AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Them.” I push on his chest and laugh when he doesn’t even budge. “God, you’re like a brick house.”
He corrals me till my back hits my car, his hands resting on the hood on either side of my body, pinning me with his stare, tight-jawed, and no humor to be found.
“What’s going on, big man?” I tug on the front of his shirt. “You don’t want people to know about us?”Us?Is there even an us?
“Fuck, Frankie.” He bends till his breath is teasing my neck, his eyes still slanted on me. “I want to fuck you in the center ring, so they all know you belong to me.”Not Austinis what I hear at the end of his statement.
On tiptoe, I press my mouth to his—not sensual but a thank you, a promise, a whisper of a truth he just offered up. “As much as I’d like that, Big Man, I don’t think Cap would approve it as a sanctioned MMA technique.”
His chiseled façade cracks. “No, Angel, I don’t imagine Cap would like to watch me fuck you.” His thumb teases my cheek. “Especially since he sees you like a daughter.”
My blush doesn’t escape his notice. He runs his lips across my heated skin. “I talk about fucking you in public, but it’s hearing Cap thinks of you as his own that makes you blush?”
He hugs me to his chest when I groan in embarrassment.
“Are you two gonna come inside or dick around in the parking lot all day?”
Speak of the devil. We turn to see Cap holding the door open, waving us in.
“Give us a minute.” Gabriel speaks to him, but keeps me locked in his arms. When we’re alone, but probably still under the gaze of prying eyes, he captures my face between his powerful hands. “Don’t think for a minute I’m not proud to have you on my arm. I’m only worried how being back here without Austin is making you feel. I’m not going to pretend you don’t have nine years of history with him.” His forehead is back on mine. “Trust me, I was painfully aware of every one of the last five. I’ve wanted you before I knew you were his. I don’t plan on letting him get in the way of having you now.”
“God, Gabriel.” I’m melting for him. “What was it you said about fucking? Can we do that now?”
His head falls back on a full-belly laugh. The sound eases my nerves, and I take a few cleansing breaths as he composes himself.
“Come on, Angel.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the door. “Our family is waiting for us.”
The warmth his words produce in my belly blooms again on my cheeks. He eyes my face and smiles his panty-dropping smile.
It’s only been a few hours, but the door to my office has been on a revolving hinge since Gabriel and I arrived. We separated ways after the guys came out to greet us. He headed for the locker room and then to train. I followed Cap to my office, which doubles as the medical facility. I’d barely dropped my purse in my bottom desk drawer when the visitors started coming in, one by one.
First it was Jonah “The Whale” Tate, ex-heavyweight champ, trainer, and sometimes coach. He complained of deltoid discomfort. I examined him, not finding anything obviously wrong, but treated it like a pulled muscle with manual manipulation and ice. He left smiling, swearing he felt better. “It’s good to have you back, Frankie.”
“It’s good to be back.”
He swung his arm, free of pain. “You’ve got the touch.” Then he ducked out my door.
My second visitor was Sloan “Killer” Michaels, up and coming heavyweight contender like Gabriel. Though he’s big and strong, Gabriel has him beat, hands down. Sloan complained of a hamstring pull. Once on the examining table, he proceeded to talk my ear off, filling me in on all the happenings since I’ve been gone: who was pissed off at whom, who he had the hots for, and whose ass he was going to kick in his next match. I was done treating him long before he ran out of things to say.
The next knock at the door ushered out Sloan and in Patrick “Dirty Irish” O’Malley. With his reddish-brown hair and ivory skin, he looked the part of good ole Irish boy, except he’s from Tennessee and has a twang to match. He’s the lightweight of the bunch, but he’s scrappy and strong as a miniature ox. He didn’t have any injury. He was nice enough to bring me a cup of coffee, a banana nut muffin, and stories of his visit home last weekend.
I’d forgotten how much these boys could talk. Get them together, and they’re gruff, trash-talking macho men. But get them alone, and they’re sweet momma’s boys who miss having a female to talk to—one theyaren’ttrying to sleep with. That’s me, by the way. In all the years I’ve known them, no matter how much of a player they are, they’ve never hit on me. Sure, I get playful looks and compliments up the wazoo, but they respect me. Or, maybe they respected Austin.
A cleared throat has me looking into the mesmerizing blue eyes of Gabriel, standing in my open doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, stance wide and powerful. “Why the scowl, Angel?”
I frown and release it as fast, not even realizing my consternation showed. “How come the guys never hit on me?”
He stops mid-sit in the chair before my desk. “What?”
“I mean, they tease me, but none of them have ever seriously hit on me.” I motion to myself. “I know I’m no ring-chaser, but you’d think out of all the fighters who have come and gone through Cap’s doors, one of them would have tried at least once.”
The air rushes out of the cushion as it bears the weight of his fine ass when he finally sits. “Are you for real?”
I study his expressionless face, the tick of his jaw, the glare in his eyes. “Never mind.” I wave it off. “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” He leans forward, his hand clasped between his wide legs. “Angel, am I not giving you enough attention? You need more that you’re wanting the guys to hit on you?”
“What?!” I squeal and then clear my throat, trying to find my calm. “No.” I stand and cross the room, eyeing the poster of this year’s Black Ops Team, my back to him. “It’s not about you and me.” Though, admittedly, I don’t even know what we are.
