Against the Ropes (26 page)

“Then no pity.” Her hands cupped his face, fingers tracing
his eyebrows a moment. “We still have a lot of work to do. Namely, figuring out how to address this before that horrible reporter Cruise gets wind of it and makes it another notch in his proverbial belt.”

“I love it when you talk PR to me.” Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “Tell me more.”

“I'm not sure,” she said softly, gasping when he sucked at a spot just under her ear. “Gregory Higgs, don't you dare give me a hickey. It's too warm to wear a scarf.”

His tongue soothed the spot. “Guess you'll have to wear your hair down for a few days.” He grinned at her annoyed, pinched expression. “Oops.”

“Oops, my ass.”

“If you insist,” he said, then gripping the aforementioned body part, stood, taking her with him, and walked them back to the bedroom with her shrieks and laughter soothing over his healing heart.

26

R
eagan traced over the contours of Greg's chest. His breathing was even, deep, indicating he was truly asleep. After the performance he gave her an hour ago, the man deserved some rest. But something had been missing.

More like something
had
been present that wasn't welcome in her bed. Penance. He'd loved her with the same skill as he had all the times before, but she could see in his eyes, as he'd hovered over her, stroking in and out, that it wasn't about his pleasure, but about hers and making her feel safe. Making her forget his mistakes. Saying he was sorry with his body.

That was all well and good in theory, but as far as Reagan was concerned,
I'm sorry
had no place in her bed. When they came together, it should be because of passion, carnal lust and love, if she were so lucky. Apologies and balancing the scales ran too close to power games and she wasn't interested.

It was time to remind him just what loving each other in bed meant. Reaching down, she smoothed her palm toward
his abdomen, watching as the muscles tightened in reflex when she touched. Dipping below the sheet, she traced over his hip bones and the tops of his thighs, smiling as she tickled the rough hair there. Greg murmured in sleep, but barely moved. She grinned and placed her head on his shoulder for support. Walking her fingers up his thigh, she grazed the length of his soft penis with a gentle fingertip, tracing the thick head before running it back down again to cup his balls.

His cock hardened gradually, with just the barest breezy touches. Her man was insatiable, and she loved it. She sat up carefully, watching as he readjusted to slide into the warm spot she'd vacated. His arm made a few futile sweeping gestures, as if searching for her even in sleep. The thought made her want to cry, but a good cry.

She bent over and carefully folded the sheet down, keeping an eye on his face for any changes. But he was all but dead to the world. There was no point in worrying about it. The instant she took his growing erection in her mouth, though, he shifted, lifting his hips in search of more. The length hardened further, reaching its max potential as she carefully lavished it with attention, stroking, licking and sucking on the shaft.

When he hissed, she peeked up, but found his eyes still closed, though his face was now scrunched as if in concentration.

As she gripped the base and squeezed, he shifted a bit more. Grabbing the condom was a feat of acrobatic proportions, but she managed. Rolling it on in the dark was a trial and error moment. But the first inch as she sank down on his length . . . that was all worth it.

His hips moved up instinctively, and she grinned. Even in sleep, he was able to find the rhythm and move.

She closed her eyes, rocked over him, and then muffled a shriek when his hands grabbed her hips in a tight grip. Glancing down, his eyes met hers in the darkened room.

“How long have you been awake?”

He tilted up, into her, and grinned. “Long enough to feel all the good parts.”

“And you let me crawl all over and contort myself to grab a condom for nothing?”

“Not for nothing.” He moved his thumb so he stroked over her clit once. “I sure as hell enjoyed it.”

She wanted to grumble, but couldn't. Instead, taking advantage of his consciousness, she leaned over his body and kissed him. The rough hair on his chest abraded her nipples, making her gasp into his mouth. She moved her shoulders side to side to feel it again.

“You've got a bit of the kink in there, huh?” Greg asked.

“This isn't about kink. This is about something more.” She flexed, pushed against him, ground herself down against the hardness of his pelvic bone and reveled in the power she seemed to hold. Watched his eyes glaze over in passion, watch his hands claw the sheets until he couldn't hold off anymore and grab her hips.

And as he pumped into her, losing control, foregoing all need for apology or scale balancing, she smiled softly. This was what their lovemaking should be about.

She collapsed against him, felt his heart beating as hard as hers and sighed in relief. After a moment, he shifted them so that he spooned her back, arms wrapped around her.

“Not that I'm complaining, but can I ask what spurred on that wakeup call from heaven?” Greg tightened his grip around her for a moment to press a kiss to her sweat-dampened temple. “And believe me, you're welcome to try again, anytime.”

“I wanted a do-over from the time before. I wanted to catch you when you weren't thinking, where you were just reacting.” She stroked a hand down his forearm as it held her tight. “The time before bothered me.”

She heard him breathe deeply, felt his chest move behind her back. “What'd I miss? You've gotta tell me if I'm too rough, or if—”

“That's not it at all.” She wriggled and scooted until she was facing him, then pressed a kiss to his nose. He was so precious, with those worried eyes and the slight scrunch between his brows. “It's that I felt like you were trying to apologize with the sex.”

He said nothing, but the lines between his brows deepened.

“I don't want apology sex. I know it's a running joke with anyone over eighteen, but when we have sex, it's not . . .”

“It's not just sex,” he said quietly, and she was grateful he understood. Or at least, seemed to.

“I'd rather what we've got here be about something besides regrets.” She pressed one hand to his chest, felt his reassuring heartbeat, and sighed. “And now we've both earned some sleep.”

“Damn right.” He cuddled her against him once more, and she felt like finally, they were walking into the light together.

*   *   *

“I
have an idea.” Reagan stroked over Greg's back, scratching lightly, and he fought the urge to purr in response. “You might not like it, but I have an idea.”

“If I won't like it, let's keep thinking of something else.” His eyes were so heavy, so very heavy . . .

“I pull the rug out from under whatever jackass sent that letter and write an article on you myself.”

“Sounds nice,” he said on a yawn. “Keep doing that, please. Shoulder blades.”

She shifted her scratching fingers up higher. “I'll frame it like a comeback story . . . only not that cheesy. Talk about how the Corps gave you the family you needed, like you said. How boxing gave you structure, how you left that old life behind.”

He blinked, forcing his tired, wrung-out brain to stay present and not give in to the dark, welcoming call of sleep. “Run that by me again.”

“An article.” She said it so simply, as if it were obvious.
“It's a basic PR move. Get ahead of the story. Spin it our way first so if they try to come back and—”

“No.” The idea made him clammy, and he rolled off the bed to hit the head, leaving Reagan behind. He gripped the bathroom sink and let his head hang while he breathed.

Jesus. It had taken everything he had to tell his two closest friends out here, and the woman he loved, and she wanted to make his past another human interest story.

Greg looked up at himself, nearly grimacing when he saw the tired, beaten expression on his own face. Was he stupid to trust her? His gut said no, but the survival part of his brain said you didn't trust anyone. Ever. Never show them your back.

A soft knock startled him enough to make him suck in a breath.

“Greg? You okay?”

He reached over and flushed the toilet, counted to five and turned on the water. “Yeah, be out in a sec.”

There was a long pause, so long he thought she'd gone back to bed. Then, “Okay.”

Her answer was so soft, he almost didn't hear it. But he could hear the hurt buried in there.

When he finally left the bathroom, she was gone, in the kitchen already making breakfast. He dressed quietly and headed to where she pushed scrambled eggs around in a pan. Her hair was in a messy bun, her feet were bare, and he wanted nothing more than to forget everything on the other side of the apartment door, carry her back to bed and not leave for a week.

Instead, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I'm gonna get going.”

She straightened and turned. “No breakfast?”

“I'll grab a power bar in my room before practice. I still have to shower and change.”

“Oh.” She turned the heat off, stared at the stove a moment, then turned. “I don't like this. It's weird.”

His own shoulders sagged with relief. “I know. Look—”

“I'm not going to do it.” She held up a hand to stop him from speaking, then wiped them on a dish towel. “I get this is still a fresh thing for you to deal with as an adult, and I'm glad you confided in me. But just know, I can't stop it from coming out another way. So you have to be aware of the realities that come with that.”

He sighed and leaned against the door jamb. “I know. I just would rather hope for the best, I guess.”

“That's . . .” She braced herself against the kitchen counter and he could actually see the internal war she was fighting. “That's your choice, I suppose.”

He wanted to say more, wanted to stay and work it out. But if he didn't leave now . . . “I'll see you at the gym, okay?”

When she merely nodded, he knew they weren't leaving things the way they should. The way he wanted to. He walked back over and pressed a kiss to her mouth, pulling her tight against him. And he kept kissing her until she wound her arms around his neck and responded the way he knew she could.

It wasn't the perfect place to end things, but for now, it would work.

*   *   *

SWEATING
like a whore in church, Greg sat down and scooted on his butt over to where the guys were changing out their shoes for lunch break. “That . . . was brutal.”

“You're telling me.” Brad removed his knee brace and stretched. “Thank God I don't have PT today, or I'd be done.”

“Babies . . . both of you.” Graham thumped down, heaving in breaths like a guppy on land. “Stop . . . complaining.”

“Right,” Greg drawled. “We're the babies. And that's why you're the one whose lips are turning blue.”

“Shut up.” He reached into his bag and dragged out a towel, running it over his head and neck. “I was . . . in the last . . .
conditioning group.” He sucked in a long breath, then let it out slowly, muttering, “Fuck you,” as he finished.

“We've got three hours to relax.” Greg stood, looping his gym bag's strap over his shoulder. “Let's make 'em count, boys.”

“I'm grabbing lunch with Marianne. Do you want to call Reagan and come with?” Brad asked as they headed out to the parking lot.

“Sure, yeah.” A few weeks ago, an invitation like that would have been nonexistent from his I-work-alone roommate. The guy had definitely come a long way.

The thought of a lunch date with Reagan warmed him, and did a great deal to revive his exhausted spirit. She hadn't been around all morning, though he knew that wasn't unusual. She had other work to get done. But the gym was almost more vast without her, as if her presence took up more space than he realized. He tossed his bag in the backseat of the car he and Brad had shared over, then grabbed his cell. “I'll call first. Hold on.” He dialed her number, waited, then heard her pick up. But she never said a word.

“Hello?” He raised a brow, then looked at Brad, who was watching him. “Reagan?”

He heard her voice then, but it sounded muffled. He grinned. She'd butt-answered. Likely reached in her pocket or bag and thought she'd hit one button to silence the ringer, but had hit the answer call button instead. Hoping she would hear him, he yelled, “Reagan!”

Brad moved closer to him, but Greg smiled and shook his head, mouthing, “Butt-answer.” Brad huffed out a laugh and shook his head, climbing in the passenger seat. Greg sat behind the driver seat, waiting another moment to see if she'd realize what she'd done or not.

But when her voice, that was so distant, raised higher, he sat forward in the car.

“. . . can't fire me.”

Greg's body tightened. No.

Something was said, though the voice was so garbled he didn't even know if it was a man or a woman speaking. Then Reagan's answering, “I'm doing all I can with what I have. You can't fire me because some jerk is making a target of the boxing team.”

“Damn it,” Greg muttered, straining to hear more.

“Just hang up and text her,” Brad said, tapping the dashboard. “Let's go, I'm starving.”

“Shut up,” he snapped. Luckily, his friend seemed to understand quickly that things had changed, and waited.

“No, I'm not going to . . .”

Not going to what? Greg strained, but he couldn't make out any more.

“I'm not giving you that information . . . but you're wrong . . . done my best.”

“Shit,” he said when he realized there was nothing more coming. He hung up, hand shaking a little.

“What? Is she okay?” Brad sat forward and gripped Greg's shoulder. “Does she need help? Talk, dude.”

“I think she's getting fired,” he said hoarsely. “I can't be sure but that's what it sounds like.”

Brad scoffed. “No way. She's done great with all this shit she's had thrown at her. They're not letting her go. Who else would step in halfway through and pick up where she left off?”

“I doubt that matters. She's refusing . . .” He swallowed. “She had a plan, and I said no, and now . . .” He closed his eyes. “Can you have Marianne come get you? Lunch isn't happening.”

Brad was quiet a minute. “You want me to hang with you?”

“No. I appreciate the offer but no. I've just got to figure something out.” He let one side of his mouth tilt up, trying to reassure his friend. “Alone, you know. Just need to get stuff squared away in my mind before next practice.”