Passing His Guard

There had to be some kind of mistake. This could not be the same Aiden Kruze, son of Sen. Be

Aiden stood in the center of the ring as one fighter handed another his gloves and then exited the ring. He moved a little slow, seeming to guard his left side. The two men in the ring began sparring, and watching them fight was like observing a well-choreographed dance. Aiden moved fast and fluidly, ducking and dodging more punches than he was throwing. His opponent seemed stiffer, but what he lacked in footwork he more than made up for in skill and power.

Rya

“You lost?”

“Excuse me?” She startled, taking a step back to put a little more distance between her and the man towering over her.

“This isn’t Snap Fitness, lady. Women aren’t allowed in here.”

What a sexist jackass. “Oh . . . I was umm . . . was looking for someone.”

The man crossed his beefy arms over his chest, and his dark brows drew tight. Eyes the color of steel, and just as hard, stared her down. The scar slashing through his cheek didn’t do the guy any favors. He looked too mean to be called handsome, though she figured some women would find him so—if they were into that I’m going to eat your liver with fava beans and a bottle of Chianti sort of thing. Rya

“Let me guess,” he said, rolling his eyes in disgust. “You’re looking for Disco.”

“Who?”

Instead of answering her, he made half a turn toward the fighters and yelled, “Hey, Disco, you’ve got another banger here to see you!”

She looked behind her. Was he talking about her? What the hell was a “banger”?

Aiden turned to look her way. His attention shifted from the brute standing beside her to Rya

“Then keep your eyes on me, asshole—where they belong, instead of on that tail making eyes at you.”

Rya

“Immensely. Serves the bastard right for breaking my rib.”

She glanced back at Aiden to find him slipping between the ropes. The moment his feet touched the ground, he headed her way at a determined clip that did fu

“That’s enough, Del Toro. Leave the lady alone.”

Aiden’s attention was fixed on the man standing beside her. It wasn’t until the other fighter chuffed and ambled away that the full weight of that imposing stare became centered solely on her—up close and personal. Her heart actually missed a beat, which was so clichéd she might have laughed out loud if her lungs hadn’t quit working. As his gaze swept over her, making an unhurried head-to-toe assessment, she swore to the Almighty she could actually feel everywhere those eyes touched. They lingered on her breasts without apology. Her nipples hardened in response, and she prayed they weren’t showing through her rayon top, but she suspected her plea had gone unanswered when a crooked grin tipped his mouth.

As that bold stare traveled south, she found herself thankful for those many hours of Pilates that kept her stomach flat and her waist narrow. By the time his eyes met hers again, all trace of seriousness was gone, and in its place was a flirtatious cad.

“Hey, baby girl. What can I do you for?”

It took her a moment to find her voice. “Are you Aiden Kruze?”

His roguish grin faltered for the briefest moment. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On who wants to know, because I’m sure we’ve never met before.”

“Oh, and how’s that?” With all the tail this fighter was obviously getting, how could he possibly keep it straight?

“Because I’d remember meeting the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Oh, he was good . . . dangerously good . . . “I’m here because—”

“I know why you’re here.” He cut her off, his voice a husky growl that should not be warming her in all the right places right now.

“You do now?”

He smiled, and she felt that panty-dropping grin all the way to her toes. Oh, boy, this was not good. Not only was Aiden Kruze a breathtakingly handsome handful, he was also engaged to be married, and she would do well to remember that. That thought alone stopped her cold. What kind of a moral-less asshole eye-fucked a woman he just met while he was engaged to marry another? Seriously. It didn’t matter how gorgeous this guy was, he was a total douche bag.

Hanging on to that ire, Rya

“You want a ticket to the fight.”

“The fight?”

“Yeah, at the Mirage. It’s sold out and you want me to get you in. I tell you what, baby girl. I’ll do you one better. Go to the ticket office and I’ll have a front row seat waiting for you with a pass to the after party.”

“But—”

“Now I gotta get back to training,” he said, cutting her off again.

The man slipped his arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the door, not caring that he was getting his sweat all over her. She would have corrected his assumption—informing him he was a self-absorbed pompous asshole-cheater, if all rational thought hadn’t fled her mind the moment he touched her.

Holy shit . . . every nerve ending inside her lit up with feminine awareness. This was unreal. She’d never had this strong a reaction to a man before. Even the sound of his voice was like sex to her ears.

He pulled her closer, hugging her against his side, and bent his head, whispering, “I’ll see you after the fight, and we’ll pick up where we left off.”