Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (51 page)

Aedan

I watched in horror as she hit the surface almost headfirst. She hadn’t had time to get her arms out so she plunged right under, going down deep.

I raced to the edge and dived in. The water was colder than it had any right to be in the summer, and it wasn’t the cleanest, either. But I could see her beneath me, her long hair fanning out around her like a dark halo. I grabbed her under the arms and hauled her up.

We broke the surface together, gasping in air and daylight. She spluttered a little, but seemed okay.

“You gotta work up to it,” I panted, “you daft mare.”

She tossed her wet hair out of her face, sending gleaming jewels of water out in arcs. Then she looked at me. “Sorry.”

“I’ll take you to my place to dry off. It’s not far.”

We swam and then waded ashore. It was worse, once we were out. Our clothes seemed to have absorbed half the water in the harbor and our shoes squelched. Neither of us felt like running anymore, so we trudged back along the street leaving a trail of water behind us.

For a while, we walked in silence. Then a sudden splatter of water made me glance to the side. Sylvie had twisted her long hair into a rope and was wringing it out, arching her back so the water missed her back as it fell. That meant her chest was thrust out, and—

Her running top and bra were plastered to her breasts and the water had chilled her enough that her nipples were standing out hard through the fabric. I lost all capacity for rational thought for a few seconds.

She realized I was staring at her. “What?” she asked, bemused.

“...nothing.”

I forced my eyes forward and told myself I would not—absolutely
would not—
look at her again. I’d keep my eyes off her all the way to my place like a feckin’ gentleman.

Except when we reached a side road and I had to look both ways.

And when I thought I might be walking too fast, or too slow.

And sometimes when I needed to just, you know, check she was okay.

This woman had stripped all my self control away in just a few hours.

***

“You live here?” she asked when we arrived at my apartment building. She was careful to make it sound neutral, but I knew what she meant. Suddenly, she understood why I was okay for money. I just nodded.

As soon as I opened the door, I wished I’d cleaned up. I’m not a slob, but...well, guys have different priorities, when it comes to cleaning. I kicked some pizza boxes under a table.

To my surprise, she went straight over to the shelf over the TV. I’d gotten so used to the trophies being there, they didn’t even register.

“You won all these?” she asked in wonder.

I shrugged.

“
County
Champion?”

“Only in my weight category. And it was years ago.”

She picked up another one. “
Twice?”
She spun to face me. “What the hell were you doing fighting in The Pit? Why aren’t you on the pro circuit?”

I shook my head. “A lot of stuff happened, back in Ireland. When I came over here, things were a little...complicated.”

“To do with your family?”

I stared at her. “Didn’t you want to get out of those clothes? I’ll find you something to wear.”

She stared back at me stubbornly for a moment but, when it became obvious I wasn’t going to break, she headed for the bathroom.

I let out a long breath and tidied a few more things away. Then I stripped out of my clothes, toweled off and pulled on clean pants and a t-shirt. And then I stopped, because I was listening.

I could hear her undressing.

Never in my life had I imagined that just the sound of clothes hitting the ground could be so sexy. But that heavy thump could only be her soaked sweatpants. That wet stretching, peeling sound must be her running top coming off. A creak of elastic—her bra coming off. And now she’d be standing there topless, her breasts dripping wet, nipples hard from the cold. Right there, not six feet away from me, on the other side of a thin wooden door.

The sound of wet fabric rubbing past skin. Her panties. I heard the sodden cotton hit the tiles and then she was completely nude. In my mind, I could see her naked ass shining with little beads of water, and between her thighs...what? Was she shaved? Waxed? I wanted to see her lips. Kiss them. Lick them.

The door opened and her head stuck out. “Um...you were going to find me something to wear?”

I dug in my closet and found a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Then I had to hand them to her. Which meant walking right up to that damp, suspicious face and trying to forget that it was attached to a damp and very naked body.

She could have stretched her arm out, so that I didn’t have to come so close. But she kept it right up against the door, so I had to come close. Really close. Until our faces were only a foot apart.

Come to think of it, why hadn’t I
stretched
my
arm out to pass the clothes to her?

Too late now.

I put the clothes into her hand, but for some reason I didn’t let go of them.

“Thank you,” she said, and pulled the clothes a half-inch towards her.

I still didn’t let go.

She looked up into my eyes. I saw her go through a whole range of different emotions, lightning fast. Surprise. Doubt. Her eyes went big and she took a little breath in.
Lust.

Does she want this to happen?
I sure did. At this point, my cock was ready to break its way through the feckin’ door. One kiss. I’d still be snogging her when I lifted her naked body in my arms and carried her to the bed.

No. Jesus, Aedan, stop thinking with your cock.
That was okay with the women I picked up in bars. We both knew what we were getting into, then. Sylvie would expect more than a one-night stand. She deserved more. And I couldn’t give it to her.

I let go of the clothes.

She frowned, confused...and then it turned to anger. She ducked back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

She put on the fresh clothes faster than I would have thought possible. When she came out, the t-shirt hanging almost to her knees and the shorts in severe danger of falling down, it should have been funny. It would have been, if it hadn’t been for her expression. “Do you have a bag?” she snapped.

I found a plastic grocery bag and passed it to her. She went back into the bathroom and started squeezing the water out of her wet clothes. The door was open and I watched as she twisted her sweatpants into a rope. It looked a lot like she was wringing someone’s neck. Then she shook them out, as loudly and violently as possible. Every time she moved, the shorts threatened to fall down and she had to stop and grab at them, and that only seemed to make her madder.

Maybe I messed that up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said stiffly. “At the gym. Okay? Eight?” She crammed her clothes into the bag so hard it nearly ripped.

I definitely messed that up.
“Um. Yeah. Eight.”

She stalked out of the bathroom and over to the door. I spoke up just as she turned the handle. “Sylvie?”

She looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. I felt myself falling into those gorgeous, liquid eyes.
Say something, you idiot! Make it right! Tell her—

What? That I really liked her? That I wanted more than just sex? That I’d never met anyone like her before?

“Will you be okay, walking in wet shoes?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’ll be just fucking fine walking in wet fucking shoes.”

And she slammed the door.

There are some times when banging your head against a wall isn’t sufficient. As soon as my shift was done, I resolved to get very, very drunk instead. Drunk enough that I could forget all about Sylvie and her wet running top and her unseen, naked breasts in my bathroom. Drunk enough that I could resolve to stop all this, all the little moments and glances and nearly-kisses. Stop them before they drove us both crazy. Before she got close enough to see me for what I really was and fled, leaving her without any preparation at all for the fight.

From now on, it had to be all business.

Sylvie

Why didn’t he kiss me?

I’d asked myself the same question several hundred different ways, but I wasn’t any closer to an answer. For days, I’d been sure that he liked me. I’d been one hundred percent sure that he’d been about to kiss me, when I’d been poking my head out of the bathroom. And then, just as everything should have come together, he’d backed off.

I told myself that it didn’t matter. That I’d just focus on what mattered—the fight. I told myself that it had been stupid of me to act like some lovesick teenager when things were so serious.

But it wasn’t as simple as that. As soon as I stopped thinking about him in that way, I realized what I was missing. My feelings for him had been the only thing holding back the fear of what was going to happen in less than a month. Without that one positive thing in my life, the fear took over.

Besides, it wasn’t just about me. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was hurting inside because of something in his past. I owed him. Every day, he was helping me—saving me. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help him, if he wouldn’t open up and let me in.

I had no choice. I locked my feelings down tight, and only let them creep out when I was on my own in the apartment, in my bed, my fingers stealing down between my thighs and under my panties. And when I visited Alec in hospital, I’d perch on the edge of his bed, put my head close to his and whisper in his ear about the gorgeous man I couldn’t have.

And we trained.

***

We trained for two weeks, five hours a day, six days a week. I’d never worked so hard in my life. Every day started with a run and then a long session in the gym, with just a quick break for lunch. In the afternoons, Aedan would go to the docks to work while I’d retreat to my apartment and sleep, curled up like a cat on top of the covers. It was my only chance to catch up on rest before my evening shift at the hotel. I’d cancelled my morning shifts to train so the evening shifts were vital to keep some money coming in. Without Alec’s income, the bills were piling up rapidly. Aedan was right, though: the money wouldn’t be any use to me if I was dead. Winning the fight was everything.

He worked on my core with endless rounds of crunches and medicine ball twists. He built up my strength by getting me to pump iron, whispering encouragement in my ear when my arms trembled and I thought I was going to drop the weight on myself. He got me to hit punch bags, pads and, eventually, him.

My body started to change—and fast. It wasn’t magic; it was the sheer brute force of the training. My midsection lost its pudginess and became taut and toned. My arms started to develop shape. My legs became leaner, from the endless squats and footwork.

I wasn’t ready for a fight, yet, but Aedan had me try light sparring, both of us in gloves and head protectors. He let me go at him again and again: he fended off my attacks with casual ease, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to find my style.

“You’re an out-boxer,” he told me. “Fast. Good on your feet. You hit from a distance. You don’t have much power, but you can wear the other girl down, wait until she makes a mistake.”

I thought about that for a second. I quite liked the idea of not having to get too close. Hopefully, that meant I’d get hit less. “What are you?”

“A brawler.” He smiled. He did that more often, these days, and when he did all that darkness just dropped away. “Slow and stupid. I just hit them—hard.” He crossed his arms and regarded me. “It’s like rock-paper-scissors. Each style’s got an advantage over another, and each one’s beaten by another.”

“So who do I have to watch out for?”

“A swarmer. They’ll get right up in your face and hit you with flurries of punches—they’ll overwhelm you. A swarmer’ll be beaten by a brawler, like me.”

“And who do
you
have to watch out for?”