Passing His Guard

Rya

What? She stared at him a moment, dumbstruck. And then her brain reengaged and she started laughing. “Oh, you mean the penthouse. Yeah, it is . . . impressive.”

The wicked grin he gave her sent a rush of heat into all her feminine places. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Never you mind. Your ego doesn’t need any more stroking.” She tried to move past him, pla

“My ego isn’t what I want you stroking.”

Butterflies battered around inside her chest, making it difficult to breathe as his amber gaze raked over her. Under the scrutiny of his gaze she felt naked and exposed, both physically and emotionally. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more of him, not after the day she’d had. A part of her wanted to throw herself at him like a shameless wanton, while another part wanted to run for the hills and try to protect the last vestiges of her raw, exposed heart.

Aiden dipped his head, coming close enough she could smell his spicy, masculine scent. The olfactory foreplay teased her senses, heightening all the others—the feel of his touch on her arm, the husky sound of his voice, ignited a slow burn of desire, making her core ache to be filled. She knew how good it could be, knew how easily he could make her come apart for him. Yet, something was holding her back. Fear? Self-preservation? She didn’t know. All she knew was that everything between them had changed. And if she gave herself to Aiden again, there would be no holding back and this man would own her—body and soul. She wasn’t ready to give him that kind of power, especially when she wasn’t sure he was capable of giving it in return. Not if he couldn’t fully trust her.

Perhaps he sensed her hesitation. Maybe he had reservations of his own, because he didn’t give her a chance to respond before releasing her arm and heading down the hall. A moment later, the door shut behind him, and she heard the dull, rhythmic thud of the heavy bag start up.

CHAPTER

29

Aiden always did his best thinking with his fists, and he was counting on this time being no different. Fff-fff . . . fff-fff . . . He concentrated on his breathing as he let his fists fly, co

One goddamn day . . . That was how long he had before stepping back into the cage. He knew nothing about his opponent or fighting in the underground circuit, except there weren’t a lot of rules. It was no-holds-barred shit, and if he got caught fighting unsanctioned, his career with the Cage Fighting Association was going to be over. Fuuuck . . . How in the hell was he going to prepare for a fight so quickly? When the answer came to him, he forcibly dismissed it and tabled that problem to move onto another.

Rya

She was his number one priority—his first and foremost concern. Bottom line: Despite how bad it looked, Aiden believed she was telling him the truth. Her dad hadn’t been the man she’d thought, and to learn the truth—that he’d been working for the Mafia—had to have been a devastating blow to take. Aiden remembered how shitty he’d felt when he discovered how deep his own father was in with Moralli, and that Be

Aiden had no idea what Rya

No, this was going to end—for his and for Rya

When the answer returned, as persistent as before, Aiden muttered a nasty curse and slammed his fist into the heavy bag.

“Hey, man, how’s our little cage banger?”

“Real fu

“Not too bad. So where the fuck are you? Sparring these pansies is boring as hell.” Metal weights clanked loudly in the background and someone yelled “Fuck off, Nikko.” But he kept on talking. “I was starting to wonder if Gingersnap didn’t pull some Silence of the Lambs shit on you. You know, ‘It puts the lotion on its skin.’ ”

Despite himself, Aiden laughed. What in the hell was he thinking? It wasn’t too late to change his mind and say sayonara to this prick, but as much as Aiden hated to admit it, he needed Nikko Del Toro. They hadn’t known each other very long, but in the months Easton had been out on medical, they’d become sparring partners. Aiden figured he knew the guy about as good as that surly bastard let anyone know him, so yeah, they were friends—he guessed.

“Listen, I’m in Manhattan and I really could use your help.”

Silence.

Ah hell . . . “You there, man? Fuck, I knew this was a mis—”

“What kind of help are we talkin’ about?”

All trace of humor was gone from the fighter’s voice. With the flip of a switch, Nikko could turn stone-cold, emotionless—ruthless. Aiden had witnessed it more than once and been on the receiving end of it in the cage when shit got too real. But he’d never asked and he didn’t judge. Sure, he’d heard the rumors, the talk going on behind the fighter’s back, and a whole lot of speculation about how he got those scars, but Aiden had stayed clear of it.

“The kind of help only you can give me, I suspect.”

“What the hell is it you think I do, man?”

Aiden could hear the tension in the fighter’s voice, the defensive edge a sharp, warning growl to tread lightly. Fuck it . . . in for a dime, in for a dollar, right? “MARSOC stuff.”