Tap Out (15 page)

The soft tread on the carpet as she paced around in the room told him she hadn’t fled. Horrible instincts for a reporter. She was uncharacteristically quiet. Knew enough to leave him alone to regroup. Or was she afraid of him now?

He grunted. If that was the case, her instincts were spot on. Guess that wholesome illusion of him had been shot to pieces. Tonight, she’d discovered the truth. How his looks, humor, sharp tongue were a ruse. He was damaged. No good. A rough kid, inside and out.

He’d thought this side of him had been smothered and contained. A single amateur fight with a bald street punk had forced years of disciplined training down the drain. He knew it and Sophie had seen it, which was why she was so skittish. It pissed him off to no end.

It doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters.

He was sick to death of living a lie. The bottle, women, money and fame...none of it had helped. Fighting brought him closer to the truth. Made his blood pump and mind clear. The training and commitment were nearly satisfying enough. Winning would give him the satisfaction of knowing he could overcome all kinds of odds—physically demanding challenges and the mental demons nipping at his heels. Fighting professionally was the catharsis he prized the most. Hell, it offered the level of physical action he needed
and
could control.

When he didn’t fucking lose it, like tonight. How reminiscent of his dad. A real chip off the ole block.

Stalking back into the room, he grabbed a water bottle off the nightstand, opened the bottle of aspirin next to it, and tossed down a few with one long chug. He caught a glimpse of the bruise on his cheek reflected in the mirror. A reflection of his mood, as well. Black and darkening still.

“Okay, then. I’m headed back to my room,” Sophie murmured, interrupting his thoughts. “Too much excitement for one night.”

He’d been thinking the same thing. Bid
adios
to Miss Meddlesome. Say hello to a bottle of Jack. To hell with training. But now that she said it, so quietly and without a trace of the gumption he’d grown accustomed to, he realized being alone was the last thing he wanted.

Getting lost in drink probably wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy him tonight. Why the hell not? He’d send her packing just like all the others, afterwards.

She stepped toward the door.

He didn’t stop her. The bottle of Jack would be better company. No personal questions or unreasonable demands. Simple relief from the tension in his head.

Granted, the tension in his body usually called for something more physical. And lately his thoughts were full of one woman in particular—one who was ready to hightail it out of his room if he didn’t do something foolish and stop her.

No can do
, his voice of reason returned. He ran his fingers through his hair. Lifting the bottle of water, he took another long drink. Rolling around in the sheets with the reporter was a horrible idea. Irrational. Illogical. Downright idiotic. The punch to his head had fucked up his thinking, for sure.

Nah, tonight he’d settled for getting loaded instead of laid.

A knock sounded on the door. Sophie jumped, and hastened back a few paces.

Moving past her, he yanked it open.

Sal pushed a frozen sirloin steak into his chest. “This is the best I could drum up before Jerry found me. Man, he’s livid. Someone slashed all the tires on the bus.”

Caden snorted. Poor judgment, leaving that hunk of junk parked out front. What did the sleazeball expect after inviting every lowlife in Wichita over for some bloodletting? Lining the motel manager’s pockets for his garage space was proving to be a smart move.

His gaze shifted to Sophie. Those full red lips of hers lifted, stirring something deep within the pit of his stomach. And lower.
Damn
. What was it about her that had him thinking about tossing her onto the bed and burying himself deep inside, despite his assembly of aches and pains?

“Wanna hear the best part of it, what’s got him madder than a python?”

“I’m game, Sal. Though I can’t picture what a pissed-off python looks like,” Sophie laughed, clearly relishing Jerry’s dilemma.

Who could blame her? The man was a pure, unadulterated a-hole. At least she seemed more relaxed. More like herself. The thought calmed him as well, his humor returning despite the pain in his cheek.

“Not python. A rattler—they’re venomous, like Jerry.” He heard Sophie snort in acknowledgment, and realized that his headache was gone. “Sal, you coming in, buddy?”

“Can’t. Never hear the end of it if I don’t go help Jerry get these tires fixed, and fast. He’s been screaming about being late for our next appearance. Said it was really important that we stop there,” Sal said, looking worried. He turned, and took a step away.

Caden felt Sophie’s stare. Silent communication that she was searching for answers. Information he wasn’t about to share, not until he figured out the extent of Jerry’s racket, and how deeply involved he was in pimping performance-enhancing drugs. Not to mention the illegal betting and death matches set up in shady venues from Wichita to Vegas. At the same time, there’d been plenty of opportunities tonight to distribute to a target market—wannabe fighters. And Caden hadn’t seen Jerry hand off a single pill. Pushing aside his suspicions, he shrugged his shoulders and caught her scowl.

He gave her a smug grin. Any remnants of tension vanished as he took in the sight of her, so cute in that baseball cap, with her blouse unbuttoned and wrinkled beyond belief. Naturally pretty, with her pink cheeks and lips a shade darker.

“Come on, Sal,” he prompted him, his mind at ease, and back on their discussion. “Don’t leave us hanging.”

Sal stopped, and chuckled. “Eh...forgot. Right. Someone got to the sign, too. Jerry said it cost him ‘a shitload’ of money.”

“What sign?” Sophie demanded. “That dirty banner from the side of the bus?”

“Wichita’s got a sense of humor. They crossed out a few letters. Now it reads ‘Tits on tour.’” Sal emphasized every word, relishing every syllable, oblivious to the grimace on Sophie’s face.

Ironic how the queen of late night was so easily offended.

There was an awkward pause, before Sal caught on. “Sorry, Sophie. The Boys are gonna be ornery when they see what those hoodlum have done.” He rolled his eyes at her, meant to be an apologetic gesture, or so Caden thought.

Once more, Caden found himself unexpectedly drawn to her. Curious why she, of all people, was bothered by the harsh language.

“Hmph,” she grunted, breaking the silence. “That took some imagination. Who would have thought it with the boneheads roaming around outside? Don’t tell Jerry, but if you blacken out the first t and a few other letters, the sign will read: It Tour. Hey, it’s better than nothing, right?”

Caden smiled. Man, that brain of hers was always in fifth gear, never at a full stop. Yet he bet Jerry’d prefer
tit
over
it
, any day.

Sal nodded emphatically. A sure sign he was going to tell Jerry, just to calm the drama king down.

He looked past Sal and out into the empty parking lot. Hundreds of beer cans littered the space, flickering in the moonlight like warped Morse code. Maybe an EMT worker would think someone needed help, and come check out his addled brain. Hell, was he—a champion welterweight, a street-bred fighter—really playing Scrabble with douchebag Jerry’s sign?

The empty lot was a welcome sight. No one would be bothering Sophie. “Thanks for the steak.” He waved the useless frozen sirloin at the old timer and shot a pointed look at Sophie. “Knock on the wall if you need me.”

Sal headed off around the corner of the building.

Sophie didn’t budge.

“Time to call it a night. Go ahead, no one’s gonna mess with you.”

Instead of leaving, she moved further into his room and out of reach. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” Her voice was soft and raspy. Like her words came from the back of her throat, all innocent and naïve. Gone was the confident, demanding tone, the rapid-fire questioning. Her tone held a raw quality to it, like she was saying a final goodbye. As if his answer mattered. As if he mattered.

Her awareness of the brutal, no-holds-barred side of him made him clench, then unclench his free fist. An attempt to keep the calmness that he’d found only moments before intact.

“Listen, it’s late. Save your questions for tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes at her, trying for uninviting.

Her shoulders relaxed.
Fucking terrific
. Miss Meddlesome had gotten her second wind.

He might as well flush gentlemanly behavior down the drain. Tonight, being a bastard seemed like a better approach.

“Fine. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.” She moved slowly toward him, her camera bag and notepad in one hand and a tissue she’d pulled from her pocket in another. “Here,” she offered, “your arm is bleeding.”

When he didn’t move to take it, she reached out. Patted his arm with the rolled up tissue, gently. Her features softened. Gone was the hellbent reporter. In her place was someone softer, someone who seemed to...care.
Fuck
.

Caden tugged his arm away. The bruise on his cheek throbbed. His temper he held precariously in check. He didn’t want someone mothering him. Hell, that feeling was as alien—as
upsetting—
as the emotional aftermath of the beating he’d dished out.

“Go,” he growled.

“No,” she calmly replied. “I can’t. You don’t look well.”

Well?
If how he looked matched the fresh wave of pain churning around inside his head, that was the understatement of the century. Especially with the damned steak clutched against his chest and with her patting his arm like an obedient dog.

On top of it all was a wave of lust that stirred his cock to half-mast.

“What the fuck more do you expect from me?” The warning in his tone should have sent her running.

Her eyebrows drew together stubbornly. “Expect? You’re standing inches away from me with a deep gaping wound, a cheek the color of a bruised peach, and a puffy eye, growling like a wounded animal in need of attention. You don’t remotely resemble the laid-back guy I hitched a ride here with.”

“Exactly. Sorry to disappoint you.” He folded his arms across his chest, unsure whether the action was intended to protect himself or intimidate her. He chose the latter. “I’m warning you, what you see is what you’ll get.”

Her brows drew together. “What I’ll get is peace of mind knowing you’re okay. Let me help you. Return the favor for saving me from those criminals.”

Jesus. Couldn’t she tell that he was ten times more dangerous at this very moment than any of the amateurs stalking around the parking lot? All he had to do was maneuver her near the bed...If she didn’t catch on to his change of heart—didn’t get that he was gonna bury himself so deeply inside her she’d forget what he was, forget what she’d seen, forget everything but the feel of him pounding into her—she didn’t stand a chance in hell of walking out of here.

She stepped closer, so close he could smell the delicate floral scent of her auburn hair. Without hesitation, she ran the back of her fingers whisper soft across his stiffening jaw. So warm and tender.

He shifted, pulling away.

She followed, her back to the bed.

That was it. “You wanna help me, huh?”

“Of course. It’s the least I could—”

He stepped forward into her space, his heavy, burning erection straining against his sweatpants.

She retreated two small steps. The back of her knees connected with the bed. With one well-placed nudge on the shoulder, she gasped and tumbled onto the mattress.

Too late to stop now.

Reaching out, he plucked the baseball cap off her head and tossed it aside.

Her auburn locks tumbled loose, framing her face. Man alive, she was gorgeous.

“Couldn’t leave me alone like I wanted.” He ran his finger across his jaw following the same path her fingers had taken seconds earlier, conscious of the way his body reacted to her. Conscious of how this was such a bad idea, and not giving a flying fuck.

“You’re going to get more than peace of mind, chili buns. That’s all I’m promising.”

Chapter Ten

NO-HOLDS-BARRED FIGHT: A type of bar fight instigated by someone whose hands are as loose as his lips

This wasn’t the kind of help she’d had in mind. But at the moment, she didn’t care.

Caden’s moods shifted like shadows in the moonlight. Swift, dark, and fleeting. There’d been hurt in his eyes, something he’d tried to hide. She’d bet her bottom dollar the cause wasn’t his battered body. Not with the way he mercilessly pressed the tissue to the nasty gash on his arm. He didn’t wince once. When she’d gently touched his jaw, something in the way he pulled back made her think it was more of an emotional than physical reaction. A sign that he was suffering.

Heck, she was an expert on burying pain, like a squirrel preparing for the long haul of winter, digging deep to stow its nuts. Except squirrels were absentminded, they forgot where they hid things. No matter how many years passed, she couldn’t seem to forget what the good citizens of Hawley had done. No matter how hard she tried to shake it off. And, with every fiber of her being, she knew that Caden had his own Hawley to contend with.

What hidden wound caused him pain? And if her trash-talking persona was her coat of armor, what was his? Was it possible all his sexcapades, his entire in-her-face-and-then-in-her-panties approach was just a masterful front? Because let’s face it, once you headed down that tantalizing pathway, no way in heck were you looking back.

She inhaled sharply, catching the clean, soapy smell of him. His hair was wild, like he hadn’t combed it after his shower. Reaching up, she smoothed an errant curl off his forehead, wanting...needing...to comfort him.

He smirked, naughtily. Knowingly.
Masterfully.

Then, he was on her, pressing the full length of his big body over her like an oh-so-hot blanket. And presto, wouldn’t you know it, she wasn’t just headed down that pathway, she was sprinting down it, with no further thought than the feel of him. On her.

He rubbed up against her.

Her breath hitched, her body in tune with his own.

His grin widened, and presto, his beautiful features transformed back into the man she’d thought she’d known.
Dang-diggity
. His sex appeal could melt steel. Melt all rational thought. Melt even her jaded heart, if she wasn’t careful.

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone, huh? I knew you’d be trouble,” he breathed into her ear. Pulling back to watch her expression, he shifted and ground his thick erection over her moistened core.

She parted her legs wider.

“Jesus,” he groaned, low and deep and appreciatively. Leaning in, he captured her lips with his. Hard, aggressive, and oh-so-sweet. His tongue twirled wantonly. She answered in kind, allowing all the pent up passion out in a kiss to end all kisses.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” His lips moved against her own, before he pulled off her, taking his weight onto his forearms. His eyes seemed lighter, pale green framed by jet black lashes.

She tugged his head down and kissed him hard. After few seconds, she ended it, and instead ran gentle kisses along his jawline, starting near his mouth and working her way to his ear.

“I’m going to make that sweet body of yours sing.” As if to prove his point, he took her hand and placed it on his rock hard erection. “You’re gonna get an exclusive, alright. And if you keep looking at me that way, it’ll be
multiples
. My specialty.”

Oh holy hell.
A shiver of excitement coursed through her.

“Bring them on, killer,” she heard herself whisper, not knowing what else to say as her mind had already fast-forwarded to the idea of his so-called biggest asset expertly moving inside of her.

Which is why she swallowed back a groan when he stiffened and abruptly broke contact, as if she’d said the L word or something equally outrageous.

“
Killer
is right. I’m not sure how many celebrities you’ve interviewed—or freakin’ slept with. Who’s sprinkled rose petals on your pillow and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. If you want flowers and chocolate, I’m not that guy. Not tonight. Not ever.” He paused to readjust himself. Then he leaned closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “I’ll make it worth your while, darling. Take it or leave it. But make your mind up fast.”

“How’s this for fast?” Sophie balled up her fist and smashed it against his uninjured cheek. “Get off of me, you jerk.”

Immediately, he rolled off her and onto his back. “Hell,” he muttered, massaging his cheek. Sophie sat up and straightened her blouse, trying to calm her temper.

She came up onto her knees on the mattress and glared down at him, lying on his back with his arms behind his head, seemingly oblivious to the sucker punch he’d issued to her heart. “Flowers. Fucking candy. How many fucking celebrities do you think I’ve
entertained
?” She winced as her ugly cuss words filled the space between them.

“Hate to break it to you, Sophie, but no chance in hell of a red-blooded American male ever confusing you with a virgin. Not with that mouth of yours and all. You put on quite a performance five nights a week. America’s got your number, you made certain of that. After all, ‘sexy is as sexy does.’ And I’m game for finding out exactly what that means.”

Damn. Her own words had come back to stab her in the throat. Moisture coated her eyelashes. Double damn. Would she ever be able to shed her
Late Night
persona?

“Don’t think I give two shits, sweetheart. It’s not like they’re rolling around on the mattress with us.”

“You think I slept my way to the top.” She blinked her tears away and sat up straighter. This was her fault for allowing this playboy jock to manipulate her. Letting his sullen brooding act suck her in. Letting him get closer to her than any other man. She’d been played by the king of players. And, boy, did it smart.

“Hey, I’m not judging you.” His head was back on a pillow and he was staring at the ceiling. She felt like grabbing the other one and smacking him in the head.

“Just wanted to let you know how it was gonna be,” he muttered, petulantly. “Thought I was being considerate.”

“Bullshit.”

He shifted his weight. She momentarily lost her balance, and had to place her hands on his thigh to stop from toppling over and on to him. The big jerk.

She wanted to scramble off the mattress but the beast was blocking her way. Hell, if he wanted Sophie Morelle and her smart mouth, he was going to get it.

“You know what? I’ve been overly considerate of you and your mood swings. You’re one coldhearted bastard.” She snorted and poked him in the thigh. “You’re good, alright. Playing me like that. Making me feel sorry for—”

He rolled, twisted and rose onto his knees. A second later, she was back underneath him.

“I don’t want your pity. Got it?”

She blinked, and blinked again. His eyes were full of pain.

For a brief moment, their gazes locked. Then, he shut her out.

He hadn’t been playing me.

He rolled onto his back and studied the ceiling.

She moved onto her side, propped her head up on her hand, and swiped the hair out of her face in order to get a better look at him.

With his hands beneath his head, he looked as if he’d smoked a fine cigarette in bed and was enjoying the effects. This time, she wasn’t fooled by his seemingly heartless act. Maybe, just maybe, she’d gotten through to him.

“You’re not a
killer
, okay?” She pronounced
killer
slowly, deliberately. “Jeez, one little word...” Taking a deep breath, she waiting to see how he’d respond.

“The door is over there. Use it.”

Deflecto-mundo.
“Message received, loud and clear.”

He grunted. As if to say,
end of discussion.

She searched for some neutral ground, words to lighten the tension that rolled through the room like midnight waves. That, or she could leave. But his reaction proved her right, there was a fragility within him. A side of Caden she needed to figure out. Just like she sensed
he
needed
her
right now.

“So, do you think Sal could have taken the guy who blocked our way?”

He stiffened, sighing. For another awkward moment, he didn’t budge or say anything. Then, he turned her way. “If the old-timer can produce a sirloin out of the blue, I’m not counting him out. But that man is proving to be a real nuisance.” Reaching beneath him, he pulled out the still-frozen steak.

She grinned.

“I’m sorry, you know. About my bad attitude. About hurting you. I’m not fit for company, especially after a fight like that.”

She felt her smile drop, both from shock and from something more. Something deeper. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

She sighed. “You were way off the mark, you know. Being one of the few women on late night was hard. But I earned it, and not by rolling around on the network couches. Heck, I graduated from the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism. Magna cum laude. Bet you didn’t expect to hear that.”

“Nope. But I’m not surprised, either. That’s what I like about you the most, your gumption.” Reaching out, he cupped her cheek and ran his thumb over her skin. Her face warmed, along with the rest of her. “I’m listening,” he prompted. The arrogance, the hurt, was gone from his tone. He sounded gentle, almost humble.

“You realize
I’m
the reporter and
you
are the guy I should be interviewing.”

“Deflecto-mundo. Go on.”

She wanted to roll her eyes. His thumb continued across her cheek and softly ran along her jawline, all the way to her mouth.

“I landed a freelance spot at the
Arizona Times
. My seventh assignment earned a
Courage in Journalism
award from the International Women’s Media Foundation. I was part of a team that exposed an underground drug cartel working the border. They were busted and arrested on my twenty-fourth birthday.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m rambling on and telling you this.”
Maybe
,
just maybe
,
you’ll confide in me.

“Yes, you do.”

She stiffened. Had she been than transparent?

He grinned.

Perceptive man.

“Why late night?”

“Big mistake.” She drew in a deep breath, then blurted out the truth. “I sold out for the money and fame. And some sort of warped respect, like being someone people knew and quoted on the streets was important. Prove to the people back home in Hawley, especially that Hank Cawfield...”
Oh
,
no.
Damn.
Damn.
Damn.

She tugged herself away from his touch and rolled onto her back.

To his credit, he repositioned his head on the pillow next to her.

It seemed like hours before he broke the silence. “This documentary means a lot to you, huh? An exclusive with me,” he snorted, “won’t be as spectacular as taking down a drug cartel, but it should draw some attention—for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t trust the tremble in her voice enough to say anything further. Maybe now was a good time to grab her camcorder and head back to her room.

“Who would have thought we’d have such a shitload in common?”

“You’re tired, too? Better head back to my room then.”

He responded by sliding off the bed, crossing the room, and returning with two bottles of water. “I have something stronger stashed away in the nightstand.”

Sophie shook her head. After the catastrophic night they’d had, hard liquor was asking for trouble. Heading back to her room was the best idea. A safe environment where she could regroup. Alone. She didn’t know which was worse, feeling Caden’s pain or her own.

Caden reclined back onto the bed and took a long drink of water. When he finished, he carefully placed the half-emptied bottle on the nightstand, and turned her way. “I would have offered you something to eat along with the drink, but it’s frozen solid over there on the carpet.”

She offered a weak smile and took a sip from her water. The tepid liquid soothed the dryness in her throat. She almost choked when she looked up and saw the concern in his expression. Noticing
her
, Sophie, not the trash-talking woman he’d commented on earlier. Looking long and deep, like the way he’d polished off his water.

Like he understood, and wasn’t running for the hills.

She took another sip, longer this time.

When she’d finished, he reached over, plucked the bottle from her grasp, and set it beside his own. “Relax.”

Really?
Relax
? They’d been riding an emotional rollercoaster for half an hour and he wanted her to relax?

“Take off your pants.”

“What?”

“Change of plans. Take ’em off. Quick, before I nod off.”

Caden was as alert as ever, nowhere near sleep. Maybe he had bouts of narcolepsy too. She doubted it.

“Ten. Nine. Eight.”

“Um...I’m not wearing—”

“Seven.”

What the heck, it wasn’t like she hadn’t taken the plunge in this direction moments earlier. Wasn’t like the anticipation wasn’t killing her. Wasn’t like she didn’t want him.

“You asked for it, buddy.” Without further comment, she raised her hips off the bed and shimmied out of her slacks. Shook them out and folded them, then rolled toward the edge of the bed and placed them on the nightstand.

Caden made a strange sound, like the wind had been sucked out of him.

She rolled back his way and gasped when she caught the look in his eyes.
Oh.
My.
God.

A lifetime passed as his gaze roamed over her body. Inch by inch of her warmed under his regard. Second by second his eyes grew hotter. Then, he flashed her a smile, one that gripped her heart and squeezed, making her breathless.

With a finger, he touched her bare midriff. Oh-so-slowly, his finger drifted down around her belly button and lower still, until his digit found her soft curls. Tracing slow circles, he stroked her mound. The pad of his finger swirled first one way, then the other, shooting sparks of pleasure through her entire body. She lifted her hips, but not enough to cause his digit to shift lower, where her nub was doing a flag salute. Not enough to find her wetness.