Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (4 page)

Wanting to see her again, Aiden had impulsively given the woman front row tickets to the fight and a pass to his after party. He had the spare seats, the ones reserved for family he would never invite—not that they’d ever come, even if he did. Sen. Bennett Kruze and Lady Madeline wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. If you didn’t own at least three lake homes and vacation on a monthly basis, they wanted nothing to do with you. It was a lifestyle Aiden didn’t miss. He’d learned the hard way a long time ago that money didn’t buy happiness.

“What’s the matter, Disco? You look like your puppy died.”

By the shit-eating grin on Regan’s face, Aiden was pretty sure the guy knew exactly what was gnawing at him. “Did you talk to her?” he demanded. “Make her feel welcome like I asked?”

Of all his friends he could have turned loose on that woman, Regan had been his best bet. The guy was laid-back, outgoing, and, most important, hopelessly in love with Willow Scott, the baby sister of his best friend and fellow MMA fighter Kyle “the Killer” Scott.

So far, those two had managed to avoid each other in the octagon as they climbed the welterweight ranks, but a matchup was inevitable. Now throw one Willow Scott into the mix and that shit had the potential to turn ugly fast. That fighter had an insane protective streak when it came to his baby sister. Aiden didn’t envy Regan one bit. If Kyle ever found out Regan and Willow were sneaking around behind his back, then friend or not, shit was going to get real.

“Of course I made her feel welcome. Man, Disco, that little honey is a sweet piece of ass.”

The urge to punch his friend in the mouth rose up swift and hard. Grabbing the front of Regan’s shirt, he jerked him close and growled, “You call her that again, and Kill might just find out who’s been dippin’ in his little sister’s honeypot.”

“Jeez, Disco, chill.” Regan held up his hands in surrender. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it, man. What the fuck happened to ‘bros before hos,’ huh?”

Shit, Regan was right.

“Besides, I wouldn’t fuck around on Willow and you know it.”

He
did
know it, dammit. So why in the hell was he acting all Neanderthal over this woman he barely knew? Especially when she’d ditched him the minute the fight was over.
Not worth it,
he told himself, pasting on a Disco grin. Aiden slung his arm around the guy’s neck. “You’re right. I guess Easton must be rubbing off on me. Sorry I bit your head off. I’m gonna hit the shower. See ya upstairs at the party.”

“Sounds good, man.”

Aiden made his way through the crowd and headed back to his room to get cleaned up before joining the after party. He was just about to step into the elevator when he heard the sharp clap of heels echoing down the hall and a soft, feminine voice call out, “Aiden, wait up!”

He instinctively tensed, assuming a cage banger was cornering him. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled at the little blonde hustling toward him. He could hardly see her face peeking over the boxes in her arms. “Hey, Willow,” he rushed toward her, scooping the burden from her arms. “What are you doing here?”

She gave him a grateful smile, then blew a wayward strand of bangs from her eyes. “Running an errand for Coach. I’m dropping off some promotional CFA stuff for the party tonight.”

He grinned and nodded, using his elbow to hit the Up button on the elevator. “Couldn’t wrangle yourself an invite to the party, huh?”

A guilty blush stained her cheeks.

“Lookin’ kinda fancy for an errand.”

Willow bit her bottom lip, and shot him a nervous glance. “Kyle wouldn’t bring me,” she confessed. “He said the party was twenty-one and older.” Smoothing her hands down her shirt, she tossed her wavy blonde hair behind her shoulder and undid the top button of her blouse to expose her cleavage. “You think I’ll pass?” She turned to fully face him, presenting herself for his inspection.

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 gunny sack.”

“Gunny sacks are good,” he grumbled. “Bulky is in.”

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 innocent.

Damn, looks were deceiving . . .

CHAPTER

 4 

R
yann’s plans to get to the party early and talk with Aiden privately were dashed the moment he arrived with his entourage. Women hung on him, men congratulated him, and paparazzi took so many pictures the room was aglow with flashing lights. The music was loud, the booze was flowing freely, and people were partying like it was 1999. Prince would have been impressed.

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 stunning blonde at his side, though she didn’t appear very interested in staying there. When she’d tried to take off, he’d caught hold of her arm and dragged her back to him. His brows wrinkled in frustration as he bent close and whispered something in her ear. All the while, her gaze scanned the room as she nodded impatiently, agreeing to whatever he was telling her. Their interaction, although very familiar, appeared platonic. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the woman was his sister, but Aiden was an only child.

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. Ryann knew it shouldn’t bother her as much as it did. She told herself her misplaced ire was merely vicarious pity for the poor woman who happened to have the misfortune of being engaged to the flagrant playboy. Nearly an hour into the festivities and Aiden had yet to spot her at the bar or make any movement in her direction.

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 Ryann recognized from the fight tonight, pretending not to notice the woman. As the small group chatted away like old friends, drinks in hand, the girl cast Regan an occasional glance from beneath the protective arm of the man standing on the other side of her. There was something in the way her bright blue eyes watched Regan that seemed . . . intimate, but the guy who was hanging on to her didn’t seem to notice as he kept talking to his friend.

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 stunning eyes holding her so transfixed she couldn’t look away if she tried. Keeping his gaze on her, as if he thought she might disappear if he looked away, Aiden gave his friend a parting comment and a friendly slap on the back. He rose from his seat with the fluid grace of a predator and moved toward her. By the time he approached, she felt thoroughly eye-fucked. How was it possible that a look across a room could be so devastating? Aiden slipped into the empty seat beside her and promptly ordered another whiskey and “whatever she’s having.”

“Did you enjoy the fight?” he asked in the way of a greeting.

The bartender handed her a fourth Bacardi. She probably should have stopped at her second, but Ryann accepted the glass and took a sip of her drink.

She couldn’t tell if he was fishing for praise or if he genuinely cared to hear her answer. At any rate, it was difficult to hold a conversation amid all the noise, and this was not the place for what they needed to discuss. Leaning closer to be heard over the thrumming bass, she asked, “Is there someplace more . . . private we could go?”

A look that seemed a lot like surprise and oddly, disappointment, briefly flashed across his face. The emotion didn’t make sense, and it was gone so fast, she couldn’t be sure she didn’t imagine it. In its place was that self-assured, arrogant, cocky grin. It was the same smile he’d given the crowd in the octagon tonight. Not the smile he’d given Ryann at finding her filling one of those empty seats, and not the genuine smile he’d gifted her with just a moment ago—not the smile that melted her heart, and damn her for wanting it again now.

No, this was a Disco grin, and although he was absolutely gorgeous wearing it, there was vacancy—a disconnect—in his eyes that left her cold. But before she could think any harder on it, Aiden grabbed her hand and pulled her off her stool.

“Sure there is, baby girl. I just figured you’d want a drink first.” He didn’t look back as he led her through the crowd at a determined clip that bordered on rude. She nearly had to jog to keep up with him, his grip on her hand firm and unrelenting. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d offended him.

Un. Fucking. Believable.
Had he honestly thought this woman was any different from the rest of these cage bangers? And to think he nearly busted one of his best friends in the mouth over her. He must be going soft, spending too much time with Easton dealing with his lovesick drama. He hadn’t spent sixty seconds with this woman before she was asking him to take her upstairs and fuck her. Crissake . . . that must be some sort of a record or something. He should really start carrying a stopwatch.

They reached the elevator and he jammed the Up button with his finger. The muffled sound of the party echoed down the hall. He didn’t try to talk to her again. What was the point? She wasn’t here for the conversation, so why waste his breath? The doors dinged as they slid open. He stepped inside and pulled her in behind him. There was another couple in the elevator or he would have just done her right here. He could make her come before they’d reach the fortieth floor. Save himself the trouble of getting her back on it. Shit, he hoped she wasn’t a clinger. He was tired. He’d fought his heart out tonight and could use a good night’s sleep—alone.

She stepped a little closer, looking like she wanted to say something, but she must have thought better of it when he shot her a
not here
scowl. Her movement, although slight, was enough to hit him
with an earthy, floral scent that teased his nostrils. His cock began to
swell at the sensory foreplay, and he ground his teeth in defiance to his body’s willingness to toss away his self-respect for the chance to get inside this woman who, in truth, turned out to be nothing more than
a flagrant fan. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered discreetly.

He arched his brow, glancing down at her, and then promptly discovered what a mistake that was. She was too beautiful, too innocent looking, to be such a whore. Because, yeah, Coach was right, that was exactly what these women were. He may not be paying them in coin, but they were getting plenty of compensation between the sheets.

“Why would anything be wrong?” He answered her question with a question—straight up lawyer style.

She shrugged. “You just seem—”

The elevator jerked to a halt, cutting her off. They exited the elevator before the other couple. Keeping his firm grip on her hand, he led the little cage banger to his suite.

Aiden didn’t give her a chance to speak. The moment the hotel door closed, he had her pressed up against it, his mouth coming down on hers with all the finesse of a hurricane—powerful, consuming, and destructive to her defenses. His tongue pushed past her lips, and the first contact of warm metal surprised her. Seriously? His tongue was pierced, too? How many more surprises did this enigmatic man have secreted away?

He tasted more intoxicating than she’d imagined—the dark burn of whiskey, a sinful bite as his tongue teased across hers, playful at first and then plundering. He shifted his mouth, adjusting his kiss as his hand fisted into her hair, angling her head so he could fully claim her lips. Every inch of Aiden’s impossibly hard body molded against hers, pinning her between the door and a wall of hard, unyielding muscle. His erection, grinding into the flat of her stomach, was impressively large and equally demanding. His hips rocked against hers, and his low growl sounded a mix of frustration and pleasure, as if he couldn’t get close enough fast enough. But their kiss seemed to be a pressure valve tempering his flagging restraint.