Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (28 page)

She stopped short, and all thoughts of Carl, of anything, flew out of her head like they had wings.

Cillian’s naked back was to her, rippling with muscles swollen from exertion and shining with sweat. Sammi tilted her head, her eyes drinking in the sight of his well-formed traps, the heavy curve of his shoulders, the carved-from-stone definition in his triceps and the bulge of his biceps. The contours of his finely chiseled muscles were visible even under the black inked tattoo sleeve on his left arm and the portrait covering the back of his right shoulder. Up close, she could see the portrait was of the Virgin Mary. The sleeve was still mostly obscure, but she caught flashes of a skull around his right bicep, a gothic cross, prayer hands.

Sammi shivered. Something stirred, deep inside her, something primal that touched some ancient animal instinct to willingly submit to a being more powerful than she was.

Holy mother…

As though he caught her scent, Cillian suddenly whipped his head around and his eyes immediately found hers. His torso twisted as he turned and Sammi studied with sudden intense interest the way his ribs feathered into his oblique muscles and how his sharply defined abdomen contracted into the deep cut of his Adonis belt. Her eyes traveled back up to his face, and the fierce, focused expression that had been there faded away at the sight of her.

Wonder if he has that look on his face when he…does other things…
A scorching flash of heat pulsed through her, down low.

His eyes brightened before any other feature on his face moved, and just that tiny, almost imperceptible glimmer made her heart soar. She couldn’t stop a ridiculous grin from spreading across her face, and as though her smile was infectious, he matched it.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping toward her before seeming to think better of it, doubling back to snatch a towel off the floor and wipe sweat off his face, arms, and head. Then he grabbed a white tank top from the floor.

She watched in disappointment as he tugged it on. “Hi.” Another little burst of nerves erupted in her belly and she chewed her lip, folding her arms.
Am I supposed to do something? Do we pretend like last night didn’t happen?

Cillian finished tugging a hoodie on over the tank top and turned around. He took a step toward her and her body tensed, but with anticipation and curiosity, not fear or anxiety. He reached for her hand, pulling her gently toward him, and leaned down to let his lips graze her cheek softly, right over her dimple.

It pleased her so much, she couldn’t speak for a moment; all she could do was beam at him. As much as she’d enjoyed kissing him last night, she wasn’t ready for a repeat performance. If he’d done nothing at all, she would’ve felt slighted and let down. Her cheek tingled from the light kiss, and her hand was warm in his.

“What’re you doin’ here?” His eyes scanned her, noting her attire. “You come to work out?”

“No. I’m actually on my way to the rec to work on my dance. I stopped by to bring you something.”

“What’s that?” He eyed the little paper sack in her hands. “Smells good.” 

She held it out. “It’s a mini-apple pie. Thought you might like to try it.”

“You make it?”

Sammi was tempted to lie. “No, Jazz did. I can’t take credit.”

H tilted his head and sniffed. “It smells like…bacon. And cheese too, maybe. This is an apple pie?”

Sammi laughed. “Yep. The cheese is in the crust. Cheese and apples have gone together since the dawn of time.”

“And the bacon? Not that I need a reason to eat bacon.”

“It’s the sweet-and-salty food trend. In baking, you usually add salt to balance the flavor. If you increase the salt in a dessert, it’s just a party for your taste buds. Everything your tongue craves.”

Her words hung in the air, echoing sensuously in her ears.
There you go again
. She blushed and met his gaze, his pewter eyes smoky. They fell to her lips and lingered there for a long moment.

“Can’t wait to try it. It’ll be my post-workout snack. Basanta will be so happy with me.”

Sammi smirked. “Just tell him you had protein, fruit, and a little dairy. He’ll be fine.”

He chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. “I like where your head’s at.” 

Sammi stared at his biceps until she realized she was staring and shook herself. “Well, I’d better get going. I’m hoping to get another section of my dance figured out tonight.”

“Good luck.”

His arms unfolded an invitation, and her pulse sped up. She stepped closer and shyly slipped her arms around him, her blood humming as his warm arms enveloped her, pulling her in close. His lips grazed her cheek again, hesitating there for just a moment.

Sammi turned and looked up into his eyes.
Oh, he’s been thinking about it
. His lips were centimeters from hers.
Don’t just give him permission…go for it.

Her hands trailed slowly up his arms to his shoulders as she pushed herself up on tiptoe. His mouth curved up, and her eyes zeroed in on her prize.

Little closer…

“Killy.”

Sammi dropped her hands and quickly stepped back, following the voice as Cillian’s head snapped up, his brows rushing together to make an irritated V.

Basanta stood behind them with a knowing smirk on his face, his arms folded, his eyes pointedly traveling between them. “My bad. I didn’t mean to interrupt…anything.”

“Whatchu want, Baz?”

Baz’s smirk widened at Cillian’s curtness. “Just wanted to let you know some of your tournament competitors are on ESPN right now, showing some highlight videos. Might be good to come take a look, study their moves.”

Cillian sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. I better.” He glanced at Sammi. “Sorry,” he said, quietly so Baz couldn’t hear.

She noted the wistful disappointment in his eyes and knew they mirrored hers. “It’s okay. It’s important.”

“What time you goin’ home?”

“Couple hours.”

He nodded and stroked a finger down her cheek. “Send me a text when you get home, okay? So I know you’re safe.”

She pressed her lips together as another shiver went through her. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she whispered.

She said a quick goodnight to Baz and pushed through the front doors, pulling her hood up against the drizzle. She couldn’t stop a little smile from crossing her face.

I was going to kiss him first. Progress.

Or maybe it was just what Cillian did to her. Either way, she wasn’t complaining.

After watching the clip on ESPN with Baz, Cillian retreated to his office. Research was in order, and he hopped on the Internet to read about his two strongest competitors—Clay “The Punisher” Cavasso and Richie Marsden.

From fifteen minutes of film, he could already see that Clay was fond of the left roundhouse kick. He tended to punctuate jabs with hooks from the opposite arm, and didn’t seem to be very good at blocking. However, he seemed to be able to take a fair amount of hits without it even fazing him. Richie liked to feint and then catch his opponents from the other side. If he took hits that put him on his back, he was quick with the leg sweep on his way back to his feet. They both were quick to get their opponents on the ground and dominate them there.

Cillian would need to watch out for them, but his ground game, thanks to years of jiu jitsu and military combative techniques, was more than solid. Neither one of them seemed any stronger than he was, or better or faster.

God bless YouTube
. It was a huge part of his training, and the one advantage of Cillian never having fought publicly meant his opponents couldn’t do the same to him.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket when it buzzed and glanced at the ID. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes, the Pavlovian anger rising into his throat as per usual.

He just left less than an hour ago. The hell does he want now?

“Carl. What’s up?”

“Killy. I have some…not awesome news. It’s about the tournament.”

Cillian tensed immediately. “What’s that?”

“It’s no longer an eight-man tourney. They bumped it to sixteen.”

Cillian blew out a relieved breath and ran his hand down his face.
Don’t care if it’s fifty, long as I still got a shot.
“Why?”

“Size of the purse fell under debate, and the game warden in New York said it was too big for eight men. Said to add more fighters, or reduce the purse. Well, no one wanted that, so they added eight more fighters.”

“All right.” He reached for a pencil and pad of paper. “Give me the new names.” As Carl rattled them off, Cillian jotted them down. He recognized a couple of the names; the others were unfamiliar.

“Some of them are first-timers, too. They do have some YouTube clips, though. I sure hope you’ve been watching film on these guys, Killy. Today’s the eleventh—we got twelve days to go until Albany.”

“All over it. Thanks for the heads up.”

He hung up with Carl and leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded across his stomach. A sixteen-man tournament meant a long couple of days—a two-night event. More opportunities for reporters to ask him questions about the desert, questions he desperately needed to stay unasked.

But if it means I can get this place back and take care of my family…they can ask me anything. And speaking of…

Cillian pulled up his Army email account, checking for his electronic Leave and Earnings Statement. He still hadn’t been paid for drill last month, and the majority of those checks always went to Mel.

The LES wasn’t there; he’d have to call the unit in the morning to figure out what was going on. Even if they paid him in a couple days, Melody needed that money last week.

CILLIAN
: You busy? Need to talk to you.

MELODY
: Give me a sec, feeding the kids.

Cillian set his phone down and steepled his fingers together. Melody was resourceful and would probably be fine for the next few days, but a flash of anger went through him. He hated that things were so tight, and the weight of balancing two households pressed down on his shoulders, manifesting in a physical ache.

He bowed his head, resting his forehead against his fingers.
I gotta make somethin’ happen. We can’t keep living like this.

The phone rang and he grabbed it.

“Hey, sis.”

“Hey, Killy. Everything okay?”

“Uh, look, I know I’m late with the money. My LES hasn’t been sent yet. I’m gonna call the unit tomorrow. You and the kids okay?”

“We’re fine for now. We’ll be okay until you get your check.”

“You sure? You got enough food? How’s the bills?”

“We’re gettin’ low on food, but we’ll be all right for the next week, probably. And the bills…well, the electricity bill has a ten-day grace period and the water bill…we can shower at the neighbors’. They’re really nice about that.”

Fuck
. “They shut your water off?” His sister was silent for a while. “Mel?”

“They’re sendin’ somebody out in the morning to do it.”

“Will they take a partial payment?”

“I don’t know, Killy.”

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his beard. He had enough money in his checking account to carry him through until his next check from the gym, but he had most of it budgeted elsewhere.

I’ll pay my bills late, and I got enough food in the house for now.

“Look, I’ll call them first thing in the morning, okay? I got enough to give them at least a partial. And as soon as I get my drill check, I got you covered, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Melody’s voice trembled slightly. She had never said so, but Cillian knew she hated having to accept money from him. But she just didn’t make enough at her receptionist job; it was barely enough to cover rent.

She cleared her throat. “Enough about that. What else has been goin’ on? I haven’t talked to you in a few days.”

“Just been wicked busy with the gym and the tournament—found out that it’s going from eight fighters to sixteen.”

“Lotta guys. How do you feel about that?”

“Gonna hold my own. Not crazy about the lower chances of winning, but, it is what it is.”

“You’ll do great.” Melody paused, her tone becoming sly. “The gym and training are the only things keepin’ you busy these days, huh?”

Cillian was instantly suspicious. “Yeah...”

“Uh-huh. So you didn’t go to Sunday dinner at your new girlfriend’s house? The girlfriend I’ve heard nothin’ about?”

Shit. Thanks, Mom.
“I told Ma not to say nothin’.”

“Well, she did. Duh. Since when can’t you tell me about new girlfriends?”

“She’s not exactly—” He paused, not really knowing what to call it. They hadn’t had a relationship talk, but she was definitely more than a friend, and he wasn’t interested in anyone else. “It’s new. I don’t know what the title is. Or if there is one.”

“So you can meet her family, but we can’t meet her?”

“Damn, Mel. Gimme a break.”

“Fine. Tell me about her.”

“I—she’s nice. Okay? She’s a sweetheart. Met her here at the gym. She’s a dancer.”