Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (23 page)

His eyes snapped up and locked on hers. “Until I’m not . . . Then people get hurt.”

“You don’t scare me, Nikko.” There was truth in her words, and to be honest, that scared
him
. Damn, he didn’t want to hurt this woman . . .

“Maybe you should be,” he confessed after a moment of silence.

“Then you’re going to have to try harder.”

His top lip twitched, tugging into a wicked grin. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

His restless gaze focused on the blood-red roses sitting on the corner of her desk. “Nice flowers,” he commented, feeling an insane stab of jealousy pierce his chest. “Who are they from?”

She scowled, looking none too pleased by the gift. “I’ll give you one guess.”

That’s what he’d thought.

“Yep . . . worst birthday ever.”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Kill grumbled as they walked up to the entrance of Rush, filing in line behind a couple of girls.

Nikko couldn’t believe he was doing it, either. He didn’t like mixing his personal life with his professional one, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of choices. He was few on friends and fewer on ones he trusted around Violet.

“Do I look like I’m desperate for a date to you?” Kill complained.

“No, you don’t, but you’re going to like this girl. Trust me. She’s cute, feisty, and a little bit slutty—just like you like ’em. And besides, you owe me for calling me gay and then sticking my daughter in the cage. By all rights, you should be dead twice.”

Kill laughed. “All right, fair enough. But this makes us even. So let me get this straight, you’re setting me up with the girl that actually likes you because you’re into her friend who you think might be into you, too? Dude, I wish I had your fucking problems.”

“No, you don’t. Trust me,” he grumbled.

The bouncer must have recognized them because he waved them forward, ahead of the line, and let them pass with a smile and a nod. Nikko slipped the guy a hundred and stopped in the entryway to scout out the crowded bar. It didn’t take him long to find her. That platinum hair was like a beacon of radiant light. Holy hell, she was stunning. Her hair was down, falling past her shoulders to the middle of her back. It reminded him of how she’d looked on the plane, and all he could imagine was sinking his fingers into that silky softness as she went down on him.

His cock was all for that fantasy and jumped to attention as the naughty images played through his mind. He shifted his gaze to heel his hard-on. Damn, this woman did it for him—made him hotter than an Afghani desert in July. She looked so sexy in her shell-pink, button-up sweater and her black ass-hugging pencil skirt that rode up her thighs as she sat there talking to Penelope. She had a drink in her hand, and by the way she stirred it with her cocktail straw before taking a sip, he’d bet it was leaded. No way would Pen let her get away with sipping soda on her birthday.

“You see them?” Kill asked beside him, doing his own recon, even though he had no idea who in the hell he was looking for.

“Yeah, at the bar. Three o’clock.”

“The blonde in pink or the brunette in black?”

“Pink.”

Kill took another look. “Holy shit, Del Toro, that girl’s smokin’ hot! She looks a lot like . . . Hey, wait a minute, that’s Dr. Summers!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? You brought me here to wingman for you so you could hit on your shrink? Are you crazy? Does she even know you’re hot for her?”

“She might have some idea, yeah . . .”

“Oh, this is a bad idea, man.” Kill shook his head and took a step back like he was getting cold feet or something.

Nikko fisted Kill’s shirt and jerked him back to the front line. “You see the girl sitting beside her?”

“The one in the black lace top? Great tits?”

“Yeah. That’s
your
date. Now tell me this isn’t a good idea.”

“My date thinks you’re hers, dude. This is messed up. I say we bounce and find you some other chica to get your dick hard over. It’s not like they’re in short supply. You’re already on thin ice with Coach and Easton. If they find out your nose is up your therapist’s skirt, you’re going to be axed from the CFA. Easton already wants you out, man. It’s one thing to nail your coach, it’s another to
nail
your therapist. Is this woman really worth risking your career?”

Nikko leveled Kill with a stare that warned him he was pushing the line. “Yeah, I think she is. And no one’s going to find out because you’re not going to tell them. Right?”

“They’re not going to hear it from me, man. But I feel obligated to go on the record and tell you this is a bad idea.”

“Noted. Now put on your happy face and keep Penelope off me.” Nikko didn’t wait for Kill to agree before stepping farther into the club and making his way toward his birthday girl.

Vi sipped her Bacardi Limon, trying to focus on what Pen was saying while not being pissed at her for asking Nikko out and setting her up on a blind date. Could this day get any worse? Yes, yes, it could, she realized when the niggling feeling of being watched prickled over her flesh. She glanced around, searching for the source of her unease, but she couldn’t see anyone through the crowd. She might have convinced herself it was the Bacardi, but the prickle of awareness racing up her spine told her it was something else.

“I don’t know . . . I might be into that sort of thing with the right guy. But I’d just met Andre. There was no way I was going to let that guy handcuff me to his headboard. I mean, the next thing I know I’m a skin suit. Vi?” Pen snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Are you even listening to me?”

She tipped her head, breaking into Vi’s line of vision, then turned her head to see what she was staring at. A moment later Pen gasped, “He’s here!” She sat a little taller, craning her neck to see through the crowd. “Over here!” She raised her arm and began waving furiously to get the guys’ attention.

Vi followed Pen’s animated stare, and her breath seized in her lungs. She couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. Nikko had brought her a date. How messed up was this? Pen exhaled a dreamy sigh that made Vi’s gut clench. How pissed would her friend be if she puked Bacardi Limon all over her lap right now?

“Oh, my . . .” She swooned. “That man is sooo gorgeous. Now, Nikko Del Toro . . . I’d let him tie me up any day.”

Vi gnawed on her straw to keep from saying something snarky she knew she’d regret.

“Just look at him . . . He’s so hot and angsty. I bet he likes it rough in bed. You know . . . the kind of guy that rips off your clothes and fucks you up against a wall because he can’t wait to get to the bedroom.”

Yeah, she did know. And she didn’t appreciate reliving the play-by-play through Pen’s fantasies. Vi chugged down the remainder of her drink, praying for blessed numbness to take over because this night was going to be Fricking. Painful.

The bartender must have noticed she was empty, because he asked her if she wanted another. Vi told him to make it a double.

“You’re welcome,” Pen told her, giving Vi a big self-satisfied grin.

“For what?” she snapped, sounding as waspish as she felt. But Pen was impervious to her sting, too tanked on Long Island iced teas to either notice or give a shit.

“For hooking you up on your birthday, girlfriend. You need to get laid. You’ve had a stick up your ass for the last few weeks. Damn, Nikko’s friend is hot. He picked a good one for you.”

Oh, God, have mercy
. . . She wanted to strangle her best friend. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep her feelings for Nikko a secret one more second. It was killing her. Things were getting out of hand. Oh, who the hell was she kidding?—they were long past that. She had to say something, and quick, before Nikko and his friend got over here, because there was a good chance this guy was going to recognize her. She didn’t need an introduction to know he was a fighter. He looked like a blonder, blue-eyed version of Nikko, only a tad shorter and about fifty pounds lighter.

This guy had to know Nikko was seeing her professionally. How in the hell was she going to pull this off? How could she go all night pretending that watching Pen hit on Nikko wasn’t killing her? She had to tell her the truth before they got over here. And if that didn’t work?—alcohol, lot and lots of alcohol . . .

“Listen, Pen—”

“Oh, shit! Is that Bob?” Pen grabbed her arm, nearly pulling Vi off her stool. The drink the bartender had just stuck in her hand sloshed over her fingers. “I think he sees us!”

Vi craned her head, trying to look for him, when Nikko and his friend stepped into their line of sight, and there was no seeing around those two guys. They made an impressive wall of muscle Vi was more than glad to be staring at. Relief flooded over her. Maybe she was overreacting about finding Bob here, but the fine hairs prickling the back of her neck would disagree. But now that Nikko was here, it didn’t matter. She could relax. They were safe.

Pen’s ADHD must have kicked in, compliments of her Long Island iced tea, because Bob was a distant memory in her friend’s mind as she hopped off her stool and threw herself into Nikko’s arms, giving him a full-on frontal hug.

“Nikko!”

Nikko flinched. His jaw locked down tight, making that little muscle near the scar in his cheek twitch. To his credit, he didn’t return her embrace. Not that that would stop Pen. She loved a challenge. The more Nikko played hard to get, the more Pen would want him. His eyes shot over her friend’s head and locked on hers. She knew he was mad she hadn’t told Pen the truth yet, and now it looked like it was too late. So plan B it was . . . With eyes locked on Nikko’s piercing stare, Vi gave him a
Happy birthday to me
salute and began chugging her Bacardi.

K
ill me now
. . .

Nikko sat in the booth across from Clover and her “date.” Pen was tucked into his side, chatting away, oblivious to the darts of tension firing across the table. After getting more drinks, they’d taken seats at a booth closer to the band. Nikko had tried to sit beside Clover, but Penelope wasn’t having any of it. Taking his hand as they approached the table, she pulled him in beside her, leaving Kill no other choice than to sit with Nikko’s girl.

Torture. That’s what this was. Every time Penelope moved, her breasts would brush against his arm. He’d tried scooting over, but she just kept worming closer until he was pinned between her and the wall. Kill looked amused as shit—worst fucking wingman ever. The dude was supposed to keep this woman off of him. Why wasn’t he asking her to dance or something?—anything to get him some breathing room and a little time alone with Clover.

Instead, the dude seemed content to just sit there with Vi, his arm slung casually around the back of her seat while he enjoyed the show. The next time he got this guy into the cage, he was going to kick his ass. And Violet . . . what the hell was with her? She seemed on a mission to drink the bar out of Bacardi. How was she even upright still?

Kill leaned close to be heard over the thrumming bass of the music and said something to Violet. Nikko wanted to leap across the table and punch him in the throat. Especially when her top lip turned up in a polite smile and she nodded. What did he say to her? Before he could find out, Pen loudly announced, “I want to dance. This is my favorite song!” She grabbed Nikko’s hand and began tugging on him. “Come on, Nikko. Dance with me.”

He shot Kill a glare. When the jackass didn’t move, he silently vowed,
I’m going to kill you
. . .

But his wingman just sat there with a shit-eating grin on his face that said
Totally fucking worth it, bro.

He couldn’t easily refuse her without making a scene. She was already out of the booth and tugging on his arm like a little kid begging for her favorite toy—and he had zero doubt which of his toys she wanted to play with. Maybe some guys dug this flirty, pouty crap, but this was not his bag at all. Then again, if he had to sit here for one more minute and stare at the woman he wanted sitting beside the guy he now wanted to murder, shit was going to turn ugly fast. He was a simmering pot of pissed off and really wanted to hit his friend right now, but he was pretty sure a bar fight would be the kiss of death to his career. Might be worth it, though, if that guy got any closer to her. For the sake of his job, he relented and let Penelope drag him out of the booth and into the middle of the dance floor, feeling the burn of Violet’s gaze on him the entire time.

Damn her . . . This was all her fault. How many times had he told her to tell Penelope the truth? Why did she have to be so stubborn? Maybe she didn’t think he was worth fighting for. Well, Nikko was done playing these games. He’d give Pen her dance and then he was taking her aside and telling her the truth.

They came to a stop within eyeshot of the booth and Penelope slipped her arms around his neck, sucking her curvy little body up tight against his. He tensed at the contact, his fight or flight telling him to get this woman the fuck off him. Nikko placed his hands on her hips, about to push her a step back so he could get some breathing room when she said, “Relax,” and snuggled in closer, smashing her breasts against his chest. “I don’t want you.”

Could have fooled him . . . Her nipples were so hard they could cut glass right now. “Then what are you doing, Pen?”

“Proving to Vi that she does. Don’t get me wrong, you totally do it for me, and I’d fuck you in a heartbeat, but I know Vi wants you—even if she won’t admit it. And I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’re totally into that girl, and she needs someone like you, someone to show her her wild side. She’s got one, you know.”

Yeah, he knew all about Vi’s wild side. What was shocking the shit out of him was that her friend knew it, too.

“Is she looking at us?” she whispered, nuzzling her cheek against his chest as they swayed to “All of Me” by John Legend.

Nikko glanced over Pen’s unruly curls and locked eyes with an irate Clover, who was too wasted to realize she was doing a horseshit job of covering her emotions. “Yeah, she’s looking, all right—looking really pissed off.”

Pen shrugged, grinding her breasts against his chest, and it did absolutely nothing for him. If this were Vi in his arms right now, he’d be about ready to go off in his jeans.

“She’ll thank me for it later . . .”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“I am, because you’re about to go offer to take her home, and I’m going to go get acquainted with the date you brought me. Thanks, by the way. He’s really hot.”

“That’s what I’ve been told,” he grumbled.

“All right, then, I’m going to kiss you now, just because I know this is the only chance I’m ever going to get to do it, and Vi’s going to kill me tomorrow, so I might as well make it worth it.”

Before he could stop her, Pen tightened her grip around his neck and tugged him down as she stood on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth against his. Her lips were soft and plump. She tasted like Long Island iced tea as she held them together for a second longer and then let him go. “You’re welcome,” she announced, all proud of herself.

“For what?”

“For warming her up for you.”

“You mean pissing her off.”

“Same difference. Now go get her, tiger.”

Vi had to get out of here. She couldn’t sit here one more second and pretend it wasn’t killing her to watch Pen throw herself at Nikko. And she wasn’t the only one watching. Her gaze quickly darted to Bob across the room, whose eyes were also locked on the dancing couple. Her heartache drowned out the prickle of alarm warning her something wasn’t right with him. The need to leave outweighed her concern for safety. Her chest cramped painfully, undulled by the Bacardi flowing through her veins.

It might be her fault for not telling her friend how she really felt, but Nikko knew, and he wasn’t doing anything to stop her. Vi’s vision swam. She told herself it was because she was drunk, but the telltale sting of tears confirmed the truth. Kyle, her “date,” sat suspiciously silent, taking it all in. She prayed he wouldn’t discover the truth, unwilling to risk her reputation and career on someone who could so convincingly ignore her.

“You all right, there, Doc? You’ve had an awful lot to drink tonight, and if you don’t mind me saying, you’ve the pallor of someone who’s about to blow chunks.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, keeping her gaze turned away from him and locked on the dancing couple.

“Can I go get you a soda or anything? Perhaps a plastic bag?”

She didn’t want a soda, though she couldn’t rule out the need for the plastic bag, and she did want a few minutes alone to regroup. “Thank you. Ginger ale and a bag, please.”

“No problem.”

Kyle slipped from the booth and headed to the bar, leaving her alone with her broken heart as she watched her friend stand there, crushed up against Nikko, his large hands nearly spanning her tiny waist. The perpetual furrow of his brow deepened when that steely gaze came up to lock on hers. He said something to Pen, who snuggled in closer, and then the unthinkable happened. She stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his.

Oh, Lord, she
was
going to be sick. Violet wouldn’t watch anymore, not that she could, even if she wanted to. Her entire vision blurred as big fat tears spilled down her cheeks. She turned away before Nikko could see her break and scooted out of the booth. As she stood, the room tilted. She reached out and grabbed the seat to steady herself, glancing back at the couple. She took a moment to get her bearings, then realized time was something she didn’t have. Nikko was coming toward her! The scowl on his face was indiscernible through the moisture blurring her eyes.

She had to get out of here! Vi made an uncoordinated dash for the exit. But the alcohol sloshing through her veins really slowed her down. Her legs felt boneless, like she was trying to run across the deck of a ship pitching in a storm. “I’m sorry, pardon me . . .” she said, stepping on feet and bumping into bodies as she shoved her way through the crowd, all the while fighting back the tears pricking her eyes. Officially, this was the worst birthday ever!

Bursting through the doors, Vi tripped over her feet and stumbled. She braced herself for the impact but a large hand grabbed her arm, jerking her back. The momentum sent her spinning around and slamming into a wall—this one was hot, hard muscled, and had silvery-gray eyes she swore could see into her soul. Damn him . . . she would rather have kissed the concrete.

“Let go of me!” she hissed, trying to wrench her arm free of his grip.

“Clover, stop . . .”

But she was beyond reason, beyond control, and beyond giving a shit. She was drunk and heartbroken, and it was her birthday, dammit! She could throw a fit if she felt like it, and Nikko Del Toro could go to hell for all she cared. “I saw you!” she yelled. “I saw you kissing her!”

“First of all,
I
didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay? You sound just like Barry. ‘It wasn’t my fault,
’
” she mocked. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me that her vagina just accidently fell onto your dick!”

That earned her a glower that could have melted rock into lava. “Hey,” he barked. “I’m not fucking Penelope! And don’t you dare ever compare me to that piece-of-shit ex of yours again!” Nikko’s grip on her arm tightened, cutting off her circulation and making her hand tingle.

Maybe she should be afraid, but the alcohol fueling her blood made her reckless and her tongue sharp as a double-edged sword. “How was it?” she demanded. “Does she kiss better than me?”

The spark in his eyes warned her she was pushing him too far, but she didn’t care. Nikko grabbed her other arm and gave her a hard shake, as if that could rattle some sense into her. Pinning her with his steely glare, he growled, “No one’s better than you, Clover! That’s the goddamn problem! It’s only been you since the day you stepped off that damn plane. I don’t want anyone else, but you keep pushing me away!”

“Well, I’m not pushing you away now!”

The invitation flew from her mouth before she could call it back. But it was too late . . . The gauntlet had been thrown.

“It’s about fucking time!”

Jerking her close, Nikko’s mouth came down on hers—hard and demanding. She could feel his frustration reverberating in the violence of his kiss, in the slant of his firm lips, the clash of their tongues, as he laid siege to her mouth, thoroughly and utterly consuming her. In one kiss, he managed to steal her breath, obliterate her resolve, and scatter her thoughts, leaving only one resonating in her mind.
Best birthday ever
. . .