It’s an inexplicable turmoil of feelings as I look at him.
I want him more than I’ve wanted anything, and I’ve wanted things that were bad for me before. But I want Maverick Cage now like a sickness.
I don’t move when he reaches out.
His hand moves from the back of my head down to my neck, where he squeezes a little, causing his touch to make me tremble all over. His hand is warm and gentle, both familiar and new. I react so strongly my lips part and he notices.
He inhales slowly, and his eyes start darkening and darkening as he spreads his fingers on the back of my neck and slips his hand into my hair. As he pulls me a few inches closer, I catch my own breath. And the breath smells of him, hot and spicy.
He exhales through his nostrils and narrows his eyes. It’s as if he’s losing some form of inner battle. He lowers his head and every inch of my body—from my head to my toes—grips and squeezes in anticipation.
Oh god. I don’t even know what to do with my fingers. I clench them at my sides, exhaling a nervous breath.
I’m stunned by how good my body feels as he pulls me closer. Feels good when his fingers touch it. I feel good when he touches me.
I don’t know my name. What’s going on between us. All I know is Maverick. Maverick looking at my lips. Maverick opening his hand on the small of my back possessively. Maverick leaning his head down. Maverick . . . about to kiss me.
And I want to kiss Maverick.
I know I want Maverick’s lips on me.
So when they touch mine—Maverick’s lips on me feel like the most incredible, amazing thing that has ever happened in my life.
He’s kissing me. . . .
His tongue, dipping inside my mouth. His mouth is possessive; his grip is possessive; he is acting so possessive. My tongue has never given me so much pleasure than when it’s stroked, slow and sure, by his tongue.
Pete nods. “This is his last season. The final match of the season will be Rem’s last.”
NINETEEN
CIRCUIT PARTY
Maverick
The two-story Denver home is pulsing with music inside. Fighters I know and fighters I don’t know bustle around with their teams, groupies, and the high-end Denver crowd. I’m not talking to anyone. Everyone knows better than to come near me. I suspect I’m putting out some major back-off waves, and there’s a wide radius around me that people are steering clear of.
I watch her in a lounge area. She’s with a couple of other women she just seemed to meet. The group is talking, but Reese isn’t. I watch her tuck her hair behind her ear, and not for a second do I miss the way her eyes slide over to meet mine. Her breasts coming up and down with each breath. Her eyes escape me again. Then come back.
To find me still watching her.
Every time they do this . . . her eyes, come back and hold . . . I get harder and harder.
I’m stone-hard and still waiting to make a move until she can’t take my stare anymore.
She shifts in place, then messes with her hair. I want to mess that hair too. I was taking it slow. But now she knows who I am. And I know who she is.
If I don’t grab her now, I’ll lose her from my grasp.
I don’t want more distance between us when there is already too much as far as I’m concerned.
I’ve wanted her closer. Every second since she said that I was with her.
She’s drinking a bottle of water, meeting my eyes across the rim as she takes a sip. She sets it down and stares at me. My blood is heading south faster than a thousand-ton drop. I’m slammed. I probably look like shit. Oz sewed up my cut, and for sure it’ll scar this time around from his hands. That scar brings to mind the girl who said, He’s with me.
I am with her. And tonight, she’s with me.
She breaks her gaze, at last goes to her feet, and starts down the hall. I push away from the wall and start forward.
She looks back at me, and her eyes widen and her lips part, and I like that they part. I like that she knows, with every step I take, what it means.
♥ ♥ ♥
Reese
I COULDN’T SIT there anymore. Avoiding the bar, drinking my water while everybody talked about Avenger. And I felt his eyes on me, giving me a thousand knots in my stomach. I glance back, and he’s following me. He’s like a legend already. The juiciest, naughtiest word on everyone’s lips tonight is “Maverick.” The fact that he’s Scorpion’s son is threatening enough, but the fact that he has amazing talent and caught Remy’s attention is just cause for more gossip.
I don’t know a lot about his father. Only what I’ve heard from the team, and before tonight, I hadn’t really paid close attention.
All I know is that he was a bad man, and that what I feel when I look at Maverick just now should be bad.
Bad.
I head to the ladies’ room, safe. Away from his eyes.
But not away from this aching, throbbing want inside me.
No sooner do I step inside than Maverick comes in behind me. I hear a pair of startled gasps from the two ladies by the sink.
Maverick opens the door and levels them with a gaze. “Out,” he says, firm and oh so quiet.
My eyes widen and a thread of fear and anticipation unfurls inside me.
He narrows his eyes as the girls quickly shuffle outside, then he kicks the door shut. We’re alone. So alone there could be nobody else in the world.
He has a massive presence. He’s lean and young but acts old and wise, as if he’s traveled to the future and knows exactly what he’s supposed to become.
What else does he know?
Does he know he will one day kiss me?
Will he still want to one day kiss me? Taste me?
“I’m pissed off, and I’m high on the fight, and you’re not making it easy to come down from that high.” His voice breaks with huskiness.
“No?” I ask in a silky voice.
I don’t know where this voice comes from; I never even knew I had it in me to speak like this to a man.
He exhales. He sounds frustrated. Is he frustrated? He drags a hand over his hair and then takes a step, leans forward—our eyes level. “No.”
“Maybe it’s the sugar from the sports drinks.”
“It’s not the sugar,” he dismisses.
He remains without touching me for a moment.
I’m sad and frustrated about what I learned, and I’m frustrated and desperate and feeling reckless and I don’t know. It’s an inexplicable turmoil of feelings as I look at him.
I want him more than I’ve wanted anything, and I’ve wanted things that were bad for me before. But I want Maverick Cage now like a sickness.
I don’t move when he reaches out.
His hand moves from the back of my head down to my neck, where he squeezes a little, causing his touch to make me tremble all over. His hand is warm and gentle, both familiar and new. I react so strongly my lips part and he notices.
He inhales slowly, and his eyes start darkening and darkening as he spreads his fingers on the back of my neck and slips his hand into my hair. As he pulls me a few inches closer, I catch my own breath. And the breath smells of him, hot and spicy.
He exhales through his nostrils and narrows his eyes. It’s as if he’s losing some form of inner battle. He lowers his head and every inch of my body—from my head to my toes—grips and squeezes in anticipation.
Oh god. I don’t even know what to do with my fingers. I clench them at my sides, exhaling a nervous breath.
I’m stunned by how good my body feels as he pulls me closer. Feels good when his fingers touch it. I feel good when he touches me.
I don’t know my name. What’s going on between us. All I know is Maverick. Maverick looking at my lips. Maverick opening his hand on the small of my back possessively. Maverick leaning his head down. Maverick . . . about to kiss me.
And I want to kiss Maverick.
I know I want Maverick’s lips on me.
So when they touch mine—Maverick’s lips on me feel like the most incredible, amazing thing that has ever happened in my life.
He’s kissing me. . . .
His tongue, dipping inside my mouth. His mouth is possessive; his grip is possessive; he is acting so possessive. My tongue has never given me so much pleasure than when it’s stroked, slow and sure, by his tongue.
