Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (5 page)

He consumed her. Every thought fled from her mind, completely shutting down to everything except the feeling of him against her, his spicy masculine scent, the taste of his tongue. Despite herself, she melted against him, and for a brief moment, he was just a man and she was just a woman, partaking in the most primal, ageless dance of passion.

“Fuck, you feel so amazing,” he growled against her mouth as he grasped her breast, squeezing to the point where pleasure and pain blurred. “So . . . real. So fucking perfect . . .”

For feeling so amazing, he certainly didn’t sound very happy about it. He took her mouth again, diving in for another breathtaking kiss as he trapped her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Exhaling a soft moan she was helpless to hold back, Ryann arched into his hand, pressing her tender nipple into his palm for more delicious torture.

Lord help her, he felt incredible. His energy was like a drug, his touch infusing her with an electrical current that lit up her nerve endings, all centering to the little bundle between her thighs. Oh, to have him there—touching her, filling her . . .

As if he’d read her mind, Aiden untangled his hand from her hair and slipped it down between her thighs. Rucking up her skirt past her hips, he groaned, his husky voice full of regret. “Why did you have to be like them?”

Wait. What? Be like who?

His hand slipped into her panties. Bold, skillful fingers parted the slick folds of her flesh, teasing over the bundle of nerves that had her crying out and bucking her hips against his hand.

“Damn, baby girl, I can’t wait to make you come,” he growled, fastening his mouth over hers again.

Still rocked from his confusing question, and now hearing him calling her that generic pet name, was like a cold bucket of reality on her Aiden inferno. No doubt, every woman he met was his “baby girl,” which slammed home the undeniable truth, that as much as this was new to her—because she did not make out with random men—she was nothing more to him than a quick fuck. And more than she wanted to admit, that hurt. Which really cooled her jets, because she had zero business getting close enough to this guy that he would have the power to emotionally affect her one way or another.

His fingers teased near her opening, but before they could enter and become Ryann’s final undoing, she reached between her legs and caught hold of his wrist. She tore her mouth from his, panting for air, but he didn’t miss a beat, dipping his head to the sensitive spot on her neck just below her ear.

“What’s my name, Aiden?” Ryann hated herself for the broken, throaty pant in her voice, giving away just how deep down the path of rapture he’d taken her.

Aiden tensed against her, as if just now sensing this was heading somewhere he might not want to go. But oh, he was good, and he wasn’t a quitter. No, not this fighter. Slipping a finger deep inside her, he teased her clit with his thumb. A helpless moan escaped her lips, so close to defeat, so close to coming . . . He sucked the flesh of her throat covering her traitorous, thundering pulse that gave away just how close she was to saying
Fuck it
and letting him take her to the moon.

Through her lust-filled haze, she realized he’d yet to answer her question, and that was all the push she needed to steel her resolve. “Aiden, stop. This isn’t why I’m here.”

Slowly, with deliberate ease, he pulled his hand from beneath her panties and she nearly cried out at the loss of his touch. Never before had a man made her feel like this. Never before had a man so masterfully played her body like he knew it better than she did. His lips hovered beside her ear, his breath hot, ragged exhales.

“Then why are you here?” His seductive growl held a hint of suspicion and was laced with an undertone of unease that sent a prickle of goose bumps racing up her arms.

Perhaps this was not the smartest thing she’d ever done, locking herself away with a fighter she truly knew nothing about. There was no one to hear her scream—in pleasure or in terror. But now that she had his attention, there was no going back. This was why she was here. She had a job to do, and the sooner she got it done, the better for the both of them. “Your mother sent me.”

He tensed against her. When his head snapped up, sparks of golden fury shone in his eyes, boring into hers with nothing short of cold, hard rage. “Get out,” he snarled.

Her heart missed a beat as it dropped into her stomach and then promptly began thundering wildly, making her nauseous. He couldn’t be serious. But Aiden didn’t even give her a chance to explain as she stood there frozen in shock at the complete one-eighty this man had pulled on her in a matter of seconds. With the speed of a striking viper, he slammed his fist into the door beside her head. She closed her eyes and flinched, knowing her first moment of true fear since meeting this cage fighter.

“I’m serious, Ryann! Get the fuck out. Now!”

He knew her name. The realization was so irrelevant in light of his outburst, and yet it resonated somewhere deep inside her. But how . . . ? He hadn’t asked her, and she certainly hadn’t offered, yet he’d taken the time to discover it.
Regan
, she realized. Had Aiden sent him over to talk to her tonight? What had his friend told him and why had Aiden cared enough to find out?

Before she could think on it any longer, he reached for her skirt, still bunched around her hips, and jerked it back into place before grabbing her arm. Ryann winced at his biting grip, sure she’d be wearing the evidence of his anger tomorrow. Without another word, Aiden dragged her away from the door’s path, ripped it open, and shoved her out into the hall, slamming it behind her.

Seconds passed and then something crashed inside his room as Aiden roared. “Fuck!”

Ryann stood there a moment, stunned, trying to process what the hell just happened. Going from sixty to zero in that man’s arms in the space of a heartbeat left her dazed and confused. She’d figured he wouldn’t be pleased to discover the truth, but not once did she imagine he’d respond so violently. His rejection gnawed at her, which was ridiculous, because he didn’t mean anything to her, and she certainly didn’t mean anything to him. Why should it matter to her what he thought? The unsettling emotions were just the low after being brought so high—a natural response to the endorphins released by his touch and now leaving her system.

As the shock began to fade, a prominent emotion quickly began to take root deep in her gut—indignant anger. How dare that presumptuous prick bring her up here and just assume she was going to sleep with him? That took a lot of fucking nerve. Maybe she should have reminded him he was engaged while she was at it. As Ryann stomped toward the elevator, she grabbed her cell from the purse that miraculously still clung to her shoulder. Selecting her contact, she hit the Call button just as the elevator chimed and the doors slid open.

“I found him,” she announced, forgoing a greeting.

“And?” Madeline responded impatiently.

“You were right. He isn’t going to cooperate. Send me the package.”

Ryann rattled off the address of the hotel she was staying at and hung up. Shaking her head in disgust, she rode the elevator to the main floor lobby, hoping she didn’t look like the whore she felt.

Damn Aiden Kruze and his witch of a mother. Because of those two, she was about to commit her first felony.

CHAPTER

 5 

T
hat lying, manipulative bitch! His gut had been right. Ryann wasn’t a cage banger after all—she was worse! And he was the fucking idiot who almost slept with her. Rage tore through his veins like a firestorm. Spinning away from the door, he grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on and hurled it across the room. The vase of flowers shattered against the wall, sending glass shrapnel ricocheting back at him. A shard sliced into his arm.

“Fuck!”

He slapped his hand over the wound, but the blood oozed between his fingers, running down his arm. Shit, this was going to need stitches. Aiden reached over his shoulder and tugged his T-shirt off. He wrapped the stretchy cotton around his bicep and used his teeth to tie a knot, then fished his cell out of his pocket and dialed Marcus’s number. Flopping onto the couch, he raised his arm above his head, waiting while the phone rang.

“What’s wrong?” Coach demanded in way of a greeting.

“Who said anything was wrong?”

“I know you, Aiden, and if you’re calling me instead of being buried balls deep in some cage banger, something’s wrong.”

“Shit . . .” He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair. “She sent another one, Coach. This time it was a woman.”

Silence—then, “Oh, Jesus . . . Aiden, what did you do? The last one spent two weeks in the hospital.”

Yeah, he kinda felt bad about that, but he’d warned the man to keep his hands off him. Dammit, that woman just would not give it a rest. He was past the point of hoping she’d quit doing his father’s bidding. Did she have any idea how deep his father’s treachery ran? What he was involved in? He doubted it would matter at this point. The closer they got to the wedding, the more tenacious his bitch of a mother became. He wouldn’t put anything past her, or her hired whore.

“I, uhh . . . need a ride to the hospital. I’ve been drinking too much to drive myself.”

“What happened?”

“I cut my arm on a piece of glass.”

Marcus cursed under his breath, and Aiden could hear the click of a bedside lamp and the rustling of bed covers.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough that it needs stitches, but it’ll be fine.”

“All right, son. Hang tight and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As Aiden paced the floor, waiting for Marcus to arrive, guilt assailed him when he thought of the argument he’d had with the old man a few days ago. He’d told Coach he wasn’t his father, but the truth of it was, that man had been a better dad to him than his own ladder-climbing, turncoat of a father had ever been. The only time that man had shown any interest in him was when it suited his agenda to do so.

He’d done everything for that man, trying to earn his love and respect. He’d become a lawyer because his father wanted him to. He’d taken over the family business because his father wanted him to. It didn’t matter what he did or how hard he tried, nothing could ever please that man. Now he wanted him to marry a woman he’d never met in some fucked-up twelfth-century archaic union. And that, my friend, was where he drew the line. Fuck you—sayonara—go to hell. That shit was not happening.

But of course, his father hadn’t listened to him. Instead, the asshole signed Aiden’s name to a marriage contract for a shitload of money being funneled into his father’s senatorial campaign—a marriage that was due to take place in, oh, about a week.
Ha, good fucking luck with that.
Aiden had zero interest in getting married—ever—let alone to a complete stranger. He was done doing his father’s bidding. He’d always known the guy was a shrewd businessman—he’d just never thought the bastard would sell his own son for a profit.

So fourteen months ago, when Aiden accidentally and luckily discovered what his father had done, he up and walked away from his rich-bitch life and moved out to Vegas to pursue his own dream of fighting in the CFA. Aiden had been brawling his whole life. He boxed throughout high school, and once he’d graduated and started attending Harvard, he moved into mixed martial arts. When he wasn’t buried in law books, he was training in the gym. He’d been fortunate to meet Cole Easton shortly after moving to Vegas. Cole had introduced him to Marcus, and the rest was history.

Cole and Aiden had hit it off, becoming fast friends and sparring partners until his recent injury. Del Toro was newer to the Cage Fighting Association and had stepped in as his partner to replace Easton. It was no secret Del Toro was having trouble adjusting to civilian life. No one knew the specific deets about what got him discharged from the military, and he wasn’t talking. But as far as sparring partners went, Aiden couldn’t complain. The guy was out of his weight class, but in truth, there weren’t a lot of fighters willing to pound with the guy for fun.

Life was good, his career was taking off, and he had all the pussy he wanted. And then, just like a bad fucking penny, his parents started showing up. Well, by proxy anyway, because heaven forbid they inconvenience themselves enough to deal with him directly. This latest stunt had topped them all, though. Seriously? Sending a woman to hunt him down? Like she could possibly accomplish what two full-grown men before her had failed to do. Did this woman think she possessed a magical vagina that would enslave him and turn him into her mindless minion? That after one dip in that tight, wet cunny, he’d drop to his knees, bow before the almighty vag, and follow her back to New York?—not fucking likely.

It didn’t matter that those few stolen minutes with Ryann tonight had been the hottest moments of his life. The way she’d kissed him, touched him, he’d sensed a wholesome, unpracticed honesty in her desire that caught him off guard, hitting him below the belt. For the briefest moment, he’d almost believed she wanted
him
, not Disco Stick Kruze the famed MMA fighter. He couldn’t explain it, but the way she felt in his arms and responded to his touch . . . No woman had ever affected him like that.

It’d come as a staggering blow when in minutes, that woman had driven him mindless with need. And then to discover just as quickly, it was all a lie . . . Fuck, he hadn’t been that furious since he’d uncovered his family’s plot to betray him. Even now, the memory of her kiss haunted him. Thinking of her body pressed so perfectly against his made him hard all over again. His balls ached with the need for release. He’d never felt breasts so soft, tasted lips so sweet, or touched a pussy so tight and wet . . .

Her scent still lingered on him, and despite himself, he occasionally drew a deep breath, relishing the rush of breathing her in all over again. He really should go shower, but damn, he wasn’t ready to part with her yet. As pathetic as that seemed and as pissed off as he was, he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who, for the first time in his life, had truly made him feel alive.

Huh . . . maybe she did have a magical vag, after all.

Ryann felt like shit. Perhaps it was the two hours of sleep she’d gotten last night, or the gnawing ache of unsatisfied need that had left her restless and cranky. She’d tried to take the edge off herself, but it was a poor substitute for Aiden’s touch. Or . . . maybe it was guilt over what she was about to do to him that rode her so hard. Perhaps it was a combination of the two, but whatever the reason, Ryann was pretty sure she’d hit an all-time low when she got out of bed this morning—until her phone rang with her daily countdown.

There was no point in ignoring the call that had become as predictable as the rising sun. He would just call again, and again, and again until she answered. It did no good to change her number. The calls always came in on her business number, and unless she wanted to put herself out of a job, she had to keep herself available for people to contact her.

Some days he was more courteous than others, but the message was always the same—pay up or else. Exhaling a sigh, Ryann disconnected the call and tossed her phone onto the bed before heading to the shower. A part of her wanted so badly to be mad at her father, to blame him for leaving her alone and putting her in this situation. But the anger just couldn’t come. She was too tired and it was buried beneath too much grief.

Years of suffering from the loss of her mother had eaten away at the man who had once been her hero—her rock. Axel Andrews had been an honorable man in whose footsteps she’d wanted to walk. It was why she’d become a private investigator and her father’s business partner. If she’d only known how easily her world would fall apart. She’d seen how quickly a life could unravel at the clipping of just one key thread—her mother had been that catalyst for her father, and Ryann often blamed herself for not doing more to help her dad. The changes had been subtle at first—the drinking, the gambling, the unaccounted business expenses. He’d hidden them well, and they’d been easy enough to ignore as she struggled to tread the waters of her own grief.

By the time she realized just how badly things had gotten, it was too late. Andrews Private Investigation Services was nearly bankrupt, and her father was drunk more than he was sober. In the last months prior to his death, he’d spent his days and most of his nights gambling at the Lion’s Den, one of a chain of clubs owned by Vincent Moralli. It was no secret Moralli was Mafia. While doing a missing-person investigation last year, she’d discovered he was also the proprietor of an illegal fighting circuit as well as being heavily involved with drugs and prostitution.

She’d reported her findings to the police back then, and she had never heard another word from them. So should she really have been surprised when she couldn’t get the police to look into her father’s death? She’d suspected at the time the police were being paid to turn a blind eye to Moralli’s dealings, and after being warned off by the officer last week, she was sure of it. Ryann had enough on her plate without painting a target on her back. A man as powerful as Moralli would be well connected and heavily protected.

The only thing whistle-blowing would accomplish at this point would be getting herself killed, which wasn’t entirely off the table. If she didn’t get Aiden delivered to his mother and collect her payment before Moralli’s deadline, death was a very real possibility—or worse. His enforcer made it clear they’d get their money out of her one way or another. She didn’t even want to consider what the other way could be.

So on that happy note, Ryann finished rinsing the suds from her hair. With renewed conviction—because facing off with Aiden Kruze was still the lesser of the two evils in this shit sandwich she called a life—Ryann stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around her hair and one around her body, she headed back to the bedroom to get dressed. As she passed the mirror above the bathroom sink, something caught the corner of her eye and she stopped. Turning her head, she studied the line of dark purple bruises lining her bicep.

Shit . . .
She raised her arm, checking the underside, and found the fifth—a thumbprint. Did she really just think Aiden a lesser of anything? Sighing, she kept on walking. There was no denying it, she was royally fucked—and not in a good way.

When Ryann reached the downstairs lobby, she stopped at the courtesy desk to inform the attendant she was expecting a package to arrive. To her surprise, the man behind the counter reached down and retrieved a small, brown, paper-wrapped box. Her stomach knotted at the sight of it, her pulse quickening with anxiety. Saying a quick prayer for forgiveness, she thanked the man and grabbed the package, stuffing it into her purse before rushing out the door.