Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (13 page)

Winky face? He was sending her a freaking winky face?
Since when does Nikko Del Toro winky face?
Send.

Since he’s sorry he was such a dick and hopes you’ll let him come over.

Wow, this guy did not give up. There were a hundred reasons for her to say no, and only one to say yes—there was a part of her that wanted to see him, too. The bigger part of her reminded
that
part that she was mad at him. What the hell was he doing, anyway? He wasn’t supposed to be cute or charming. He was a hardass MMA fighter, not an incorrigible flirt. The thought of Nikko knowing where she lived wasn’t what bothered her. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her reluctance to see him face-to-face had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with her resolve—or lack of it where he was concerned. She didn’t think Nikko would ever hurt her. Well, physically, anyway, but all bets were off where her emotions were concerned. She’d already taken a pretty bad beating earlier and was still nursing her wounds.

I don’t think so, Nikko. I’m sorry.
Send.

Please
. . . This emoji was wearing a halo and wings.

Yeah, right . . . Nothing about this guy was angelic.
Is this you promising to be good?
Send.

Maybe
. . .
So can I come over?
Emoji with pleading hands.

Dammit, why did she have such a hard time enforcing her boundaries with him? Maybe because he’d obliterated them the first time she’d met him and she couldn’t help remembering what they’d shared before they’d known who the other person was.

Thinking about it
. . . Send.

Well, think faster because I’m almost there.
Another winky.

Her pulse quickened. She glanced down at her pajamas and fuzzy slippers and frowned.
How do you know where I live?
Send.

You’re not unlisted. We should talk about that. Not safe.
Frowning face.

Really? She hadn’t realized she wasn’t. It’d never been an issue—until now. Nikko was right, she was going to have to do something about that.

Still waiting for an answer.

It’s not a good time. I’m already in my pajamas.
Send. It was a lame excuse, but whatever.

Already seen you in less, Clover.

The reminder sent a rush of heat flooding through her body. She wished she could blame it on embarrassment but knew it was something much more dangerous.
All right, you can come over, but just for a few minutes. It’s late
. . .
Send.

L
ess than a minute after she hit Send, the low rumble of an engine purred outside. Headlights panned through her curtain-drawn windows as the muscle car pulled into her driveway. He was here. Her heart began beating faster, excitement warring with anxiety. What was it about this man that made her body feel like it was at odds with itself? Logic seemed to defy all reason where Nikko was concerned.

When she heard the car door shut, Violet went to the door. She watched out the side window as Nikko walked around the car and followed the sidewalk path lit by the porch light. He climbed the steps, giving her an opportunity to appreciate the lean, muscular cut of his body. Even if she hadn’t seen his face, she’d know it was him. She’d recognize that walk anywhere—powerful yet graceful.

She opened the door before he could knock, leaving the screen door between them. Nikko didn’t try to open it, nor did she offer him entry. She wasn’t sure if she trusted herself alone with him. When it came to Nikko Del Toro, Vi was learning fast she didn’t know herself nearly as well as she thought she did. Something about him called to the wild side in her. Her id loved this man, but it was her ego and superego that weren’t so sure about him. He courted the streak of impulsive desire in her that she’d worked hard her whole life to control.

“Hey, Clover.”

His silver-gray eyes met hers. If she didn’t know better she’d swear he was nervous. Abashed, maybe?—which was definitely out of character for the confident, cagey fighter. She found the lack of self-assurance disarming—endearing—and right now, he didn’t need anything more going for him.

Her gaze flickered over his face. She couldn’t help admiring that square jaw, those full lips . . . How could something on a man this hard be so soft? He shifted uneasily, shoving his hands in his pockets. The movement changed the angle of light on his partially shadowed face, and that’s when she noticed the small cut on his left cheek. The area around it was bruised and swollen.

She scowled. “Nikko, have you been fighting?” Before he could answer, she opened the screen door and pulled him inside. Pushing it closed behind her, she took ahold of his hand and led him into the kitchen. “You’re not supposed to be fighting,” she scolded, grabbing his jaw and angling his cheek toward the light. Reaching up, she inspected the cut. He endured her poking and prodding in silence, watching her as she studied his injury. “Wait, you weren’t
really
fighting, were you?—outside the cage?”

He shook his head. “Just a little sparring. Kill got in a lucky shot, that’s all.” Nikko reached up and took her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. By the tightening of his brows, she could tell he wasn’t used to anyone fussing over him, nor did he seem to particularly appreciate it. She got the feeling that if she were anyone else, he wouldn’t be quite so tolerant of the attention.

“This stuff happens all the time. I’m fine.”

“You won’t be fine if Dean sees your face and finds out you’ve been fighting behind his back. You can’t keep breaking the rules and think there won’t be consequen—”

“Clover—” he interrupted. His strong, calloused fingers curled
around her hand as he held it suspended between them. He brought it
to his chest, his other hand folding over hers. Heat coursed up her arm,
spreading through her body and centering deep in her core. The liq
uid
warmth melted her bones, making her knees go weak as her heart slammed inside in her chest. Her physical response to him was swift and immediate, catching her off guard and scattering her thoughts.

His top lip quirked up in the faintest hint of a smile. “I didn’t come here for a lecture. I’m very well aware of the risks of getting caught. But if I don’t fight . . .” His explanation died on his tongue, trailing off his thought as if he’d suddenly decided he wasn’t willing to go there.

But he didn’t need to finish. She knew what he was going to say. Vi heard it in the raw honesty in his voice, saw it in the clarity in his eyes—eyes that were less haunted than she’d ever seen them. They were clear, focused, and held a small measure of peace. He’d told her before that this was how he did it. How he managed his stress. But seeing the effects in person drove home how difficult this suspension must be for him. Some people binged on booze, others smoked, but fighting was Nikko’s vice. When Dean had forbidden him from stepping into the ring, he’d taken away his coping mechanism. She’d have to talk to him about that, see if she couldn’t get Nikko’s sparring privileges back.

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted today. It wasn’t fair to you. I know I hurt you by what I said. Your reasons for doing what you did are none of my business, and I’m certainly in no place to cast judgment on anyone.”

His thumb brushed over the top of her hand as he stared into her eyes, looking for something—absolution, maybe? Those sapphire flecks were mesmerizing, drawing her in and tempting her to get lost in them, in him. Oh, mercy, she wanted to get lost in him. What she wouldn’t give to feel that kind of passion again, that utter loss of control. And to know she was just one kiss away from heaven . . .

She didn’t know what this was between them, but by the look in his eyes, she knew that he felt it, too. Maybe it confused him as much as it did her, because Nikko didn’t exactly strike her as the kind of guy to show up on a woman’s doorstep and ask for forgiveness. Unfortunately, as tempted as she was to discover what this was, she didn’t feel right about it as long he was under her care. They’d have to wait until Jim returned, then maybe . . .

“Thank you for coming over to apologize, Nikko. I owe you an apology, too. I behaved unprofessionally. I never should have slapped you.”

His brow arched and he gave her a crooked grin. “I kinda deserved it.”

She returned his smile. “Yeah, you kinda did.”

He laughed, and, man, did she love that deep, throaty sound. It lit her up with feminine awareness. He reached up and brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek. Nikko’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and he didn’t even try to hide his intent. Determination flashed in those mesmerizing eyes that almost looked otherworldly with the silvery-blue rings rimming his pupils. She’d never seen eyes that color before.

Nikko shifted his weight, moving a step closer. She could feel his body heat radiate into her, his spicy, masculine scent enveloping her, making her want to take deeper breaths. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. It amazed her that hands so powerful, hands that had taken lives and delivered untold pain and suffering, could feel so good, be so gentle.

The air around them crackled with energy. Nikko dipped his head, and her breath caught in her lungs, frozen in that moment of breathless anticipation when you just knew something incredible was about to happen. She wouldn’t stop him—not this time. God help her, but she wanted this—wanted him. Nikko’s breath brushed her cheek. He smelled of peppermints, making her mouth water in anticipation to taste his kiss. Her lids fluttered closed, lips parted, waiting for that perfect moment of contact. Then, nothing . . .

“I should go.”

His voice was a soft, husky rumble next to her ear that she felt all the way to her toes. The light scratch of his unshaven jaw brushed against her cheek as he took in a slow, deep breath, seeming to struggle for restraint. She lifted her hand, resting it against his cheek, and forced the words past her lips, “Yeah, you probably should.”

It wouldn’t take more than the slightest turn of her head for her mouth to find his. And maybe that’s what he was waiting for, because the tension radiated from him. Mercy, she was tempted. There was something about this man that shattered her self-control, obliterated her reasoning, turning her black-and-white world into shades of gray.

“Maybe you could stay . . .” she hedged. “Just for a little bit.”

“If I stay, I’m not going to want to leave, Clover.”

His confession warned her to tread carefully. She could sense the fraying cords of his self-control. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths, hoping to clear her mind, but only succeeded in drowning herself in his intoxicating scent.
Just one kiss,
that inner voice pleaded.
What will it hurt?
Damn her, she was so convincing.

Vi parted her lips, moistening her bottom one with the tip of her tongue as she slowly turned her head toward his cheek. The scrape of his stubble against her skin electrified her nerve endings. The dichotomy of his hard, unyielding strength against her slight frame sent her pulse ratcheting with need. He tensed, perhaps in anticipation of her kiss, holding himself stock-still—waiting. She could feel the acceleration of his breath tickling the fine hairs at her temple. Her lips grazed the slight indent of the scar on his cheek. The low groan rumbling softly in his throat emboldened her. She inched closer to his mouth and was about to make contact when the shrill ring of her landline startled her. Violet jerked away, taking a nervous step back, putting some distance between her and the gorgeous fighter who seemed to be filling her kitchen.

“I umm . . .” She cleared her throat nervously. “You should really get some ice on that cheek,” she stammered, turning toward the refrigerator and ignoring the call.

“You gonna get that?” He moved over to the kitchen table and took a seat. She could feel him watching her as she opened the freezer door and grabbed a bag of peas.

“No.”

He took the veggies from her outstretched hand and humored her by holding them against his cheek.

“If it’s important, whoever it is will leave a message.” However, she hadn’t entirely thought that one through, because a moment later, Barry’s voice filled the room.

“Come on, Violet, answer the goddamn phone.”

Oh, shit
. . .

At the sound of Barry’s voice, Nikko tensed. But to his credit, he didn’t say anything. Nope, he just sat there watching her, observing her reaction.

“I know you’re home, Violet. You can’t keep avoiding me forever, you know.”

Nikko’s brow arched at the sharp bitterness of his tone. Yeah, he’d heard it, too.

“You’re going to have to talk to me sometime, and I’m running out of patience.”

That questioning arch dropped to a dark scowl as Barry’s passive-aggressive threat hung in the air.

“I have something important I need to discuss with you, so, please, just call me back.”

The line went dead, and the disconnection hummed through the answering machine for several seconds before banishing them into silence—into awkward, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me silence. Of all the times Barry could have called, he’d have to do it when Nikko was here. She wished she could tell what he was thinking, but his expression was just like the man—hard and unyielding, all hint of emotion locked down tight. So it surprised her when he spoke, breaking the straining silence. She noticed there was a little more gravel in his voice than a few minutes ago. Otherwise he seemed completely in check.

“You know what he wants to talk to you about?”

“Besides getting back together . . . ?” Vi shrugged, going for nonchalant as she dropped into the chair across from him, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t pulling it off. “I wouldn’t know, nor do I care to find out. I’m going to speak with my attorney about getting a no-contact order.”

He lowered the bag of peas, and she gestured for him to put them back on his cut. His gaze shot toward the ceiling as if there were patience to be found there, and he raised the bag back to his face. “He givin’ you a hard time, Clover?”

His concern was genuine, and the sweetness of it moved her more than she wanted to admit. Other than Pen, Vi wasn’t used to having people in her life who cared. She shrugged noncommittally. “Not really. He just calls a lot. He’s in New York. The distance makes it easier to avoid him.”

Nikko nodded in understanding. “Your parents live in New York, too?”

“Yeah, Manhattan. That’s where I grew up.”

“Only child?”

“No. I have a younger sister. But I haven’t seen her in years, though.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a freelance journalist and travels a lot. She says she’s saving the world one story at a time.” Violet laughed to soften the snark of her tone.

“I take it you two aren’t close, then?”

“We used to be, but Quinn is”—Violet struggled to find the right words to describe her sister—“challenging. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death. But she’s very . . . strong willed. When she’s on a cause she can be quite passionate and determined. She’s also reckless and has little regard for her personal safety.”

“So she’s a lot like you, then?”

“Like me?”

His remark surprised her. Nikko’s top lip quirked up in a teasing grin, revealing a glimpse of those straight white teeth.

“Yeah.” His voice dipped to a husky rasp, sending a little shiver down her spine. “Any woman who’d approach a six-foot-four, two-hundred-twenty-pound MMA fighter for sex on an airplane can’t have a whole lot of regard for personal safety herself.”

Violet felt her cheeks heating, and that flush quickly swept all the way to her toes. “In my defense, I was drunk.”