Lori Foster - Fighting Dirty

“Rissy.”

That single whispered word from Armie almost made gelatin of her knees.

“Now you need to go,” she insisted urgently. “Both of you.” An invisible clamp tightened around her lungs. “Please.”

Looking tortured, Cannon said, “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

She nodded fast. “Yes.”

“And you’ll check in just so I know—”

“I’ll text you a couple of times tonight and tomorrow morning before work, too, I promise.” Please, please just go before I come undone.

Armie jammed a hand through his hair, then cursed low.

“Problem?” Cannon asked.

“No.”

Merissa looked at the dried blood in his hair, on his shirt. In her mind, over and over, she kept seeing how he’d shielded her. “Cannon should be fussing over you because you’re in far worse shape than I am. Go home and do whatever it is you do to make yourself feel better.”

Which probably meant he’d find a willing woman—or three—and lose himself in an orgy of pleasure. Damn it, she couldn’t let that bother her.

His nostrils flared, but Armie nodded. As if he’d just lost an internal battle, he flexed his hands. “If you want to talk...” He did more flexing, almost agonized. “Just let me know.”

She whispered, “You might be busy.”

He gave one shake of his head. “No.” He pulled her in for another hug that was so gentle it nearly demolished her resolve.

After the soft, warm press of his mouth to her forehead, he headed for the door. “I’ll wait outside.”

Merissa watched him walk away, his stride long, his step hurried.

It almost looked like he was running away.

Even after the door closed quietly behind him, she stared. Concern for Armie made her forget her own uneasiness.

“Rissy.”

She jumped, and her gaze shifted to her brother.

“You know I love you—”

“Yes.” Never in her entire life had she ever doubted that.

“I also love Armie. In a lot of ways, he’s like a brother to me.”

Despite everything, her lips shifted into a smile. “I know.”

Cannon let out a big breath, then took her hands. “He’s not a brother to you. Not even close. I would never betray either of you, but...”

When he trailed off, Merissa got alarmed. “What?” She squeezed his hands. “What’s the matter?”

“He’d deny it till hell freezes over, but Armie’s hurting. Not physically. I don’t mean that.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, so she just waited.

“Maybe you should give him comfort, and it would give you comfort in return.”

Her jaw loosened. She didn’t know how to comfort Armie. He’d rejected her. Though they hadn’t discussed it, Cannon had to know that she had a thing for Armie. Their circle was small and everyone seemed to share everything that happened.

She shook her head, but Cannon smiled at her. “There’s something about Armie you should probably know.”

Oh wow. Her own situation faded as a million scenarios ran through her mind. Would she learn the reason Armie had avoided the SBC for so long? Would she find out why he refused to commit to a woman, why he avoided “nice” girls? Heart thrumming furiously, she whispered, “What?”

“Armie won’t be busy tonight.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because for weeks now, he’s been celibate.” She was stunned stupid as Cannon bent and kissed her forehead. “Something to think about, okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer; he just headed to the stairs to the door. On his way, he said, “I’ve locked the door, but reset the alarm, and don’t forget to check in.” And then he was gone.

And Merissa, still reeling, dropped to sit on the couch.

Armie Jacobson, hedonist extraordinaire—celibate. For weeks?

Yep, that certainly gave her a lot to think about.

* * *

AFTER A LONG, steamy shower, where he lingered for far too long, Armie pulled on boxers, fixed a drink and crashed on the couch. He turned on the TV but didn’t really focus on anything. His internal battle kept him too wired.

A few drinks later, more than a little tipsy, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Merissa home alone, maybe upset. She hadn’t wanted to call him. That had been as plain as the bruise on her jaw.

She might anyway.

She probably wouldn’t.

She had Cannon to comfort her.

But did she want Armie?

On and on it went, circling in his brain, making him nuts, and no amount of liquor would blunt the torment. For the tenth time he checked his cell. Had he reminded her to use the emergency cell? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he should text her and let her know...

No.

What he should do is leave her alone, stop lusting after her.

Stop needing her.

He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. His temples throbbed and his back ached. He couldn’t believe he’d let that putz catch him twice. Luckily no one wielded metal posts in cage fights.

Also, he didn’t have an innocent audience, guns or Merissa Colter in danger during cage fights.

He flexed a shoulder and looked toward the dark window. It was—what? Nine-thirty? Still early. Maybe he needed to get back in the saddle and ride. He wanted to snicker at his own wit, but even for a drunk guy that was a shitty analogy.

If only he had even the smallest interest—

The knock on his door had him bolting upright. He stared toward it as his heartbeat ratcheted up and desire kick-started a slow burn in his gut.

Standing, he set aside his drink and, still wearing only boxers, went to the door and opened it. Disappointment hurt worse than that metal post had. “Shit.”

“Well, hello to you, too.” She winced at the damage to his face. “What happened to you?”

Armie stared at the brunette he’d brushed off at the bar the other night. “Just a misunderstanding.” To discourage her from trying to come in, he stepped out and pulled the door partially closed behind him. “C’mon, Cass. You know better than to show up without an invite.”

“I called your cell but you didn’t answer.” Her hungry gaze went over him, caught on his crotch and stayed there. He recognized that particular smile curling her lush lips.

“My cell got broken,” he explained. “But seriously, hon, you didn’t get the message at Rowdy’s?”

“No one treats me like you do, Armie.”

“I’m an asshole and I know it. You should steer clear.”

She put a hand to his abs and started teasing her fingers downward. “I didn’t mean that weird rudeness at the bar. I meant in bed.”

He caught her wrist. “Not happening.”

She seemed to puff up with determination. “I’m getting married in a month.”

“Yeah?” He put her hand back at her side. “Congrats.”

“I love him.”

“Glad to hear it.”

This time her smile looked genuine. “He’s a great guy, Armie. Smart, sweet, but macho enough that even you’d like him.”

With no idea where she was going with that, Armie just cocked a brow.

“But in bed...” She sighed. “He’s not you.”

Armie laughed, turned it into a groan and rubbed his face. “Let me guess. You haven’t told him what you like?”

Now sounding desperate, she asked, “How can I? He’s so nice and he’s not like you and me.”

He stepped away from the door and, feeling indulgent, said, “Hon, I’m not like you. But between what you told me and how you reacted to stuff, I figured it out. Most guys like hot sex. It’s hotter when the chick is into it. So just tell him what you want. Trust me on this, he’ll be into it.”

“But what if he’s not?” Uncertainty shadowed her eyes. “What if he thinks I’m...weird or something?”