Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (22 page)

“You say it like there’s a choice.”

“There is always a choice. Whatever happened to you is in the past; this here, right now, is your future—embrace it.”

“I’ll tell you what I want to embrace,” he growled, grabbing her hip and stepping closer. She knew what he was doing—deflect and distract—a combination move that was laying some serious ground and pound to her defenses.

“Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?” His deep, throaty confession sent a cascade of heat flooding her veins.

Lord help her, she wanted that, too, and after spending the last week apart, it was killing her not to throw herself at him. Breaking his stare, she glanced toward the gym and made eye contact with the little blonde leaning a slender shoulder against the brick and making no attempt to be inconspicuous about it. Vi took a step back, pulling away from Nikko’s touch. “We’re being watched.”

Nikko muttered another curse and turned toward Willow, gesturing for her to turn around and get back into the gym. She crossed her arms over her chest, defiantly holding her ground. Brave girl.

“Now, Willow!” Nikko barked.

She rolled her eyes and used her shoulder to shove away from the wall and then sauntered back into the gym.

“She cares about you,” Vi commented, biting back a grin as she observed the interaction between the two.

“She’s like the little sister I wish I never had,” he grumbled.

Vi laughed. “She’s just watching out for you. It’s kinda cute.”

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

She hesitated, and his brows pinched into a scowl when she didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know, Nikko. You need to focus on your training. And now you’ve got this fight coming up. We should wait . . .”

“Screw that. I meant what I said, Clover. I’m not seeing you unless I’m
seeing
you. Fuck the fight.”

“You can’t say ‘fuck the fight.
’
”

“Then you better have supper with me tonight.”

She fought the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re blackmailing me.”

“Maybe a little.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“They won’t. We’ll go somewhere outside the city.”

She hedged.

“It’s just dinner, Clover. I’m not asking you to have sex with me.”

“That joke’s getting really old, you know.”

He chuckled. “That joke never gets old.”

“Maybe not to you. You’re pushing me outside my comfort zone, Nikko, and I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the club.” He stepped past her and opened the car door, holding it for her to get in.

Vi climbed inside, but instead of closing the door, Nikko filled the open space, propping his forearm on the roof as he leaned down. The scent of clean male sweat filled her senses, making her hyperaware of the half-naked man standing too close for comfort. She was eye level with his crotch, and she knew that impressive bulge was no cup. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the sudden ache between her thighs. It didn’t help. By the time she slowly dragged her gaze up his washboard abs and past his chiseled pecs to meet that molten silver stare, every one of Vi’s nerve endings was alive and humming with energy. By the crooked grin on Nikko’s handsome face, he knew exactly where her mind had gone.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Nikko . . .”

But before she could protest further, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and said, “The dinner is mandatory. The sex is optional . . .”

H
appy Birthday!”

Vi glanced up from her desk to see her friend carrying in a vase of roses. “Aww . . . thanks, Pen. You shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t. The delivery guy just dropped them off. Who do you think they’re from?”

She knew who she
hoped
they were from, but then again, Nikko didn’t exactly strike her as an
I’m sorry I stood you up, here’s some flowers
kind of guy. Okay, to be fair, he hadn’t actually stood her up. He’d called just before seven and informed her that he wasn’t going to be able to make it over. He was on his way to the airport to pick up his new sparring partner, Tommy Thorson, who was flying in from Minnesota.

To Nikko’s credit, he’d sounded pissed to be canceling their plans and had offered to come over with takeout after he was done, but Vi had wimped out, using the excuse that she was tired and wanted to get to bed early. In truth, she wasn’t sure it was a good idea for them to be alone together at her place. The connection between them was throwing off sparks like the Fourth of July, and she didn’t want them to rush back into a physical relationship. Well, of course she
wanted
to, which was the problem, but she didn’t
want
to want to. Vi knew if she allowed Nikko to come over, there was a good chance it was going to get physical in a hurry and she wasn’t ready to add that dimension to their already complicated relationship.

She’d heard the disappointment in his voice, but in the end, he’d respected her decision. If he only knew how hard it’d been to stick to it. Seeing him in secret was one thing—it was a compromise she’d talked herself into being okay with, but if they started sleeping together? Well, that was crossing another line entirely. She’d have to stay strong, hoping these next several weeks waiting for Jim to return would give her and Nikko the opportunity to really get to know each other.

“Well, read the card and find out,” Pen prompted excitedly, plopping down in the chair across from her.

Vi reached for the small envelope and froze. Crap. What if they
were
from Nikko? How was she going to explain it to Pen? She wasn’t ready to tell her friend about them yet, even though she felt guilty for keeping it from her. She knew Pen was crushing on Nikko—hard-core—and it was her own fault for not dibbing him when she’d had the chance. They never kept secrets from each other, and here she was, wondering what kind of lie she was going to have to tell her if Nikko’s name was on this card.

“What’s the matter, Vi? You look like you’re about to shit yourself. You think they’re from Barry? Should I read the card for you?”

Oh, no, she hadn’t even thought about that. The flowers were probably for her birthday. Someone should have warned her how much it’d suck to turn thirty. Those who said age was just a number could shove said number up their ass. It wasn’t just a number at all. It was a symbol of how much she’d failed to accomplish in her twenties, like keeping her marriage together or having kids and a house with a big yard and a white picket fence. She wanted the American dream, dammit! Instead, she was living some half-assed rendition of it with zero prospects in sight. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was a sexy MMA fighter she couldn’t stop thinking about. Too bad he’d nixed her Norman Rockwell fantasy that night at Carboni’s.

Thank God for her career. It was the only thing she’d managed to succeed at. “I’ll read it.” Vi plucked the white envelope from the pitchfork holder and broke the seal, slipping out the card.

Happy Birthday, Vi.

I miss you . . .

Love,

Barry

Bitter disappointment. “Uhh . . . this is the worst freaking birthday in the history of ever,” she groaned, tossing the card into the trash under her desk.

“Barry?”

“Yep.”

Pen winced. “Sorry.”

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had. I woke up late, stepped in the neighbor’s dog shit on the way to my car, had to go back and get new shoes, and then I got a speeding ticket on the way here.”

Pen bit her bottom bit, failing miserably to hold back her laugh. “That sucks. Maybe I should start screening your flowers like I screen your calls. If I’d known who they were from, I would have sent them back. I’ll take them out with me. Hey, you know what’s going to make this birthday great?”

“Do I dare ask?”

“Going out with me tonight. We’re going to have a blast!”

Shit . . . She’d forgotten about that. And here, Vi was looking forward to going home and having a nice, quiet pity party for one.

“Oh, don’t you give me that look. I know what you’re thinking, and there is no way any best friend worth her salt would let her BFF stay home on her birthday and feel sorry for herself. You’re turning thirty, and you act like you’re eighty. You should try dusting out those cobwebs and giving yourself a real birthday gift. A nice big co—”

A soft knock on the door interrupted Pen—thank God. Violet glanced up to find Nikko standing in her doorway, those impressive biceps on display as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door, his dark brow arched in amusement. Vi felt her face burn with embarrassment. Of all the times Nikko could have chosen to walk in . . .

“Good morning, ladies. Please, don’t stop on my account. What were you saying Dr. Summers could use? A nice big . . . coffee? Corn dog? What? I’m dying to know.”

Penelope laughed, and the light, flirty melody grated like sandpaper against Vi’s nerves. What in the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t do petty, and she sure as hell didn’t do jealous. She was just sore about turning thirty, that’s all . . .

“First of all”—she glared at Pen—“my caffeine intake is none of your concern. And second of all”—she turned her fierce look on Nikko next—“you should wait in the lobby like the rest of my patients.”

If he heard the frost in her voice, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he shouldered off the wall and walked into her office, moving with that fluid grace that contradicted his size, though his level of arrogance certainly did not.

“Don’t mind her,” Pen chimed in, undermining Vi’s stand. “She’s just pissy because it’s her birthday today.”

“It is?” Nikko smiled, his crooked grin looking devilishly handsome. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Happy birthday . . .”

The deep husky rumble of his voice rolled through her. She hated her traitorous body’s reaction to him. No, that wasn’t exactly true. She liked it—she liked it a lot—just not at work.

“Hey, I’m taking Vi out for her birthday tonight. We’re going to Rush. Maybe you want to join us, and we could finally have that date? You could bring a friend for Vi . . .”

Oh, please no, this isn’t happening.
Penelope was not asking Nikko to set her up on a blind date with one of his friends for her birthday! Yes, yes, she was . . .
God, please kill me now.

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

Fun? This sounds fun? In no way does this sound fun.
She couldn’t believe he was actually agreeing to this.

“Great, meet you there at seven.”

Vi’s audible gasp snagged both Pen’s and Nikko’s attention. She sent a scathing glare to her friend, who pretended not to notice and gave Nikko a finger-fluttering wave on the way out.

Note to self: kick Penelope’s ass.

She could see the amusement sparking in Nikko’s eyes, along with the daring question,
You sure you don’t want to tell her about us?

Suddenly, it was too hot in here. She needed some air. Violet couldn’t believe this was happening. Her best friend had just asked Nikko out and set Vi up on a blind date. As if she were so pathetic and desperate she needed to be fixed up on her birthday! How humiliating was that? Just when she thought this day couldn’t possibly get any worse. She was wrong—so wrong . . .

Nikko bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Clover looked so speechless and utterly mortified he almost felt sorry for her—almost. It was her own stubborn fault for not telling her friend about them. How long did she think she could keep this deception going? Pen obviously thought she was doing Violet a solid by hooking her up. Problem was, there was no way in hell Nikko was bringing his girl a date. Nor was he about to let her go clubbing with her flirty little friend without an escort. He dropped into the chair opposite her, his legs stretching out in a lazy sprawl, reaching beneath her desk.

“Still haven’t told her about us, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes on him, the skin between her delicate brows wrinkled.
“
‘Us’ needs to stay between
us
right now.”

“She’s your best friend. I think she can keep a secret. Besides, she’s going to keep hitting on me until you tell her the truth.”

“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t be so receptive,” she snapped.

How cute was this? His little Clover was jealous. “Sorry, sweetheart, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to be okay with you and Precocious Penelope birthday bashing it at the clubs tonight alone. Of course I’m going to take her up on the invite.”

He stood and came around the corner of her desk. Bending down, he gripped her armrests and swiveled her chair to face him, putting her adorable pouty mouth six kissable inches from his. “Happy Birthday, by the way,” he whispered, closing the remaining distance and pressing his lips against hers. She tasted fantastic, like the peppermint of her lip gloss. She tensed beneath him, and he knew damn well she was getting ready to reprimand him for taking liberties with her at her office, but he couldn’t resist. Dipping his tongue into her mouth for a quick taste, he sucked her bottom lip and gave it a playful nip before pulling back.

She looked a little dazed when he turned her back toward the desk and sat down, chuckling when she murmured belatedly, “Thank you . . .”

“My pleasure, sweetheart.” He knew she meant for the
happy birthday
but pretended it was for the kiss.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re impossible . . .”

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, because, yeah, his dick was hard as a rock right now, he asked, “So how old are you, Clover?”

Her top lip tugged up at the corners and her cheeks grew a becoming shade of pink. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a woman that?”

He shrugged. “I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to do. Not gonna let it stop me now.”

“I’m thirty,” she said, mumbling the confession under her breath as if embarrassed to admit it.

“Thirty?” he repeated loudly, just to tease her. “Big year . . .”

“Big pain in the ass.”

He chuckled. So Clover wasn’t thrilled to be turning the big three-o. “Naaah . . . it’s not so bad. I remember my thirtieth. We were on leave and over in Germany—Ramstein. Just finished escorting some wounded soldiers to a US medical air base over there. The guys from my team rented one of those party busses with the stripper—”

Clover arched her brow, giving him an
Oh, really? Please, keep telling me all about your stripper days
look that warned him he should definitely sensor this story. Clearing his throat, he skipped to the end, murmuring, “Um . . . well . . . anyway, we got totally shit-faced and woke up in Kiel with no clue what had happened. A week later, those guys would be dead.” He mumbled the afterthought, not really sure why he was telling her this, only that the words seemed to tumble out. Exhaling a sigh, he dragged his hand through his hair and glanced around the room, looking anywhere but at the woman staring at him. “I wish to God I could remember that night.”

He could feel her eyes on him, sense her pity, and it grated on his flesh like little shards of glass.

“I’m sorry, Nikko.”

“Don’t be. I told you before, I don’t want your pity.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I know that. But I can empathize with your loss without feeling sorry for you. Believe me, nothing about you is pitiful. I don’t think you could pull it off if you tried. You’re too strong, too confident, too in control . . .”