I shouldn’t want him to but I do.
“I liked it,” I say. And I liked sleeping in your arms, if only for a second.
I hold my breath, realizing what I just admitted—no, Reese, take it back!—and I don’t move when he reaches out.
“Me too,” he says.
And god, I want Maverick’s lips again.
Hot and strong, waking me up from whatever sleep spell I’ve been in.
It won’t go anywhere, Reese!
He slips his hand under my hair and his fingertips caress my scalp. “You totally bailed on me.”
“You knew I had to leave.”
“Yeah, I knew, but you have a blanking effect on my head. I’m sure you know this because you’re smiling that crooked smile of yours right now.”
“Crooked?!”
He smiles a little, cups the back of my neck, and draws me closer as he lies back on the blanket.
“Maverick . . . what happened . . .” I begin.
He pulls me a little closer. I put my hands on his chest to push myself back but end up just leaving them there, feeling the flat planes of his chest underneath as he murmurs, “What happened what?”
“What?”
“Are you going to tell me how mind-blowing it was or are you going to let me kiss you?”
One more kiss . . . oh god, I’m going to hell. I’m the worst person I know. The most reckless. The most intoxicated by Maverick Cage.
It’s pure impulse. I’m burning and aching and I want to be close. Closer than close. I want to be his tattoo and the woman in his bed and the thing in his thoughts he can’t quite force out and this girl, with him, kissing in the park.
“What happened . . .” I begin, was wonderful and impulsive and frightening and reckless, and I lean over, and I press my lips to his tentatively. He cups the back of my head, his tongue sliding into my mouth.
He groans softly and pulls me above him, grabs my ass. And I love his hands, squeezing, as our tongues start sparring, and I know I can’t keep doing this, that this won’t go anywhere, and it just makes me hungrier, my fingers fisting his shirt, my tongue pushing his, a moan leaving me.
His tongue, slow and leisurely, tastes me. There’s a dog barking nearby, and people passing by the walkway, and when I make an effort to pull away, Maverick just holds my head and angles his, devouring me harder.
His hand slips under the back of my T-shirt. His fingers skim my skin, they’re hot, calloused, and so perfect, I’m a whole shiver.
He rolls us around and sets me down on the grass, kissing me some more and slipping his hand down to encompass my waist, his thumb stroking my abdomen. “Reese.” He breathes against my skin.
I blink up at the sky, then let my eyelids flutter shut as the feel of his lips trailing my neck overcomes reason.
“I don’t take what you gave to me lightly. I don’t want you to think that I did.”
“I wanted to.”
“And I want you.” Maverick’s voice is extremely thick right now. “The guy back home. He kiss you like that?”
“No.”
And he just grins. He looks down at me.
“But . . .” I sit up then. Reese, stop this. “But we can’t . . . you know. Do that again.”
His eyes darken. “I think we should do it more often.” He stares at me, waiting for me to say something, and I can only swallow nervously.
He signals to my book. “What are you reading?” He puts his arm around my shoulders. I stiffen them but somehow melt inside.
“A book.”
“Really?” He lifts his brows, and I laugh and tentatively tuck a loose strand that came undone from my ponytail behind my ear.
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you,” I say.
“All lies.” He cracks a smile.
“You’re kicking ass.”
His expression loses its humor, and he stares straight ahead, thoughtful. “I’m going to kick Tate’s ass, Reese.”
I sit up, staring away. “I don’t like to think about it.”
“You root for him out of principle, I don’t expect you to root for me.”
I stay silent.
“I need to do this for me,” he explains with a fierce and determined gleam in his eyes.
“Maverick . . .” I wrap my arms around myself. It’s not easy for me to find someone I connect with. I haven’t ever felt the kind of connection to a stranger that I felt when I started interacting with Maverick “the Avenger” Cage. “That night with you meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have kissed you just now. I’m trying to find myself, and I can’t do that if I’m lost in you.”
He takes my chin and the touch triggers heat all over me. “I won’t let you get lost,” he promises.
“The Tates are my family. I don’t think we should do what we did again. And Miles is coming to town next month.”
“Miles, that’s his name?”
I nod and glance helplessly at him.
The liquid look in his gaze starts to harden right before my eyes. “Yeah, I get it. He’s not my father’s son.” He grits his jaw, his eyes dark, then we stare at each other. He starts to stand, but then, as if by impulse, his hand engulfs my cheek as he grabs my face and kisses me, almost punishing and hot. I stay there, melted, as he gets to his feet and walks away.
I exhale and shut my eyes and touch my lips.
It’s over. We won’t do it again. Right? Did he agree or not?
Yes, because he was angry.
I’m sure we will be civil but . . . apart. And I can’t stand it. And suddenly I can’t remember why we can’t, why it’s wrong.
Or why I wrote my phone number on his arm.
TWENTY-TWO
NO MORE
Maverick
I ran eight MILES, and it’s midnight now.
Miles. Miles. Miles.
I stare at myself in the mirror in the hotel bathroom, looking deep into my eyes. And I smash my fist into the glass.
TWENTY-THREE
BROKEN KNUCKLES
Maverick
The next day we’re training, Oz and I. We’re training in a storage unit he got us for the day. The door’s wide open, and he hung the bags from the iron beams in the ceiling. I’m using my left, over and over. Hitting. Listening to the sounds. Smack, thud, thud, smack, poof.
“Whoa, stop, stop. Where’s your right?” Oz demands when he shakes himself out of a nap. The guy brought a fold-out chair and has just sat there for hours after we gobbled down two pizzas, one each. I might have had a few extra slices of his.
“I liked it,” I say. And I liked sleeping in your arms, if only for a second.
I hold my breath, realizing what I just admitted—no, Reese, take it back!—and I don’t move when he reaches out.
“Me too,” he says.
And god, I want Maverick’s lips again.
Hot and strong, waking me up from whatever sleep spell I’ve been in.
It won’t go anywhere, Reese!
He slips his hand under my hair and his fingertips caress my scalp. “You totally bailed on me.”
“You knew I had to leave.”
“Yeah, I knew, but you have a blanking effect on my head. I’m sure you know this because you’re smiling that crooked smile of yours right now.”
“Crooked?!”
He smiles a little, cups the back of my neck, and draws me closer as he lies back on the blanket.
“Maverick . . . what happened . . .” I begin.
He pulls me a little closer. I put my hands on his chest to push myself back but end up just leaving them there, feeling the flat planes of his chest underneath as he murmurs, “What happened what?”
“What?”
“Are you going to tell me how mind-blowing it was or are you going to let me kiss you?”
One more kiss . . . oh god, I’m going to hell. I’m the worst person I know. The most reckless. The most intoxicated by Maverick Cage.
It’s pure impulse. I’m burning and aching and I want to be close. Closer than close. I want to be his tattoo and the woman in his bed and the thing in his thoughts he can’t quite force out and this girl, with him, kissing in the park.
“What happened . . .” I begin, was wonderful and impulsive and frightening and reckless, and I lean over, and I press my lips to his tentatively. He cups the back of my head, his tongue sliding into my mouth.
He groans softly and pulls me above him, grabs my ass. And I love his hands, squeezing, as our tongues start sparring, and I know I can’t keep doing this, that this won’t go anywhere, and it just makes me hungrier, my fingers fisting his shirt, my tongue pushing his, a moan leaving me.
His tongue, slow and leisurely, tastes me. There’s a dog barking nearby, and people passing by the walkway, and when I make an effort to pull away, Maverick just holds my head and angles his, devouring me harder.
His hand slips under the back of my T-shirt. His fingers skim my skin, they’re hot, calloused, and so perfect, I’m a whole shiver.
He rolls us around and sets me down on the grass, kissing me some more and slipping his hand down to encompass my waist, his thumb stroking my abdomen. “Reese.” He breathes against my skin.
I blink up at the sky, then let my eyelids flutter shut as the feel of his lips trailing my neck overcomes reason.
“I don’t take what you gave to me lightly. I don’t want you to think that I did.”
“I wanted to.”
“And I want you.” Maverick’s voice is extremely thick right now. “The guy back home. He kiss you like that?”
“No.”
And he just grins. He looks down at me.
“But . . .” I sit up then. Reese, stop this. “But we can’t . . . you know. Do that again.”
His eyes darken. “I think we should do it more often.” He stares at me, waiting for me to say something, and I can only swallow nervously.
He signals to my book. “What are you reading?” He puts his arm around my shoulders. I stiffen them but somehow melt inside.
“A book.”
“Really?” He lifts his brows, and I laugh and tentatively tuck a loose strand that came undone from my ponytail behind my ear.
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you,” I say.
“All lies.” He cracks a smile.
“You’re kicking ass.”
His expression loses its humor, and he stares straight ahead, thoughtful. “I’m going to kick Tate’s ass, Reese.”
I sit up, staring away. “I don’t like to think about it.”
“You root for him out of principle, I don’t expect you to root for me.”
I stay silent.
“I need to do this for me,” he explains with a fierce and determined gleam in his eyes.
“Maverick . . .” I wrap my arms around myself. It’s not easy for me to find someone I connect with. I haven’t ever felt the kind of connection to a stranger that I felt when I started interacting with Maverick “the Avenger” Cage. “That night with you meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have kissed you just now. I’m trying to find myself, and I can’t do that if I’m lost in you.”
He takes my chin and the touch triggers heat all over me. “I won’t let you get lost,” he promises.
“The Tates are my family. I don’t think we should do what we did again. And Miles is coming to town next month.”
“Miles, that’s his name?”
I nod and glance helplessly at him.
The liquid look in his gaze starts to harden right before my eyes. “Yeah, I get it. He’s not my father’s son.” He grits his jaw, his eyes dark, then we stare at each other. He starts to stand, but then, as if by impulse, his hand engulfs my cheek as he grabs my face and kisses me, almost punishing and hot. I stay there, melted, as he gets to his feet and walks away.
I exhale and shut my eyes and touch my lips.
It’s over. We won’t do it again. Right? Did he agree or not?
Yes, because he was angry.
I’m sure we will be civil but . . . apart. And I can’t stand it. And suddenly I can’t remember why we can’t, why it’s wrong.
Or why I wrote my phone number on his arm.
TWENTY-TWO
NO MORE
Maverick
I ran eight MILES, and it’s midnight now.
Miles. Miles. Miles.
I stare at myself in the mirror in the hotel bathroom, looking deep into my eyes. And I smash my fist into the glass.
TWENTY-THREE
BROKEN KNUCKLES
Maverick
The next day we’re training, Oz and I. We’re training in a storage unit he got us for the day. The door’s wide open, and he hung the bags from the iron beams in the ceiling. I’m using my left, over and over. Hitting. Listening to the sounds. Smack, thud, thud, smack, poof.
“Whoa, stop, stop. Where’s your right?” Oz demands when he shakes himself out of a nap. The guy brought a fold-out chair and has just sat there for hours after we gobbled down two pizzas, one each. I might have had a few extra slices of his.
