Page 29 of Fight from the Heart

“Too much wine and only pasta to eat today is making me sleepy,” she says around a yawn.

“Why have you only had pasta today?” I’m a fanatic about women and eating after Ella had food issues. I don’t want to even think about Pam doing something crazy like my stepsister used to do.

“My boss demanded I work for him today.”

“In the middle of a snowstorm?” I sarcastically mock.

“In the middle of a snowstorm.” She yawns.

“Jesus, he sounds like an ass.”

“He can be,” she says, but I hear the smile in her voice.

“He doesn’t always mean to be,” I admit.

“He can’t help it,” she teases, and silence falls between us. I’m not hurt by what she said. She’s being honest like I asked, and I can’t seem to help being a dick on occasion. Still, I don’t want to always be the asshole boss.

“Actually,” she says, her tone still low. “He can be really sweet when he wants to be.” My eyes latch onto a glowing candle, the small flame dancing. “He’s even romantic without knowing it.”

I hold back a snort, choosing to reach for her legs instead and hitching them over mine. Straightening the blanket, I cover our leg combination. Pam returns her head to my shoulder, and I seek her fingers.

“Hand holding,” I state, curling my firm fingers with hers. I’m nervous when this isn’t even a real damn date. We’re just trying to stay warm, slipping into sleep after a lazy day during a storm. But there’s nothing more happening here, and I wonder if Pam feels it, too.

Chapter 12

Cheap Date

[Pam]

We’d shifted in the night from sitting upright leaning against one another to lying down on the couch with Jacob’s front to my back. The fire is slowly dying, but my body temperature is a hundred degrees. Jacob’s like a human thermostat set to high, then add the comforter and the extra sweater, and I’m too warm to sleep.

Slowly, I remove his arm from my waist and sit upright. As I’m tugging his thick cable-knit sweater over my head, his hand lands on my thigh. He remains lying behind me in a seated position.

“What are you doing?” His sleep-roughened voice sends a thrill up said thigh, and I shiver despite the heat of my skin.

“I’m too warm.” Holding the sweater on my lap, I fold it.

“I like you in my clothing,” he says, and I recall wearing his tees and sweats while I was sick.

“I still need to return your things,” I remind him, remembering I stole out of his house that fateful morning, taking his soiled clothing with me to wash at my place.

“I’m not worried. I know where you live now,” he teases. “By the way, you’re the worst date. I didn’t even get a good night kiss.”

When I glance at him over my shoulder, his eyes sparkle in the dull firelight. He looks so carefree compared to his normal hard edges. Unable to help myself, I lean down and press a kiss to his lips. Soft. Tender. Sweet. Drawing away, he catches me at the back of my neck with his hand, and he perches up on an elbow. His eyes switch from sparks to flames.

“Lilac.” He breathes my name like a plea, pressing at my nape to return me to him. When I hesitate the slightest second, he lifts his head and captures my lips instead. His kiss is harder, more demanding, and I’d expect nothing less from my fighter. The man who punches the bag like he punches his keyboard—with intensity and ingenuity locked deep within the dungeon of his mind. His lips command mine, spreading them to allow his tongue to enter. Once our tongues meet, Jacob is falling back to the cushions, taking me with him, keeping our mouths connected as he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before, dark and deep like him, and I want more.

Eventually, I press at his chest, releasing my mouth from his, and sit upright again. Jacob remains on his back.

“Lilac, I—” His voice halts when I remove my own sweater, exposing my bra covering large swells with firmly peaked nipples. Jacob rushes upward, a hand coming to my lower back. His lips suck at my shoulder before nipping at my neck. Reaching behind his own neck, he tugs his sweater over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the fine lines of his abs. His fighter’s body is a muscular vision.

With a shaky hand, I reach out for his skin. Jacob watches with rapture as I slowly glide along his collarbone, down the middle of his chest, and through the fine chest hairs. A tattoo inked over his left pec reads, Change your destiny. The wandering fingertip traces over the scrolling font. Looking up at him, I want clarification, but he guides my hand to continue exploring him. As my fingers lower, his abs flinch at my touch.

“Ticklish?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, both rough from my own slumber and deep with desire for this man.

“Too much,” he croaks before leaning forward and taking my mouth with his again. The power in his lips astounds me, firmly demanding mine follow his lead. He’s my personal addiction, and I can’t get enough of his taste. Scotch. Sleep. A week ago, he had me on those lips, and the thought intensifies the kiss I return to him.

“Are we really doing this?” he asks, his fingers at the catch of my bra. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he unclasps my bra. We probably shouldn’t do this, yet I want nothing more.