Passing His Guard

Aiden shifted the boxes beneath his arm and scowled down at her. Hell yeah, she’d pass. Willow Scott was a gorgeous woman that did not look twenty years old. “Jesus, Will, button your shirt back up. For crissake . . .”

Willow sighed and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Aiden, you sound just like Kyle,” she complained, refastening the button. “ ‘Button your shirt, Willow.’ ‘Your skirt’s too short, Willow,’ ” she mocked. “I tell you, if you boys had your way, I’d be wearing a gu

“Gu

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, arching her brow.

Ho-ly shit, Kyle had his hands full with this one. He didn’t blame the guy for not wanting his baby sister at the party. No doubt the fighter was going to be spending the entire night cock-blocking. But if Aiden knew Willow, and he did, there wasn’t going to be any way of keeping her from that party, especially since Regan would be there. If she was going to insist on going, she’d be safest with him—until he could hand her off to her brother. “I tell you what, you can come with me and I’ll get you into the party.”

“Really?” she asked excitedly, bouncing up and down and cheering her victory.

Aiden shook his head and averted his gaze to the ceiling. “Really, but only if you promise not to do that anymore, and you stay right by Kyle’s side the whole time. There’s going to be a lot of people here, not just our camp. It’s a big press night for the Cage Fighting Association—sponsors, fans, paparazzi, you name it.” If he thought he could convince her not to go, he’d have tried, but when that woman put her mind to something, there wasn’t going to be any changing it.

“I promise,” she vowed, placing her hands together like she was praying, all sweet and i

Damn, looks were deceiving . . .

CHAPTER

4

Rya

Everyone was having one hell of a time, except for her and the guy sitting two tables kitty-corner from her. She recognized him as Aiden’s sparring partner from the gym. Grabbing her Bacardi Limon from the bar, she swiveled in her seat just enough to watch the women approach the fighter who seemed solely interested in consuming his whiskey. One by one they sauntered over and practically threw themselves at the fighter, only to be shot down time and time again. Each time he sent one packing, the broody scowl on his handsome face grew darker. It was actually pretty entertaining, considering her alternative—watching women throw themselves at Aiden.

He’d arrived fashionably late with a stu

As soon as he released her, she was off like a shot, and then it was game on for Aiden’s attention. Women approached one after the other, hanging on him and posing for pictures. Rya

Even Regan ignored her, though she suspected that had more to do with the pale-haired beauty Aiden had arrived with than anything else. He was standing beside another guy Rya

Turning her gaze back to Aiden, she found him standing in a larger crowd, peeling off a woman who’d locked her arms around his neck as he tried to back away from the group. His infamous smile was devastating—flirtatious and gregarious. What woman could be expected to resist those charms? Well she, for one, intended to be the first. This was ridiculous. She had better things to do than sit here all night watching women grope him. They were just going to have to talk tomorrow—perhaps when he wasn’t so . . . indisposed.

Finishing her drink, she sat the glass down with a temperamental clap and was about to hop down from the stool when she saw him finally break away and walk toward her. He’d yet to make eye contact, but that didn’t stop her pulse from quickening at the sight of him. He moved with a fluidity not often seen in a man his size. She felt a sharp sting of disappointment when he veered left and slid into a seat opposite his surly sparring partner. Aiden waved the waitress over, and a few minutes later they each had a glass of whiskey in their hands.

Between the music and the crowd, it was too loud for her to hear what Aiden said to him. Whatever it was, though, the guy must not have appreciated hearing it. His scowl deepened and he drained his glass, then slammed it down on the table. Someone took their picture, and the fighter looked like he wanted to leap across the table and ram the camera up that paparazzo’s ass. Aiden finished his whiskey and held the ice-filled glass to his cheek as they continued to talk. The bruise looked sore, a bit red and swollen, but not even the wounds earned from his fight could detract from that man’s raw, masculine appeal.

He waved his drink-holding hand across the crowd, indicating the scores of people there, and she saw the glint of metal reflecting in the light. Holy shit, was that a piercing through his bottom lip? She squinted, trying to get a better look. It was . . . and another in his brow, too. Huh. The Aiden Kruze she’d seen in the photo didn’t exactly strike her as the kind of guy who’d pierce his face and ink his arms. But apparently he was that guy, and damn, it looked good on him—as if he wasn’t already hot enough. God have mercy . . .

As his gaze swept the room, his amber eyes locked on her—bold and unflinching. She felt the heat of that stare all the way to her toes, those stu