Blindsided (The Fighter Series Book 1) (13 page)

He places my suitcase on the ground and grabs my shoulder. “Paige, this is a vacation to you. You haven’t ever been here and I haven’t been home in months. Relax. I promised you would have your own room. Put some more damn trust in me.”

Although he’s right, I don’t let him know as I glare at him. This is much different than what I envisioned. I was supposed to be in a hotel room with several walls and a few doors separating us, not in the same damn house!

I pull my head out of worry-ville and follow behind him into the house. I’m in awe stepping into the magnified bachelor pad. As he leads me through the living room, I take in all the medals, trophies, pictures of him, and boxing gloves framed on the walls. There are even several snowboards mounted under the crown molding wrapping the entirety of the small room. I follow him down a short hallway with pictures of him in gyms and cages, some with Adam, others with I’m assuming different trainers on display to each side. He pushes a bedroom door open and drops my bag on the bed, smirks then leaves me be.

The room is small, but homey. A queen size bed with a blue comforter pulled tight, a dresser with a television on top, and a matching nightstand are all this room holds. The walls are sand toned, and the curtains match the comforter. That’s it. No fancy schmancy, no decorative items, just a regular bedroom and I like it.

I wander into the living room to find Levi sprawled out on the couch, changed into grey gym shorts and a fitted white t-shirt, flipping through channels on a ridiculously stupid large TV. His tattoos might be concealed by the fabric, but I can see traces of them as his muscles push against the cloth. My imagination runs wild as I picture my hands dragging over them and tracing them with my tongue—

“Like it?” he asks not looking at me.

I nearly jump out of my skin lost in a delicious illusion. My brain fires the first thing it comes up with. “It’s quiet out here.”

“Yep. That’s what I like about it too.”

“So what are the plans for the day?” I ask.

“For starters,” he says sitting up. “Get naked. We’ll run around chasing each other until we tire out, then we’ll lay together in my bed.”

My heart races at the thought of his naked body. His tanned skin, muscles, tattoos—stop! I shake the thoughts out of my head. “No.”

“Well, let’s check that off the list. What do you want to do? Me?”

He’s a stickler for words, don’t you think?

“You woke me up after three hours of sleep, drive like a madman for five hours and bring me somewhere I know nothing about. You should be the tour guide.”

His laugh brightens his face, lighting his royal blues. “Nothing it is. We’ll hang out here today. You can nap, read, file your nails, do whatever girls do when they have down time. But I have to go to the grocery store if you want to eat anytime soon. Feel up to it?”

Ever been to the grocery store with a man who eats like a picky elephant? I wouldn’t recommend it. It was the most annoying, patience-trying, hair pulling experience I have ever had to endure. The man has a huge appetite, but he doesn’t eat this, he won’t eat that, this is unhealthy, that isn’t the best choice, you should try this disgusting looking stuff, or you should try that. He drove me utterly mad so much that when we got home, I helped carry in groceries and went straight to sleep. I had to. I was drained.

Sounds of pots clanking together pull me from my peaceful nap. I rub the sleep from my eyes then head quietly down the hallway. He’s waltzing around the kitchen, pulling food from the fridge, humming a song as he nods his head. I can’t help but smile a little goofy at the tender sight of him.

He turns realizing I’m there and shows off his pearly whites. “Sleep good?”

“I did. I want that bed,” I say throwing my thumb over my shoulder toward the room.

He clears his throat then twists around popping the cork to a bottle of wine and pouring it into a glass. “Sit,” he orders pulling out a stool at the island and handing me the glass. It’s wine…I definitely do not argue and do exactly as I’m told.

His kitchen is gorgeous. Stainless steel appliances with amber yellow granite counter tops and black cabinets. Living as a bachelor who’s on the road as much as he is, I wouldn’t think something so elegant belonged to him. Heck, I can picture him living in a house with no kitchen and having a personal chef bring something in daily, but he’s a natural in here. There’s no hesitation, no confusion, no uncertainty. It’s just raw confidence in every move he makes. I’m at a loss for words watching such a bulky man move so fluidly around it.

He continues to cook, humming his own song, flipping food in the pan with a flick of his wrist, reaching for seasonings and plates. Every time I ask to help, he refuses and reminds me to sit. Again, definitely not arguing.

He smiles as he places a steak, some shrimp and a potato on two white square plates and wipes the sides. It’s like he’s a professional. I’ve seen that done on cooking shows. Sliding my plate to me, he leans on the other side of the island and begins cutting his food.

“Would you like to sit at the table just a few feet over there?” I titter.

He looks to it, then back to me. “Nah. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten there. Played poker, but no dinners.”

I grab my plate and drink. “There’s a first for everything. Come on.”

He doesn’t dispute and follows in behind, sitting directly across from me.

I’m pretty sure my eyes just rolled taking in the first bite of a perfectly cooked steak.

“I’m assuming that moan is because you like it?” he says with excitement weaving its way over his lips.

I cover my mouth with my hand embarrassed a little and nod.

Still beaming, he crams another bite into his mouth, watching me intensely. It’s daunting to have someone stare at you as you eat. I feel self-conscious as though I’m eating like a horse.

The rest of dinner remains quiet as he scarfs his food down, then sits back and just watches me. I can’t eat that fast. I’d be sick. After helping him clean, full and about to bust, I’ve settled into the corner of his leather couch pulling my legs in beside me. He has no room to get close…if that was his plan.

“Ok, movie test time,” he says. “What do you want to watch? A movie or a strip tease?” He slides his thumbs under his waistband and slowly sways his hips pursing his lips out. He sexily begins pulling his shirt, bearing the smooth skin over his tight abs and showing off that delectable V that makes every woman stumble.

Side to sultry side, his hips swing smoothly. Heat bounds through me and nervously I lock eyes with him.

“Do you have
The Lion King
?” I quip desperate for air.

His succulent tease screeches to a halt midway and his face scrunches. “You’re picking Disney over this?” He spreads his hands showcasing the beautiful body of his. “I thought you had taste?”

I giggle at his amused expression. “I do have taste and I’m picking Disney.”

“Well then,” he chuckles and points to a bookshelf beside the television. “Movies are over there.”

This vacation is going to be difficult. He knows what he’s doing to me and it’s not fair. I already ache for him, to feel his lips and his body pressed against mine. He’s consumed my every thought and now I’m closed up in the same house? This is going to be a massive war of willpower to keep me in check and not give into his player ways.

I’m not surprise at the manly selection.
Rocky
,
Die Hard
,
Gladiator
, you know, all the macho choices, but one in particular grasps my attention. It’s one of my favorites of all times and I haven’t seen it in years. I grab it and hand it to him. His brows jump high on his forehead. “Do you know what this is about?”

I love it when a man is surprised that a woman likes their preferred genre. Just because I’m a female doesn’t mean I only watch romantic love stories and wish my life to be that of the lead character. I don’t go crazy when the latest and hottest boy band comes into town. I’m a tomboy. Been one for years. I’ve lived with Blain for years and it gives me the perfect dose of the “other side” on a daily basis.

I pinch the bridge of my nose pretending to think really hard about his question. “Oh. Um. Hmmm.” I snap my fingers and point at him. “A fifty-eight Plymouth Fury who is evil as hell? Geezz, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

A smile crosses his lips and he bends kissing my cheek. “I think I just fell in love with you.”

The ground falls out from under me or maybe I just floated away. My pulse jumps in tempo. Butterflies just fluttered sending a tingle sensation to scurry throughout me. I feel like I’m about to burst, or melt, maybe both. My skin feels hot, but I feel cold.

Panicking, I rush past him, nearly mowing him over and plant my butt in the recliner leaving him with his arms wide open with a what-the-fuck-was-that look. I know he knows what he just did. That freaking cocky ass, sexy as hell smirk gives it away. Willpower.

His stare lingers as he stands studying me. I’m trying desperately to keep my breathing under control and not give away that I just melted, but I feel like I’m failing miserably. Finally breaking his statue-like stance, he shakes his head and puts the movie in then takes a seat on the couch. I sigh inwardly, happy he left the issue alone. What the heck would I say? I find you so damn sexy? When you said you loved me, my world stopped? That wouldn’t go over well.

I’m chewing at my lip, my thoughts racing and his freaking stare is fixated on me. He’s pondering something, tapping his fingers on the back of the couch watching me like a hawk. This trip was a bad idea. Stupid, stupid idea.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable although knowing you just melted in my living room does wicked things to me,” he grins devilishly.

Nervous, I flick my eyes to him. “I didn’t melt. I just…I-I.” I fumble for words. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

Curiosity flares in his eyes. “Mmm…” he hums. “Please tell me so I’ll understand what I need to do more of.”

I puff out air. “Get over yourself.”

He licks his lips and turns back to the movie pleased he just messed me up.

About forty-five minutes has passed with no exchange of words. Out of the corner of my eye, I’ve watched him peek over at me, scared as hell he’s seeing the truth seep out of my pores.

“Come sit in front of me and let me rub your shoulders,” he says.

I choke on my air and arch a brow. “Um, I don’t know what your plan is, but no thank you.”

“There isn’t a plan. You’re tense and it’s flowing off you and into the air.” He snaps his fingers and points as if I was a dog. “Get over here and enjoy a massage on your vacation.”

Crap. How do you pass up a massage, especially one by a man like Levi? I inhale deeply and push to my feet saying a small prayer to my willpower before sitting between his legs. The moment his hands touch me, my body becomes alive. My head drops forward as he digs his thumbs into the knots between my shoulder blades and buries his fingers into my neck, rubbing and kneading all the right places. Pleasure pricks at my scalp shooting flares to my toes. Cold chills spread across my skin as he grips and squeezes and I lose myself in ecstasy. This is amazing.

He leans placing his mouth beside my ear. “Paige, please quit moaning like that,” he says taking a shaky breath.

I’m intoxicated in tranquility barely registering where I’m at but I think I nod acknowledging him as he continues the marvelous handwork.

“I’m not going to tell you again. Please stop.” This time he sounds like he’s pleading with me.

Right then his tone snaps me back to Earth and humiliation saturates me. Between the wine and his touch, I lost myself.

“That’s good. Thanks. I’m going to bed,” I say jolting to my feet.

“Paige?” he says smoldering in desire.

I stop just before exiting the living room and turn begging my face not to show my lust. “Good night,” I call out then rush to my room.

I don’t bother changing into pajamas before I slide into the bed pulling the covers up to my chin. Holy hell! This is too much to continue to fight. I have to find some common ground. I can’t fall for him. It won’t end well. The electricity between us is intense and it continues to build making it difficult. I can only tell myself no so many times before my body turns on me. Before my wants overlook my needs. Before my needs forget about my determination. I’m struggling to keep my wits, but too much more and I’ll be unable to hold it together.

Chapter 15