Back in Black (19 page)
Authors: Lori Foster
Leaning down, Brett kissed her. Against her mouth, he murmured, “Yeah, we can.”
Oh, God, already her heart beat double time and her pulse fluttered. She fisted her hands in his shirt. “I missed you, Brett.”
Pausing, his green eyes going dark, he groaned and kissed her again. They were shielded behind his truck, but still in a public location. But it didn’t matter.
Audrey put her arms around him and ran her hands up his broad, hard back. He was so solid, it left her breathless. She loved the feel of his hard body beneath the soft cotton T-shirt.
For his part, Brett turned his head a little and kissed her more deeply. His tongue sank in, stroked and, with near desperation, he slid his hand up to her left breast.
Audrey froze, but Brett didn’t.
He groaned again as he cuddled her, held her breast in his palm, and found her nipple with his thumb.
Her knees felt shaky. “Brett . . .”
Jerking away, he said, “Let’s go somewhere, Audrey.” Heat colored his high cheekbones. “Right now.”
He needed her, so she wasn’t about to deny him. She breathed so hard, she could barely form a coherent reply. “My apartment is . . . is close.”
At her agreement, his jaw clenched. “No misunderstandings, Audrey. I want to have sex with you.”
For reasons she didn’t understand, his clarification made her lips twitch into a smile. “I know.”
He opened the truck door and said, “Get in.”
While she fastened her seat belt, he jogged around to the driver’s side. Once behind the wheel, he asked, “My place okay instead?”
“I guess.” She studied the severe lines of his expression in profile. “Why?”
“Spice is waiting on me.”
She went still. “Spice?” Who the heck . . .
“My cat.” He put the truck in gear and pulled onto the road. “She’s a possessive thing and misses me when I’m gone. She knows when I’m due home, and she’s always at the door, waiting. She’s been home alone all day already.”
Audrey couldn’t take it in. “You have a cat? Seriously?” Somehow that didn’t fit the picture of a big, buff athlete like Brett.
“You don’t like animals?”
“I do, but . . .” A big dog, now that would have seemed more commonplace for a man of Brett’s abilities.
“She’s been with me since she was a tiny puff of fur.” He held out a hand, palm up. “She used to be able to sit right there, in my palm. I think she only weighed a few ounces.”
From sexually amped up to talking about his cat with such deep affection, Brett Bullman was an amazing man. “Where did you get her?”
“Found her.” A memory tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “I was working as a bouncer in a bar, and after close, I helped clean up the place. I stepped out back to an alley, to dump some trash in the bins back there, and there she was. Thick with fleas, eyes all gooey, barely able to walk.”
Her heart clenched. “Oh, how awful.”
“Someone dumped her there. If I’d found the guy . . .” He let that threat drop off. “I wrapped her up in my shirt and took her into the bar.” Flashing a grin, he said, “The owner had a fit, but what was I going to do?”
“You took care of her?”
“Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to just let her die.” He shifted his shoulders in discomfort. “I have no use for idiots who mistreat animals.”
Remembering some of what she’d heard Drew say, Audrey rested a hand on his thigh. Had Brett ever had a pet as a boy? “How long have you had her?”
“Five years now.” He chuckled with the memory. “I smuggled that cat into the bar every night, and I fed her during my breaks, when I should have been doing my papers.”
“Papers?”
Another shrug. “For college.” He glanced at her and explained. “I worked at the bar nights and weekends to help pay my way through school. Took me a little longer that way, so I didn’t get my degree until I was damn near twenty-three.”
Working nights, weekends, and college classes? Not many could handle that. Audrey couldn’t help but wonder why a man with an education would choose to be a fighter. “What was your major?”
“Business.” Sheepish, he grinned again. “I had thought to do some kind of suit-and-tie gig. I don’t know, just . . . because. To prove I could, maybe, you know? And if I didn’t make it as a fighter, I’d have that to fall back on. But I’d always been an athlete, and I like being physical, so MMA is a good fit for me.”
There was so much she didn’t know about him. “Who taught you to fight?”
“I did.” Covering her hand on his thigh with one of his own, he smoothed his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m analytical. Always have been. It’s why I’d be good in business and in sports. I can look at things and see why they do or don’t work. I’d watch a fight, see what moves the fighters used, and then copy them.”
The discoloration under his eye worsened. “I can’t imagine why anyone would enjoy getting hit.”
That brought a gruff laugh from him. “It’s not that I like getting clobbered. But I do like fending off a hit. I like testing my strength and endurance. After a fight, win or lose, I feel more alive.”
“I watched you in the gym.”
He shot her a surprised look. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you.”
“It was . . . brutal.”
“That was just practice, Audrey.”
“You’re still beat up.”
He laughed. “Woman, you’re insulting my ego. I am not beat up. But with any sport, you get banged around a little during practice and sparring. Believe me, I got worse than this in high school and college sports.”
Audrey was so attuned to what he told her that she almost missed it when he turned toward an impoverished neighborhood. He caught her quick look around and apologized.
“Sorry. I haven’t been in town long enough to look for more permanent housing. The place where I’m staying is close to Havoc’s gym, lets me have Spice, and stays out of my business.” Flexing his hands on the wheel, he said, “If you’d rather not be here—”
“I’m with you.” Smiling with sincerity, she smoothed a hand over his shoulder. “I feel totally safe.”
That gave him pause. “I’m glad.” He pulled up in front of a four-family brick house and parked on the street. Turning toward her, he used his pinky to smooth back a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, Audrey.”
“I know.”
He looked beyond her and grinned. “There, in the second-story window? You can see Spice.” He opened his door. “She’s waiting for me.”
Audrey looked out the passenger window and saw the cat’s silhouette on the inside sill. When Brett opened her door, she stepped out. “Does she like visitors?”
“Haven’t been any since we moved here, but she’s a social creature. She won’t mind you.”
So he hadn’t brought any other women to his home? Given how she already felt about him, Audrey was glad to know it.
Several young men, maybe in their late teens and early twenties, loitered on the poured concrete porch, smoking and drinking beer. Brett only nodded to them as he led her to the door.
“Dude, when you fightin’ again?”
He paused with a theatrical groan. “I told you guys, I don’t know yet.”
“Been forever, man. Why’s Drew Black draggin’ his damned feet?”
“Yeah,” another one said. “If the man had any sense, he’d get you out there.”
After an apologetic smile to Audrey, Brett turned to the young men. “Drew’s a businessman, and the SBC is a business. That means everything has to be legal. Takes a little time, you know?”
One of the older boys drew on his cigarette, then flicked the butt into the yard. “There’s a fight going down at the club on Saturday. You should enter.”
Hearing that stole Audrey’s breath. An unsanctioned, unsupervised brawl meant that things could easily get out of hand. There’d be no one to enforce fair play, no rules.
No holds barred.
No holds barred.
Her vision narrowed and her chest hurt. Boys could get hurt, or even . . . killed. She had to do something.
Stepping away from her, Brett went deadly serious in an instant. “What club?”
“Paulie’s, down on Minton Street. Out in the back alley after closing.” He pushed away from a porch roof column. “If you enter, I’ll bet on you.”
“Me, too.” Saluting with a beer can, another young man said, “You’d kill ’em all.”
“Brett,” Audrey breathed, barely able to get a word past the restriction in her chest. He couldn’t be thinking of taking part in something so—
He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Cops don’t know about this?”
One of the boys snorted. “Hell no.” He threw his beer can like a basketball into a broken flowerpot in the yard. “The 5-O would break that shit up.”
“Right.” Brett looked at each of them. “I’ll have to pass, but you guys have fun.”
Groaning complaints followed Audrey and Brett into the foyer. When Audrey started to speak, he shook his head and gave her a look. “Not here.”
Numbness pervaded her limbs on the climb to the second story. Somehow she had to stop the fight. She just wasn’t sure what to do yet.
How offended would Brett be if she called the police?
“Take a breath, Audrey. It’ll be okay. Trust me.” He dug keys out of his pocket and stopped in front of a thick wooden door. A rhythmic “pat, pat, pat” sounded from inside his apartment.
“That’s Spice scratching on the door,” he told her. “Let me grab her so she doesn’t slip out on me.”
One hand on the doorknob, he bent before pushing the door open—and scooped up a slinky multicolored cat who meowed her pleasure with ear-splitting delight.
Brett moved into the apartment and held the door open for Audrey. “Come on in.”
Almost robotic, Audrey stepped in. He closed and locked the door behind her.
Her thoughts skittered about until Brett cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a warm, soft kiss.
Blinking at him, she tried to decide what to say.
He smiled and lifted the cat up to his chest to scratch under her chin. “Don’t worry so much. I’ll take care of it.”
“It?”
“The fight.” He nudged her toward a seat, then dropped down beside her. The cat left his lap to investigate her.
Audrey liked animals, so she stroked the cat’s back and was rewarded with a deep, rumbling purr.
Stretching an arm out along the back of the sofa, Brett settled in close to her. She hadn’t noticed when he got out his cell phone, or when he’d put in a call.
With the phone to his ear, he kissed her temple, her jaw. Someone answered his call, and he eased back from her to say that he wanted to report an upcoming illegal fight at a nearby bar.
He must have been put on hold, because he went back to seducing Audrey.
“Street fights can be dangerous,” he said between light kisses that left her skin tingling. “Someone drinks too much and decides he’s Superman. Drugs blunt pain so you don’t realize how badly you’re hurt, or how much you’re hurting someone else. There aren’t any medics on hand to monitor things.”
She knew that only too well.
Just then, his call was picked up again, and Brett leaned forward to relay the details of the fight. He chose not to give his name, but did share what he knew. He thanked the officer on the phone and, after shutting off the call, put the cell phone back in his pocket.
“Thank you.”
“What?” He settled back in the seat again. “You think you’re the only one who doesn’t like street fighting?” He drew a hand along the cat’s back, then transferred it to her waist.
She felt caged in—and liked it. “So you don’t approve?”
“’Course not.” Somehow he got his hand under her shirt, to her bare skin. His thumb stroked along her ribs, almost touching the bottom of her breast.
Voice low, somehow soothing, he said, “Those fights are nothing like the professional bouts put on by legitimate MMA organizations.” He nuzzled her jaw. “The cop on the phone said he’d check into it.”
Just like that? No arguments, no misunderstandings. She should have known, should have trusted him. Brett wasn’t a thickheaded lout with no understanding of danger.
The cat let out a loud “Rowwrrr,” making Brett chuckle.
“Stay put while I feed her, and I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he said it, Spice launched herself off Audrey’s lap and loped into the tiny kitchenette. Brett followed, leaving Audrey with the opportunity to familiarize herself with his home.
When they’d first entered, she’d been under a barrage of emotional memories. Seeing those young men with their cocky attitudes and reckless disregard for danger had hit home in a big way. Their love of bloodshed could be deadlier than any of them guessed.
But she didn’t want to dwell on the past right now. She wanted to focus on Brett and how unique it felt to be with him like this.
The sofa was cushy beneath her, threadbare on the arms, but clean. One old leather lounge chair sat in front of a modest television with a crate beside it for an end table. There were no lamps, just old-fashioned ceiling lights.
A modern, covered cat box dominated one corner of the room.
A trunk holding gym paraphernalia sat in the other corner, along with a set of weights on the floor.
The kitchenette was separated from the TV area by a two-seater bar. No room for a dining table. Down a short hall she saw two doors, and she assumed one would be his bathroom, the other . . . his bedroom.
Leaving her purse behind on the sofa, she wandered toward the hall. A small distance away, Brett spoke with the cat just like he would a baby. She found it endearing that he pampered his pet as easily in front of her as he did alone.
All in all, his home was ultraorganized, clean, sparse, and barren of even a single photograph.
Based on Drew Black’s comments about his childhood, he might not want any mementos. More than anything, Audrey wanted to make a difference in his life. She wanted to ease the bad memories from his past, to help heal any hurts he might still suffer.
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