Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (14 page)

His smile grew wider, more dangerous. “You weren’t that drunk, Clover.”

“And I didn’t know you were a fighter.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Considering she’d been about to go to work for a company that held the CFA contract? “Probably not,” she confessed, feeling a little breathless at the intensity of those silver eyes staring at her.

“Maybe you’re just better at hiding your wild side than she is?”

“I know what responsibility is, and sometimes you have to grow up.”

“And your sister hasn’t?”

“No. She lives life flying by the seat of her pants, and someday it’s going to catch up with her. You mark my words.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

“Two years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It is. Especially when your life is falling apart and you’re going through a nasty divorce and you just need someone to be there for you and tell you it’s going to be okay.”

Nikko’s gaze held hers, that cajoling grin turning serious as he studied her for a moment. He reached across the table and took her hand, swiping his thumb over the top of her knuckles—back and forth. Tingles rushed up her arm, giving her pulse a kick start.

“It’s going to be all right, Clover.”

The energy in the air charged between them. She wasn’t going to lie, the temptation to reach out and take what he was offering wasn’t easy to resist. If she didn’t do something to break this connection that was lighting her up like a live wire, she was going to get herself in trouble. Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand out of his, mumbling, “Thanks . . .”

If he noticed her discomfort, he was great at hiding it, keeping the conversation going with more questions.

“How many years were you married?”

“Five. Barry is also a psychologist. We met in college, then reconnected again after graduation and opened a practice together.”

“Why did you get divorced?”

Now they were starting to move into some sensitive territory. Violet stood and paced the small area between the fridge and the sink. Nikko watched her from the table, waiting for her to answer. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about this. For someone who spent their days talking to other people about their problems and getting them to open up, it felt strange being on the other side. Perhaps with a little prompting, she could get Nikko to reciprocate if she took the first step and opened up to him a little.

Settling back into the seat across from him, she unabashedly met his stare. “I caught him in bed with his secretary,” she answered, careful to keep her voice devoid of all emotion.

Genuine surprise lit in his eyes as they roved over her in disbelief, and he muttered, “Stupid fucker . . . And now he wants you back.”

She shrugged. “I’m not interested. Barry and I are over. He’ll accept that eventually.”

The look Nikko gave her told Vi he wasn’t so sure. Time to change the subject. “What about you?” she asked. “Tell me about your parents. Do they live near here? Do you have any siblings?”

“Laughlin. It’s ninety miles south of here. My mom lives with my sister and her two kids.”

“What about your dad?”

“He died when I was eight—Desert Storm.”

“I’m sorry . . .”

“For what? Good men die every day, Violet. That’s just the way it is. Seems the better you are as a person, the larger the target karma paints on your back.”

He stated it like it was a fact of life—with total belief and acceptance.

“But you’re still here . . .”

The pain that flashed in his eyes was so bone deep she felt it rock her very soul.

“Right . . .” His sharp bark of laughter held no humor. “So then what does that say about me?”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that life didn’t work that way. It wasn’t that cruel. But she held her tongue. Through Nikko’s eyes, this was exactly how he saw it, and he was giving her a glimpse into his world. It gave her incredible, heartbreaking insight into this enigmatic man. She had no idea what he’d been through, what he might have seen or endured at the vicious hands of war, but there was zero doubt he was suffering from a serious case of survivor’s guilt. In that moment, something powerful gripped her heart, and more than anything she wanted to help him. But the question was, would he let her?

Seeming uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken, he cast a restless glance at the door, looking like he was preparing to make an escape. She got the distinct feeling he hadn’t intended to say as much as he did, and he was regretting giving her a glimpse into his world.

“Guess the tables have been turned, huh? Instead of you trying to scare me off, I’m the one scaring you off.” He noted the irony.

She was losing him. She could see him shutting down, his walls coming up. If she didn’t do something to take the focus off him, he was going to bolt out of here like a gazelle with a hungry lion nipping at its hooves. Impulsively, she reached for his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I don’t scare that easily, Nikko, unless of course you’ve got a hole in your basement with a bucket and a bottle of lotion. That would probably do it. Though you don’t exactly strike me as a
it rubs the lotion on its skin
type.”

He laughed at her
Silence of the Lambs
joke, the tension seeming to ease from his shoulders a bit. Whether he truly found her funny or not, he seemed to at least appreciate the effort.

“You know what goes really good with those peas?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

“A beer. You want one?”

“Sure.”

His disarming grin did a number on the butterflies battering around in her stomach. She stood and turned toward the fridge, grateful for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Is Laughlin where you grew up, then?” she asked, switching to a safer subject. Vi opened the fridge and bent down to retrieve two beers from the door. She could feel the heat of Nikko’s gaze on her ass and bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah. When my father was alive, we moved around quite a bit ’cause of the military. My mother hated it. When we planted in Laughlin after he was killed, she swore she’d never move again. What about you? Must have been a big change moving from Manhattan to Vegas.”

“It was,” she said, twisting the caps off the bottles and tossing them in the garbage. “Vegas is . . . I don’t know. It’s like its own little world. Did you know gambling is illegal in New York?”

“No, I didn’t, but I know that MMA is illegal there.”

“Really? I didn’t know that. Is that what you were doing there?—fighting?”

“No, I was visiting a friend.” He took the beer she handed him and read the label, arching his brow.

“What?” she said, unable to resist laughing at the look on his face. “What’s the matter? This beer too wimpy for you? Let me guess, you’re more of a dark AmberBock kind of guy.”

“If I drink this, I’m a little worried my man card is in danger of revocation.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she teased, giving him a wink as she slipped into her chair and saluted him with her Bud Light Lime.

“I hope so,” he grumbled. “Between you and Kill, I’m not sure how much more of a beating my manhood can take.”

She laughed again. Man, did that feel good. “Trust me, your manhood is in no jeopardy.” She wanted to call the words back the moment those rebellious syllables escaped her lips. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Maybe he’d let it go. Maybe he’d—

“Glad you noticed, Clover.”

Nope. No such luck. He lifted the beer to his mouth and smiled around the rim before taking a long pull. Her mouth went dry as she watched his throat work, thick cords of muscle framing the bob of his Adam’s apple.

Setting the bottle down on her table, he gave her a wicked grin and said, “Let me know if you ever want me to refresh your memory.”

“You’re terrible . . .” She shook her head.

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”

“I can see that.” She took a sip of her beer and wondered if she wasn’t going to need something stronger if she had any hope of holding her own with this man. “Selfless to a fault,” she teased. “Taking one for the team . . .”

Nikko leaned back in his chair, stretching out in a lazy sprawl as his bold gaze slowly dragged over her. “Wasn’t much of a sacrifice, Clover.”

Did he have any idea how sexy he was? He must. How could he not? “Why do you call me that?”

“What?” He took another healthy chug from the bottle.

“Clover. You did it on the plane, too. Why?”

He studied her a minute, maybe trying to decide whether or not to answer. Then he said simply as if the answer was obvious, “Because you’re so rare.”

Panties—hitting the floor. Right now. That was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. Something in her
chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. Emotion surged up inside
her—unbidden and unwelcome—threatening to spill from her eyes.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry
. . . she chanted. Nikko began to blur.
Shit!

“Clover?” His brows tightened with concern. He sat straighter, leaned closer. Thank God the table was separating them, or she was pretty sure she’d be in his arms right now. “You all right?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her vision was swimming. Was she seriously going to cry over a stupid compliment? But it wasn’t stupid, and it wasn’t just a compliment. Nikko couldn’t know what she’d been through this last year or the way those words would resonate inside her—the doubt, the shame, the beating her self esteem had taken because of Barry’s betrayal. How could this gorgeous, successful fighter, who could probably have any girl he wanted, think she, Violet Summers, was rare? It was the highest compliment any man could pay a woman, and he’d done it with such guileless ease she doubted he even realized the emotional knockout punch he’d just dealt her.

“Excuse me.” She shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor as it slid back. Covering her mouth to hold back the sob threatening to tear from her throat, she rushed from the kitchen before she said or did anything to embarrass herself any more—or worse, jumped this man sitting in her kitchen.

W
hat in the hell just happened?
Nikko watched her retreating form, wondering what he’d said to reduce this woman to tears. Goddamn . . . He was torn between going after her and ghosting the hell out of here. The latter option was holding a lot more appeal than the first. What did he know about soothing a woman’s emotions? He’d spent his entire a
dult life living with a bunch of guys who
were hard-core killers. Hell, he was one of those men. Firefights—no problem. Recon ambush—sign him up. But stick him in a room with a crying woman and he was out of there, waving the white flag of surrender.

Nikko drained his beer and set the empty in the sink along with the bag of peas, thinking about how now was the perfect time to make his escape. So it surprised the hell out of him when his feet made a hard right when they should have been going left. Something in his chest cramped at the sight of Violet standing there staring out the picture window.

Running their conversation through his mind, he was having trouble reconciling the woman he knew and the woman standing across the room with her back to him right now. So far, his experience with Violet led him to believe she was refreshingly pragmatic. Her levelheaded intelligence was one of the things that attracted him to her. He didn’t do female drama and wasn’t about to start now. He’d had enough of that shit with Celeste to last him a lifetime, though he sensed no ploy or manipulation in Violet.

There was something to be said about a woman who had the courage to uproot her life and move halfway across the United States to start a new life. That took a hell of a lot of strength. No doubt about it, this woman was tough. Perhaps that was why the slip in her armor had caught him so off guard.

He’d seen that fire today when she’d stood up to him, an MMA fighter twice her size, and smacked him across the face for offending her. That was the woman he knew and admired—that was his four-leaf clover. This . . . ? Well, he wasn’t sure what this was. But fuck him if he didn’t care enough to step into the living room and find out. As he approached, she reached up and hastily dried her cheeks
before meeting his gaze in the reflection of the window.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “Not going to pretend
to know what I said to upset you, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Nikko couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologized to anyone for anything. And here he was doing it for the second time in the last thirty minutes. Hell, that must be some kind of a record or something. What was it about this woman that kept him in knots?

She reached up and laid her hand over his, giving him a smile in the window’s reflection that failed to reach her eyes. Yeah, she was definitely dealing with her own shit, and if Nikko had to guess, he’d say her ex was at the root of it. The guy was lucky they had eight states separating them.

“It’s not your fault. I don’t know what came over me, honestly . . .”

“It’s late. You’re probably tried,” he said, giving her the lame excuse neither of them believed. “I should go.” Unable to resist, he pressed a kiss on top of her pale-blonde head and couldn’t help taking the opportunity to breathe her deep into his lungs. Her light vanilla scent infused his senses, setting his blood on a low boil and turning the twinge in his groin to a full-on ache. Pure. Fucking. Torture. That’s what this was. God help him, he wanted her . . . If he didn’t leave now, he wasn’t going to have the resolve to do it.

Forcing himself to take a step back, he turned and headed to the door. He had it open and was nearly outside when he heard his name.

“Nikko?”

He stopped, not trusting himself to turn around. “Yeah?”

“Thank you . . .”

He wasn’t sure what for but wasn’t about to ask. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbled, forcing one foot in front of the other as he escorted himself out when every male instinct inside him was clamoring to turn back around and claim this woman, because there was no doubt in his mind that Violet Summers was his—she just didn’t know it yet.

“Yes, I hope you can help me. I’ve been transferred several times already. This is Dr. Violet Summers. I’m a psychologist treating one of your veterans, and I’m having trouble getting ahold of his military records.”

“Name of the officer?”

“Sergeant Nikko Del Toro.”

“What branch of service was he in?” the woman on the other end of the line asked.

“MARSOC division.”

Silence.

“Hello? Are you still there?” she asked impatiently. For the last half hour Violet had been on the phone getting transferred from one department to the next. No one seemed to be willing or able to help her. Which led her to one of two conclusions—either the government had their heads up their asses, or, like with Lieutenant
Williams, she was getting stonewalled. Both were likely possibilities.

What the hell was going on? She’d treated vets in the past and had
never had this kind of trouble getting access to their military records.

“Yes, Dr. Summers, I’m still here. Did you send a release of information?”

Vi could hear the woman’s nails tapping rapidly on her keyboard.

“My secretary faxed it this morning.”

More typing. Then a long pause. And then . . . “I’m going to have to transfer you.”

Oh, for crissake!
Before she could protest, there was a series of clicks and then the elevator music started up again. Several more minutes passed before someone new came on the line. “Ms. Summers . . .” The voice was deep and commanding, holding a distinct air of authority and a snip of impatience, as if
she
were the one bothering
him
,
because she hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes getting the runaround from the Pentagon.

“
Dr.
Summers,” she clarified with an equal amount of snark.

“Yes. Well, I understand you’re requesting the military records for Sergeant Del Toro. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

“Why not?”

“We show no records for a Sergeant Nikko Del Toro.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. His dates of service are 2001 to 2012. MARSOC division. Please check again.”

“There is no need. We have no records for the person you are
speaking of. I don’t know what else to tell you, ma’am. I can’t help you.”

Before she could insist there must be some sort of mistake, the line
went dead. “Dammit!” Violet cursed, slamming down the receiver.

“No luck, huh? I told you I’ve been trying all morning to get his records, and they just kept transferring me from department to department,” Pen said, carrying a brown paper bag into Vi’s office and plopping down in her favorite chair. “The Pentagon’s about as unhelpful as Camp Pendleton.”

“I don’t understand it. I’ve never had anything like this happen
before. The guy in Washington said they didn’t have any record of him.”

“If you ask me, one of two things is going on here.” She opened her paper
bag and began lifting out white metal-handled boxes, lining them up on Vi’s desk. “Either Nikko’s lying, or the government is.” Looking up from her bag, she paused her unpacking and asked, “Which one do you think it is?”

That was a great question. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe Nikko wasn’t hiding things from her—he’d all but laughed and said good luck when he’d signed that release of information—but being in the Marine Corps Forces Special Operation Command wasn’t one of them.

“You want to know what I think?” Vi said, opening the flap on her white, square box. “I think something happened to him over there that the government doesn’t want anyone knowing about. And whatever it was is bad enough that they would deny even knowing him to avoid having to give me his records. The only person who knows the truth is Nikko. Problem is, he’s not likely to be any more helpful than the Pentagon was. What is this?” Vi asked, changing tracks when her stomach growled. She was starved. She hadn’t expected the call to take up most of her lunch hour.

“General Tso’s.”

Vi beamed a big grin at her friend. “I love General Tso’s. Thanks, Pen. I was wondering how I was going to sneak out for lunch and get back in time for my next appointment.”

She shrugged like it was no big deal. “What are friends for?”

Pen handed her a set of chopsticks, and Violet tossed them in the top drawer with the all other pairs she’d given her and pulled out a plastic fork.

“You’re ruining the experience, you know,” Pen complained.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want the experience of scrubbing red sauce out of my white blazer, so . . .” She shrugged.

“That’s boring.”

“I think we’ve already established that’s why you’re the fun me, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Pen laughed at their running joke that was sadly so true. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: You think it’ll be all right if the fun you asked Nikko out this Saturday night?”

Vi swallowed wrong, sending spicy sauce searing into her lungs. She started coughing, trying to clear her airway, thankful for the brief distraction. What in the hell was she going to say? Don’t call him? I want him? Problem was, she couldn’t have him. She had no claim on Nikko, and after the ass she’d made of herself last night, she probably never would. He hadn’t tried to contact her since he’d left last night. If Nikko wanted to go out with Pen, who was she to stop them? He would probably like her better, anyway. All the guys did.

“You all right?” Pen asked, setting her carton on Vi’s desk. “You don’t need me to, like, give you that hind-lick thing, do you?”

Vi shook her head, still coughing, except now she was laughing, too. “It’s Heimlich, you goof!” she wheezed between coughing fits. “Not hind-lick!”

Pen busted out laughing when she realized what she’d said. They were both in a full-on chorus of the giggles when there was a knock on her door. “Am I interrupting?”

Nikko? At the sight of the fighter, Vi’s pulse spiked. Her imme
diate joy at seeing him was quickly hampered by the lack of any such
emotion on his face. Something was wrong. Anxiety replaced her
excitement as his eyes locked on hers. Unfortunately, Pen wasn’t read
ing the situation because she took that opportunity to make her move.

“You’re not interrupting,” Pen said. “Come on in.”

Nikko’s already taut brows grew tighter. “You all right?” he asked Vi, ignoring Pen and her invitation.

Vi nodded, still coughing to clear her throat.

Nikko stepped into her office. Pen was nothing if not persistent; she cut him off on his way toward her. Violet watched the scene play out like two trains on a collision course, helpless to stop either one of them. “I was going to call you, but since you’re here . . .”

Now that got his attention. Nikko’s dark brow arched curiously and he shot Vi a quick questioning glance before turning his focus back to her friend. Oh, no, she was going to do it. She was going to ask him out. Vi couldn’t breathe, and not because General Tso’s was choking her. Her heart lodged in her throat and she feared it would be shattered into a million pieces in the next few minutes.

“I have two tickets to Jubilee Cirque du Soleil and was wondering if you’d like to go with me this Saturday?”

Nikko’s top lip tugged into the cutest grin—that should have been reserved for her, dammit!

“Does your boss know you’re asking me out?”

The deep rumble of his voice was like a caress. He shot her a questioning glance.

“Of course she does,” Pen quickly answered for her.

Nikko’s grin disappeared and a little muscle in his cheek ticked with irritation. That hard-ass furrow of displeasure was back—and aimed directly at Violet—like this was her fault or something.

“And she’s all right with it? Us going out?”

They were talking about her as if she weren’t even here.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Pen asked, looking genuinely confused.

Apparently, her friend had decided to take Vi’s denial of interest in Nikko to heart.

His brow arched in question, challenging Vi to do so now. What did he want her to say?—that Nikko was hers? Because he wasn’t.