Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (19 page)

D
read sat in her gut like a lead weight, or maybe that was her heart—the hollow ache a painful reminder of what she had to do. It wasn’t going to be easy, telling Nikko she couldn’t see him anymore outside of work. Not that they’d officially been seeing each other to begin with, but she never should have gone to that restaurant, or let him kiss her . . . or let him come over to her house.

She took full responsibility for sending him mixed signals. But after what happened Saturday morning, when Nikko had pulled her into the office and nearly kissed her again . . . It rattled Vi every time she thought of how close they’d come to getting caught. Setting her career and her reputation aside, she couldn’t be that additional ammunition Cole Easton needed to get Nikko kicked out of the CFA. They already thought him unstable, so discovering he was romantically involved with his therapist would discredit any claims she’d made about his improvement. Not to mention she was violating her own code of ethics. She’d always been a person whose moral compass pointed true north, but since Nikko walked back into her life, the damn thing seemed to be stuck directly on him.

She couldn’t continue to lie to herself, making excuses for her lapse in judgment. She couldn’t keep dallying in this gray area with him. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was going to have to resurrect some much-needed boundaries with Nikko. He couldn’t continue to consume her thoughts like this, destroying her concentration. She needed to focus solely on his therapy and helping him deal with his past. She wasn’t doing either one of them any favors by wanting more. It had to stop.

She wasn’t a deceptive person, yet here she was, lying to herself, lying to protect Nikko, lying to her best friend about her feelings for him, lying to the CFA . . . It was just too much lying.

“You all right?”

“Huh?” Violet glanced up from her desk to find Pen standing in the doorway.

“You look upset. Barry still bugging you?”

“Barry’s always bugging me,” she complained, reminded of the message he’d left this weekend, telling her it was urgent he speak with her.

“I’m sorry . . . Well, if it helps, my offer to kill him still stands.”

Vi smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks, Pen. You’re the best.”

She shrugged. “I know. What are friends for?”

“Murder, I guess.”

Pen laughed. “That’s right, Thelma and Louise style.”

“They died, you know.”

“Oh, yeah . . .” Her face scrunched up in thought. “Bonnie and Clyde?”

“They died, too. And I am not being the guy.”

Pen’s laughter was infectious. Violet joined her and thought about how good it felt. In truth, she envied her friend—envied her spontaneity, her blind pursuit of what she wanted—a true hedonist to her very core. The woman lived by her own set of rules, walked to the beat of her own drum. How liberating . . . how freeing to do whatever you wanted and be able to say, “to hell with the consequences.”

If only Vi had that kind of freedom, she’d be doing Nikko Del Toro in a heartbeat. Cursing her rebellious thoughts, she shoved them aside and got back to reality. Nikko was supposed to be here in . . . Vi glanced up at the clock—twenty minutes.

“I’m going to go grab some lunch. You want to come?” Pen invited.

“No. Thanks, anyway. I’ve got some work to do before my next appointment.”

“Don’t tell me it’s Bob. That guy is here all the time. Who can possibly need that much therapy?”

“You do realize who you’re talking about, right?”

“Yeah, dumb question. There’s just something about that guy . . .”

“Well, it’s not Bob. And I know what you mean. I’ve been treating him since I moved here and I’m just not getting through to him. I get the feeling he’s keeping something from me. I think when Jim gets back I’m going to transfer his care over to him.”

“Aren’t you worried he’s going to get mad?”

“Jim?”

“No, Bob. If he’s this creepy now, I’d hate to see him mad.”

Vi shrugged. “He’ll just have to understand. I can’t worry about it.”

“I hope so.” Pen didn’t sound so sure. “So who’s coming in at one?”

“Nikko.”

“Oh, that’s right!”

Vi tried not to let her friend’s interest in Nikko grate on her nerves. It was her own fault for not confiding in Pen how she felt, and considering she was about to nix any possibility of a romance blooming between herself and the sexy fighter, she really had no right to feel put out by Pen’s attraction to him. And she could keep on telling herself that, but it still didn’t stop the jealousy from burning through her veins like liquid fire every time she thought of Pen and Nikko together.

“I think I’m going to ask him if he wants to go clubbing with me this weekend. I bet he could get me into Moulin Rouge. Have you heard of it? It’s this hot new VIP club that opened a few weeks ago and—”

“Pen?” Vi interrupted, trying hard not to sound rude—but if she had to sit here and listen to her friend go on about how she was going to ask Nikko out again, she might possibly impale herself on this pencil. “I have a lot of work to catch up on. Can we, you know, do this after work?”

“Oh . . . sure.” She shrugged, not seeming offended to be getting the boot. “I’ll be back in a few. If you change your mind and want me to grab you anything from Za’s, just text me.”

“I will. Thanks.” She didn’t think she could eat. She’d be lucky if she didn’t puke.

Violet went back to work, trying to focus on her charts and failing miserably when Pen knocked on the door again. Exhaling a frustrated sigh, she snapped, “Seriously, Pen, I don’t want anything,” and looked up to find Nikko standing in her doorway, a brown paper bag in hand, his all-too-perceptive gaze taking everything in and giving nothing away.

“I came a few minutes early. Figured you probably didn’t eat. Not a good time, huh?”

It was as good a time as any. She scowled at the paper bag in his hand. He would have to bring her lunch—as if this wasn’t hard enough already. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful,” she conceded. “Come in.”

Nikko stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Whether he was picking up on her tension or brewing some of his own, an undercurrent of unease radiated from him. Shadows haunted his eyes that appeared more gray than silver today. He set the paper bag on her desk and stepped back, taking his seat across from her. She could feel his gaze on her, studying her. Her pulse quickened with anxiety, and the knot clenching her stomach warned her she just might throw up. He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? Opening the sack, she pulled out the clamshell box and lifted the lid, her brows narrowing as she scowled down at the sandwich. How did he know?

Nikko watched Violet scrutinize the ciabatta. This wasn’t her—closed off and guarded. Since when had their roles become reversed? Something was bothering her—clearly—her sullenness setting his own nerves on edge. He’d had an emotionally exhausting weekend with Ray, navigating the murky waters of fatherhood. Most of the time he felt like he was up a stream without a paddle, but bringing her back to her mother two days ago had been like shooting the rapids. Dealing with Celeste was always a miserable experience, but nothing had prepared him for the pain of letting his little girl go.

It’d never been like that before, saying good-bye to Raven. Then again, he’d always seen her at his sister’s house, on someone else’s territory. They’d never been alone before—not like this weekend, with just the two of them submerged in his life, sharing his home . . . It’d felt nerve-wracking at times, and at others so perfect, like Raven was right where she was meant to be—with him—with her daddy. She’d tried to be brave, holding back the tears as he took her to her mother’s, but it killed him to do it.

When he’d gotten back to his place, he’d been wrung out. He still was feeling the effects of that emotional hangover. It’d taken all his self-control not to call Clover yesterday, just to hear her voice, or drive to her house to . . . what? He didn’t know, talk, maybe? For the first time since he could remember, the urge to open up and seek the solace of another, to let someone in, didn’t sound quite so terrifying. But, ultimately, he’d wimped out, not yet trusting the thread of their bond to be strong enough to handle the truth about his broken marriage and his failure as a father. It was one of his greatest shames, though he had many. But just the thought of seeing Violet today, knowing she’d be here waiting for him, brought him a small measure of comfort—well, that and a ballbusting two-hour sparring session with Kill.

“What’s the matter, Clover?” Unease prickled over his flesh, triggering his senses to high alert, making Nikko feel about as edgy as this woman looked.

“This is the second time you’ve gotten me a chicken parmesan on a ciabatta roll. It even has extra parmesan. How did you know this was my favorite?”

Nikko didn’t like that wary look in her eyes, nor did he appreciate the suspicion in her voice. He shrugged, feigning indifference. “I didn’t. After I left your office last week, I went across the street to have lunch. I felt bad that you’d missed yours and took a guess that, being so close, you ordered from there a lot. I asked the guy at the counter if he knew what you liked.” His scowl deepened, his own short-fused temper sparking at the unspoken accusation in her voice. “I don’t see what the big deal is, Clover. It’s just a sandwich. It’s not like I propositioned you for sex or something.” He arched his brow, silently challenging her to spar. This was one fight he had no intention of losing.

He knew his jab hit home when her cheeks flushed, but he couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or mad—probably both.

“Don’t you dare bring that up here,” she hissed under her breath.

He glanced around as if the walls had ears.

“This isn’t the time, or the place—”

“Then where is? Because
this
is the only place you’ll let me see you,” he growled, frustration making his voice like gravel.

“That’s because I’m your therapist!”

“Clover, you’re a hell of a lot more than that, but if that’s what you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, then you go right the fuck on ahead.”

He was getting sick of this shit, and for a guy who didn’t play games, he felt like the grand master of Russian roulette. How long was this woman going to sit here and pretend this wasn’t happening between them? Sure, she was his therapist—temporarily, because, just his luck, her partner happened to be on vacation. Big goddamn deal. One thing had absolutely nothing to do with the other. He’d met her long before she’d been hired to rewire his brain, and he was done denying himself the first good thing to happen to him since he got back from the war. Just because their paths happened to intersect in two very separate and distinctly different ways, it didn’t mean they couldn’t explore both roads. Why she couldn’t see that was beyond him. He knew she wanted him, could see it every time she looked at him—the fire banking in those eyes, so off-color blue they looked almost purple.

Heat flooded his veins, his pulse quickening, sending a surge of blood south. He shifted in his seat, not daring to take his eyes off her as he reached between his legs and readjusted his pants, trying to make more room for his engorged cock and making no attempt to hide it.

Holy hell
. . . His brows pulled tighter, his eyes laying some serious ground and pound to her defense, but would she tap out? Not likely. That was one of the things he admired about her, even if it did piss him off. She was a woman of her word and held her convictions close to her heart. Her integrity was impeccable. Were it not for being the lucky recipient of her moment of reckless abandon, he never would have believed in a million years that this was the same woman who’d asked him to fuck her in an airplane bathroom.

But he knew something about her that no one else did: behind Violet’s serious, controlled exterior lay the heart of an uninhibited woman who was passionate and wild. In the span of minutes, she’d rocked his world so much that, six months later, he was still feeling the aftershock.

“I’m sorry, Nikko. I’ve tried, but I don’t think this is going to work.”

“The hell you say?” he growled, shooting to his feet and coming around her desk. She startled, and he bit out a self-damning curse for scaring her. The last thing he needed was to make this skittish woman even more wary of him. Exhaling a sigh, he prayed for patience he knew full well he didn’t possess and then held out his hand.