Jaz’s pulse pounded in her ears, the sound overpowering the clatter of the fair beyond. The feel of Liam’s grip on her, steady and possessive and claiming, was sinking into her bones. Her lips pulled into a snarl. “Worry about your own damn image. Try to—”
Liam’s mouth clamped over hers, his rock-hard body pressing her into the plywood wall of the stall behind her. Need spilled into Jaz’s veins, her nails raking Liam’s arms as her tongue met his in a duel she was destined to lose. His kiss was claiming, punishing. The kind that washed away all doubt of his desire for her.
Bracing herself against Liam, Jaz wrapped her legs around his waist. She ground into the erection that pressed through their clothing into her thigh, her breath hitching as Liam captured her wrists. Pinned them to the wall above her. Her sex clenched, aching so badly with need that she moaned into his mouth and trusted him to swallow the sound. The intensity of the arousal pounded her like a merciless hail, taking over all thought. All logic. She needed relief. Release. She needed more than to grind against his clothes. God. She needed more.
There was a commotion nearby, and Liam smacked her hard but quietly on the ass to get her to lower her legs. Jaz’s feet touched ground just in time for a group wearing the logo of one of the name-brand backpacks to lumber by on the other side of the stall. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths until the group’s steps receded.
Instead of dousing her need, the rush of their near escape only added fuel to the flame. Jaz dug her fingers into him, her hand jetting toward the bulge—
“I knew it. You fucking slut.”
Liam twisted toward the man who’d just stepped out from behind the opposite tent, the wind catching the reek of whiskey coming from him. Roman Robillard, the man Jaz had replaced on the climbing circuit, stumbled forward, his skin flushed.
“You make filth of our sport.” Roman pointed a finger at her. “Fucking your way to what I earned. You think you can keep it quiet, don’t you? But you can’t. You won’t. What’s it about your pussy that makes men lose all common sense? Let’s take a feel for—”
Roman broke off with a grunt of pain, only now seeming to have realized that while he rambled, Liam had pinned his arms behind his back.
“I’d stop blabbering if I were you. If you want to keep this appendage.” The look on Liam’s face was nothing short of deadly. “Apologize. Now.”
“It’s that fucking slut who should be— Ow!” Roman yelped as Liam adjusted his hold enough to tweak the climber’s ball-and-socket shoulder joint. “Lay off, man. That hurts.”
“Does it now? Apologize.” Liam wrenched his arm up again, eliciting a whimper from Roman.
Jaz rubbed her face. “He’s drunk, Liam. Let him go. This asshole needs rehab and counseling, not a compound fracture.”
Liam behaved as if he hadn’t heard a word she said. “Apologize.” He enunciated each syllable into Roman’s ear.
“Ow. Fuck. S-sorry,” Roman slurred. “Just let go.”
A series of three tones sounded in the background, then the crackle of a loudspeaker. “All Clash of the Titans competitors report to the main stage,” a disembodied female voice announced. “Clash of the Titans competitors to the main stage.”
With a disgusted grunt, Liam released Roman. The drunk man tottered on his feet, then fell to the dirt. None of which stopped him from trying to spit at Jaz.
“Bitch.”
Jaz grabbed Liam’s arm before he could go for round two, which would no doubt land Roman in surgery and Liam in a jail cell. “He’s not worth it.”
Over the next forty minutes, Jaz and the other four challengers went over the stage logistics and gave quick interviews to the press, each person finding a way to work their brand into a statement. Jaz emphasized the durability and lightweight design of Vector Ascent’s gear, playing to her smaller frame as an advertisement. The blond climber with a California-surfer look told the reporters that he only entrusted his life to a company with a hundred-year history of reliability. Carlos, a wiry climber of Mexican descent who was a gymnast before discovering a passion for the mountains, bragged about his gear’s versatility. Carlos’s sound bites were especially polished and elicited several follow-up questions that he answered with equal skill and articulation.
With the reporters’ questions dying down and the arrows on Liam’s Rolex creeping up toward the hour, Jaz felt her rising nerves strain her easygoing facade. Winning the first challenge wouldn’t guarantee the final Clash of the Titans victory, but whoever’s courses were chosen would have a major advantage over the other climbers because they would already be familiar with the routes. By the time everyone was seated and the judges launched into an explanation of the rules for the audience’s benefit, Jaz could hardly think over the pounding in her chest and skull.
Twists of choice and fate had forced all her proverbial eggs into one final basket. If she won the Clash of the Titans, she’d have her bank account replenished, three years of guaranteed endorsements from Vector Ascent, and a career in professional climbing. If she didn’t, she would have no choice but to slink back to her parents, her pockets filled with nothing but humiliation. Five climbers. One winner.
“Last month, our competitors had one week to mark five equitable climbing routes on the San Bernardino mountains,” the woman on the stage announced energetically. “Since then, our judges have been hard at work to decide which set was the most equitable and challenging. Today, we are excited to announce the winner of the challenge. The climber whose routes will be used for the Clash of the Titans in two weeks’ time. And now, the winner is—”
The announcement paused dramatically, a silence settling over the audience. Jaz’s hands gripped her knees, her breath stilling. Liam put his arm around her. A bird of prey cawed somewhere in the distance.
“Ice cweam?” Ella asked hopefully into the tense silence.
“Jazmine Keasley, representing Vector Ascent!”
Jaz jerked. The crowd erupted in applause, the friends around her clapping the loudest. Only when Liam pushed her gently between the shoulder blades did Jaz realize she needed to start breathing again and get up on stage. Her acting training taking over, she bounded up the small steps to shake the announcer’s hand and even accepted the microphone that was unexpectedly shoved into her hands.
The words came to her through the flow of endorphins. She thanked the judges. Talked up her sponsors. Praised the other competitors, whom she quickly invited to share the limelight. Judging by the several rounds of applause, whatever she was saying was well received. More clicks of the camera sounded, and then she was walking back, grinning, her head high and chest out and hair streaming in the wind.
Liam stepped up to meet her, the pride unmistakable in his hazel eyes. Without thinking about it, Jaz rose on her toes and covered his mouth with hers. She didn’t care who saw. Who thought what. This was her moment, and she was happy. And she wanted Liam to share in her joy.
“Thank you,” she told him once they finally separated, the points of their friends’ surprised gazes poking into her back. “I couldn’t have done this if you hadn’t stood in for Sebastian.”
“I’d argue you did this despite my company, not because of it.” Liam brushed a thumb across Jaz’s cheek. “The talent and hard work winning this competition took was all down to you.”