One
Trent
“Hot damn!” one of the new guys hoots, and I turn to look at where his eyes just landed. That’s when I see red, and I don’t just mean her lipstick and matching skintight dress. “I think I’m ready for my massage.” New guy cranes his neck, whistling but the noise gets drowned out by the partygoers and loud music.
They’re all here to celebrate my dad’s retirement from professional mixed martial arts.
I shove my chest into the new guy, hard, and he stumbles back. I might be the youngest of us but he just got here. He’s still learning the way of things around our training camp. Everyone else here including my dad already knows that Della, the curvy vision in red who just walked in, is all but officially taken.
It’s only a matter of time before I make that girl mine.
“Dude. What the fuck?”
“Whistle for dogs,” I growl out. “Not for her. Don’t even fuckin’ look at her.”
“Jeez, sorry.” He holds his hands up, surrendering. “What is she, your girlfriend and your masseuse?”
I don’t think twice before answering, “Yes.” Although the technical word for Della’s profession is massage therapist, and won’t she let him know it.
I push my way through the people and stalk toward her as she and her brother and friend head into the kitchen.
I wanted to wait until after next weekend’s bout—my first professional title shot—before taking a shot with her too. Blame the weeks of intense training, the ultra-high-protein diet, or the likelihood of Della killing me in that red dress tonight, but I can no longer wait that long.
“Hey, Sunshine,” I cut in. Della’s friend seems distracted, making eyes at Della’s brother across the kitchen island. I stifle a laugh. If Della doesn’t know her new friend is in love with Axel, I get the feeling she will soon. “You look…wow. Gorgeous.”
“Aww! Aren’t you sweet!” Della gives me a warm hug that smells like lavender and lager and activates my sex drive. I pull her in tighter for an additional breath. “You’re so cute.” She giggles.
Sweet. Cute. Fuck that.
She’s twenty-nine; I’m twenty-two. Not sure where she gets off talking to me like I’m a boy. She doesn’t know it yet, that I can sweep her off her feet and rock her entire world upside down and inside out. Twice.
She is going to find out.
It’s a lame move, but I know it’ll work to steal her away. “I’ve got this kink in my neck,” I whisper.
“Say no more!” Della turns to her friend. “Be right back.”
No she won’t. But the other woman’s gaze hasn’t strayed from Axel. I don’t reckon she’ll mind.
There’s plenty of night left for all of us to take a chance on love.
Two
Della
I’m not technically working tonight, but I’ll do anything to support this team. I felt so fortunate when my brother, Axel, helped me get the job, and I never take it for granted. As a single mom I need the work. And the fighters treat me with respect. They’ve become like extended family to me.
Trent must really be sore. He takes me by the hand and leads me into an empty spare bedroom. It’s a lot fancier than my curtained-off space in the studio apartment I share with Nathanial, my four-year-old, but it’s still inviting and cozy.
He sits down at the foot of the bed. The dim lighting casts shadows over part of his cheek and jawline, giving his usual boyish face a rugged masculine appeal. It gives me pause. He lays his hands over his thighs.
Jesus. When did Trent Valentine ever get so…big?
I fold my arms across my chest. “You skipped your Thursday massage to put in hours at the gym.”
“You know I fight for the title—”
“A week from Sunday, yes, I know.” I slip off my heels and situate myself behind him in bed. “You won’t do your body any favors by letting all that lactic acid build up.”
I start massaging the base of his neck, gently working the locked-up tendons and sore tissues. Damn, he has been training hard. His muscles feel good against my hands.
“Bradley’s a world-class grappler…” Trent whispers.
“So are you.”
“No I’m not. Pfft. You know I do Kenpo—”
“Really?” I joke. I lay my hands down on his shoulders, resolutely, pretending I’m shocked. I lean over him to look at his face. “I thought you did mixed martial arts? That includes—”
But the rest of that thought gets lodged in my throat.
Trent doesn’t just look different tonight.
He’s looking at me different.
I avert my eyes from his smoldering gaze, but my vision falls in the wrong direction—down to his jeans and the unmistakable erection straining against them.
Impressive erection.
“Trent…”
“He’s an assassin,” Trent says nonchalant, as if he’s not harboring any lust at all down there. Or twisting my thoughts all up, with that devilish grin on his face. “I have to practice the technique.”
“Is your neck really sore?”
“Everything is,” he says in a low, rough voice, shifting slightly to gaze at me. I could push him away, I know what he’s got on his mind right now, but I just don’t want to.
Those eyes. Those lips.
My long-neglected lady parts…
“Everything is?” I whisper back.
“Yes.”
“Well that…could take a while.” I lick my lips. I can hardly resist the way he’s looking at me right now.
Trent reaches over to touch my face. “I’ve got time, Sunshine.”
Then I’m in trouble.
My heart pumps faster as he closes more of the distance between us, skating the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. The touch is more than friendly or sweet—it’s charged. There’s an undeniable spark, the kind that turns into a blaze, and I instantly know that only Trent can put that fire out.
I flick my gaze up from his mouth, to his eyes. There’s an intensity in those dark orbs that I’m used to seeing whenever he trains and during his fights. Now that laser focus is all on me, and I have to just wonder…why?
“What are you doin’ to me, Trent?”
“The question is…” he murmurs, “What are you doin’ to me, Sunshine?”
He’s young, sexy, and borderline rich. He could get any girl in the world. But he’s held back. For as long as I’ve known Trent, he’s been obsessed about his career and only his career.
Now I see the fight raging inside his eyes as he inches closer, surveying me like I’m his next meal—appetizer, dinner, seconds, and dessert. Lord knows I’ve got more to love.
How long has he been wanting this?
Trent dips those soft pillowy lips toward mine, and I can’t help but moan as I feel my self-control collapse down into atoms. If I don’t stop this now he might do something he’ll later regret.
“Trent, we shouldn’t…”
“You say stop,” he murmurs, husky and deep, “and I’ll stop.”