Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (10 page)

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her bottom lip was just a little fuller than the top—so lush . . . just begging to be kissed. He swallowed, trying to banish the memory of her taste. Would it be as good as he remembered? Would it feel as right as before, or had time skewed his memory, inflating it into an unattainable moment of perfection?

Perhaps he should just kiss her and get it over with. Maybe it would be nothing like he remembered and the anticipation would far outweigh the reality. Once he realized the real thing paled in comparison, perhaps then he would see that his clover was really lawn grass and would quit obsessing over the woman. He was just desperate and pissed off enough to find out.

“I don’t know what to say . . .”

Which was really quite amusing when you thought about it. He was so fucked up he’d rendered a psychologist speechless.

“It’s fine, Clover, because I’m done talking.” He stepped into her hand, backing her up until she bumped into the rear panel of his car.

Her eyes widened. No doubt she saw the intent in his. Her lips parted and that pink little tongue slipped out to moisten them. “Nikko, what are you doing?”

She sounded nervous, but at the same time her soft, feminine voice was undeniably breathy—needy. She might still be mad at him, and there was no way in hell she’d ever admit it, but she wanted this as much as he did. Maybe she was just as curious to discover if that night had been nothing more than a shooting star.

He moved closer. She had nowhere to go. She felt so small and fragile trapped between his body and the car—but damn, she was soft in all the right places. The air between them crackled with that same familiar energy. That visceral awareness he’d felt the first time he’d touched her returned with a vengeance, heating the blood thundering in his veins and throbbing in his cock.

He could feel the beaded pearls of her nipples pressing into his chest, knew she could feel the evidence of his arousal against her stomach. His hands dropped to the warm metal beside her, caging her in his embrace. “I have to know . . .” He lowered his head, stopping inches from her mouth, her quickening breaths brushing against his lips.

“Know what?” she whispered, sounding so sexy and breathless.

“If you taste as good as I remember.” The strain of self-control made his voice little more than a low, throaty growl.

Her eyes widened in surprise, a breathy little gasp escaping her parted lips. Perhaps she wasn’t used to someone speaking so bluntly, but he didn’t give her a chance to deny him. Closing the short distance, Nikko pressed his mouth against hers. Ho-ly hell, if he was hoping to prove that his memories of her kiss were nothing more than overinflated imaginations, then that plan was an epic fail.

The moment his lips touched hers, it was like pure adrenaline flooding his veins. The rush of hard-core lust hit him hard, arrowing straight south. The ache in his balls pulled a tortured groan from his throat as he pressed in tighter, letting her feel the full effect she was having on him.

His hand slipped into her hair, his fingers curling around those silky platinum strands as he shifted the angle of his mouth to more fully claim hers. At the intrusion of his tongue, she tensed as if surprised by the hunger of his kiss.

He didn’t know if it was the PDA that bothered her or if she was caught off guard just as much as he was by how right this felt. She tasted a
mazing. After his tongue stroked hers a couple of times, she began to melt into him, her arms slipping up to wrap around his neck. She tugged him closer and her tongue joined the fray—twisting and tangling with his in an erotic dance that swiftly shattered the last restraints of his control. Her hips pressed against his, grinding against hi
s cock in that needy little rhythm he remembered like their encounter on the plane had happened yesterday.

Nikko snaked his arm around her waist and lifted her up, sitting her bottom on the trunk of his car. He moved in between her legs, fitting his erection tight against her core. Her legs came around his waist, the heels of her sexy boots digging into his ass, and it was so perfect—like she was made just for him. He’d never felt anything like it. There was something about Violet Summers that rocked his world. When it came to this woman, none of his old rules applied—all his hurts, habits, and hang-ups seemed to disappear.

For the first time since he could remember, Nikko didn’t mind being touched. In fact, he wished she’d touch him more—lower. Even when Aiden’s wife Ryann had shown him platonic affection, he’d shied from the contact. But with Violet, everything was different. He liked kissing her, loved the way she tasted—the way she smelled . . . He couldn’t seem to get close enough. Holding her in his arms as she clung to him, seeming as lost in the moment as he was, was the closest he’d come to feeling whole since he’d come back from Afghanistan.

The first time he’d been with her, he’d felt it then, too, but had quickly dismissed it, unwilling to credit a woman for having that kind of power over him. But there was no denying it, something about his four-leaf clover did unexplainable things to him. And right now, he wanted to do unmentionable things to her. If he thought for one second he could fit into his backseat . . .

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a car door slam not far from them, and a feminine gasp accompanied a low masculine chuckle. Awareness of where they were, and the scene they must be making in the parking lot of Carboni’s, must have hit Clover at the same time it dawned on him, because she broke their kiss, her mouth looking so delectably red and swollen.
Fuck it, let ’em watch
. . . He moved in for another taste and was halted by her palm traffic-copping his chest.

“Nikko, stop,” she panted, looking a bit lust drunk.

He knew the feeling. His head was spinning, too.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t professional, that’s why.”

“It wasn’t very professional when I fucked you in the bathroom of a Boeing 747, either, but you didn’t let that stop you.”

“Shhh!” she hissed, glancing at the snickering couple walking past them. “Someone’s going to hear you. Besides, that was different.”

His brow arched in wry amusement. “Enlighten me, Clover. How is that different?”

“Because you weren’t my patient then.”

“I’m not your patient now. You’re just interiming, remember?”

“But you are still seeing me, and it’s not right.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t see you,” he challenged.

“Nikko, you can’t quit coming to therapy. The CFA would suspend you. Your career is too important to throw away on sex.”

Even if it was really incredible sex
. . .
?

He dipped his head, kissing the sensitive spot on her throat just below her ear, and growled, “Get in the car, sweetheart. I’ll take you back to my place and you can be the judge of that.”

The moment the endearment slipped past his lips, she flinched as if he’d struck her. He muttered a curse. The change in her was instantaneous, and he knew she was remembering his conversation with Raven—or what she thought she’d overheard. Slowly, he lifted his head and met her stare. Guilt, embarrassment, and regret reflected in those beautiful eyes. The culmination of emotion staring back at him hit Nikko like a kick to the balls.

He needed to do some serious damage control, and fast. She placed her hands on his chest and steadily pushed, backing him up far enough that she could hop down. Her heels hit the asphalt with a sharp
clap
, and she broke eye contact, seeming reluctant to meet his gaze again. He caught her chin and gently tipped her face to meet his determined stare.

“I’m not lying to you, Violet. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Then who were you talking to?”

She didn’t believe him . . . And
that
pissed him off. He didn’t owe her any explanation beyond the truth of his word, and if that wasn’t good enough for her, then too damn bad. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared down at her in defiance. It was a look that had cowed many a soldier, but not this stubborn slip of a woman. She met his glare head-on and raised him an arched brow.

“This is a bad idea.”

No shit, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her. Her rejection stung, and something in his chest twisted painfully tight. He stood there feeling a bit numb after going from sixty to zero in a matter of seconds. There were a lot of thoughts and protests roaring through his head right now—all of which he kept to himself, afraid he’d say something he’d regret if he opened his mouth.

Somehow her purse and the packet of papers had ended up on the ground. She bent to retrieve them, the tension between them ratcheting higher by the second. She slipped her purse over her shoulder and stood.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” she quipped with cool disdain, as if he hadn’t just had his tongue in her mouth thirty seconds ago. She didn’t wait for him to respond before turning and walking away, her prize tucked safely under her arm. The heels of her boots clapped on the asphalt, dismissing him, leaving him standing there, staring at her sweet little ass, and wondering what the hell had just happened.

W
hat a complete and utter mistake . . . Violet never should have gone after him. She had what she’d come for. But as she’d watched Nikko walk out of Carboni’s, that little voice in her gut had screamed at her not to let him go, and she’d reacted—impulsively and stupidly. Well, she was officially not listening to
that
voice ever again. In fact, from now on she planned to do the exact opposite because that bitch gave horrible advice.

She’d never pegged Nikko for a player, which only proved, once again, what a terrible judge of character she really was, because she never would have believed Barry was an asshole cheater if she hadn’t seen it for herself. Considering character assessment was a vital part of Vi’s profession, the realization that she sucked at it was almost more devastating than the fact that she’d almost said yes to Nikko’s tempting offer to take her home and rock her world.

If he hadn’t called her
sweetheart
, reminding her of the woman he’d just made plans to spend the weekend with not even ten minutes earlier . . . Jeez, had she really become
that
woman?—the accomplice to his infidelity, the duo to his debauchery?

He’d denied he was seeing someone readily enough, but when
she’d pressed him for answers, he’d refused to give them. In hindsight,
he’d seemed more pissed that she was questioning him than guilty,
but
either way, it didn’t really matter. They were not meant to be.

Not your finest moment, Vi, that’s for sure.

No, no, it was not. Problem was, her life was starting to consist of one of these moments after another. It was frightening, the power this man had over her will, her mind, and her emotions, his ability to destroy her resolve and render her senseless with just a kiss. She’d learned a lot about Nikko Del Toro tonight, and even more about herself. From this point on, she’d have to be on constant guard, because it didn’t matter how attracted she was to him, he was her patient—at least for the next several weeks. And whether Vi liked the idea or not, they were going to be stuck with each other, and she would just have to find a way to harness her hormones and keep it professional.

Feeling minutely better with her convictions firmly in place, Violet slipped into her fuzzy
VS
-patterned slippers and matching pajama pants Pen had gotten her for Christmas. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. On second thought, she grabbed the bottle, bringing it with her to the living room. With Nikko’s file in hand, she headed to the couch. After settling in, she took a couple sips from her glass and broke the seal of the envelope. Sliding the packet of papers onto her lap, she began combing through the psychiatric evaluation the CFA was expecting her to sign off on.

She hadn’t gotten past the first page when she remembered she’d forgotten to ask Nikko about rescheduling his appointment to the afternoon. He was slotted into the first appointment of the day, so if she waited for Pen to call him in the morning, it’d be too late. She was going to have to call him.
Crap
. . . Vi took another swig of wine, because
that
was going to improve her decision-making abilities.
Screw it. Better get it over with now.

She grabbed her cell off the end table and dialed the number on his demographic form. It rang a couple of times before he picked up.

“Hello?”

Oh, mercy, his rough, gravelly voice was
sooo
sexy. The butterflies in her stomach began pitching a fit.

“Nikko? Umm . . . this is Violet.” She winced. “I mean, Dr. Summers.” She pressed her palm to her forehead, mentally berating herself for the slip.

“Clover? How’d you get my number?”

“From umm . . . your file.”

Was he mad she’d called?

“You always call your patients from your personal phone?”

She didn’t miss the dig that he was calling himself a patient now or the edge of annoyance in his voice. Yep, he was still pissed. “I, umm—”

“Because if you do, no offense, but that’s pretty stupid. I’d change your number if I were you—especially in your line of work. You don’t want your private information getting out there. I’ve seen some of your patients, Clover, especially that whack job coming in after I left your office yesterday.”

“I’m not calling patients from my cell phone, Nikko.”

“Good to know, cuz that guy’s batshit crazy, I’m telling you.”

Was Nikko honestly giving her a lecture on safety? Was he worried about her?—because that was really . . . sweet.

“And then there’s that MMA fighter you’re seeing.” The tension left his voice, taking on a teasing tone that made her smile. “That guy’s nuts. The way he was looking at you tonight. I think he’s got it bad for you.”

Violet laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Nikko’s charming, playful banter caught her off guard. And
charming
was not an adjective she would have used to describe that man. Hard-assed, abrasive, and detached—definitely—but not charming. Did he feel as bad as she did about the way they’d left things tonight?

She’d gotten a glimpse of his sense of humor at the restaurant—a surprising discovery she hadn’t been expecting. And dammit, anyway, the last thing she needed was to find that man any more attractive. “I’ll umm . . . keep that in mind in the future. Thanks for the warning, and the advice. Since you’re the only one I’ve called from this number, please don’t stalk me, okay?”

He chuckled, the deep, rich sound like auditory foreplay to her senses. “Oh, all right, but only because you asked so nicely. I can’t promise I’m not going to save your number in my contacts, though. But I do promise to limit the heavy-breather calls to no more than twice a day.”

Was this guy seriously flirting with her? Wow, he just did not give up. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was enjoying this play
ful banter. Before her very eyes she could see the professional line she’d
drawn in the sand blow away with the stiff breeze of Nikko’s charm.

“So is there a reason you called?—other than to give me your number?”

Shit, was that really what he thought? “That’s not why I called.” Was that why she’d called?

“Whatever you say . . .”

He didn’t believe her. “I called because I forgot to ask you something at the restaurant,” she rushed to explain.

“What’s that, Clover?”

His voice dipped, the husky cadence like sex to her ears, the prickle of awareness heating her blood, centered deep in her core. After their make-out session in the parking lot tonight, the rush of all those feelings returned with unexpected swiftness. She squirmed in her seat, trying to get comfortable.

“I was wondering if I could move your appointment to four tomorrow afternoon. I would have had Penelope call you in the morning, but there wouldn’t have been enough time to catch you.”

“Sure.”

Sure what?
Sure
like he didn’t believe her? Or
sure
she could move his appointment? “So it’s okay to move you? I was thinking we might need more time to go over your eval, so if we make you my last appointment—”

“Have you looked at it yet?”

“No, I was just going through your demographic information when I realized I forgot to ask you about changing times.”

“I don’t think you’re going to need any extra time—for the eval anyway—but if you still want me to come in later that’s fine. I’ll rearrange my training schedule.”

“All right. Well, thank you. I umm . . . really appreciate it. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Clover?”

“Yeah?”

“In case you were wondering . . . you taste exactly how I remembered.”

Before she could babble an intelligible response, Nikko chuckled, “Good night, Clover,” then disconnected the call.

Nikko was right; it hadn’t taken Violet very long to go through his psych eval, but by the time she was finished, she was good and mad. And after simmering on a low boil all night and then all day, by the time four o’clock rolled around that afternoon, she was pushing furious. Did he think this was a joke or that she was stupid? Either one was an accelerant, fueling her flame. Perhaps he didn’t realize this, but right now she was the only thing standing between him getting banned from the CFA. She’d thoroughly read his file before he’d walked into her office that first day, and she’d talked to Dean, the president of the CFA, more than once. She knew there were people who wanted Nikko out after what he’d pulled last weekend. They thought he was a publicity risk and too damaging for the image of the CFA. Dean disagreed and so did Marcus, Nikko’s coach and manager. Both men were counting on Violet’s assessment and psych eval to prove them right. She resented like hell the situation Nikko had just put her in.

Vi’s intercom buzzed and Pen’s voice intruded on her thoughts. “Nikko Del Toro is here to see you.”

“Send him in, please.”

A moment later, the door opened and in walked the source of her irritation, looking as gorgeous as ever. He must have come straight from the gym because his hair was still damp, leaving the short crop of dark hair spiking up in a sexy disarray. His white T-shirt had black CFA lettering stretched across his broad, muscular chest. His jeans hung low on his hips. Every time she saw the man, she swore he’d gotten hotter.

“Hey, Clover.”

Nikko closed the door behind him and walked toward the empty chair across from her desk. The way he moved seemed to defy nature. No doubt he fought with that same fluidity and grace. She hadn’t watched any of his reels, but just looking at him, she could believe he was every bit the powerhouse Dean claimed—it was no wonder they were worried about losing him, and she completely understood why they were fighting so hard to hang on to him. If only Nikko would fight as hard for himself. He said he wanted to save his career, but until he started taking this seriously and got real with her, she wouldn’t be convinced.

“Nikko . . . You’re late.” She glanced at the clock, then back at him. It was only five minutes after four, but that was five more minutes she’d had to sit here and stew.

“I texted you that I was running a few minutes behind. Got a late start weight training today, thanks to Regan’s inability to tell time, and I had to shower. Didn’t think you’d appreciate me sweat-soaking your chair.”

The image of him dripping wet and wearing nothing but a pair of workout shorts flashed through her mind. Determined not to let him see the effect just being in the same room with him had on her, she leveled him with a scowl and folded her arms over her chest.

He raised a brow, looking completely unimpressed by her ire. “What’s this really about, Clover?—because busting my balls over five minutes doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

She sat there a moment and counted to ten. It didn’t help. “How many times have you taken these tests?” She picked up his psych eval and tossed it across the desk toward him.

He shrugged, meeting her eyes with that steely look of impassivity she hated, the look that said she wasn’t getting anything out of him—that she’d never break him. Ha . . . they’d see about that.

“How many, Nikko?”

“A few. Why?”

“Because the man in this profile is not you,” she snapped, drilling her finger into the paper.

“I hardly think you know me well enough to make that kind of a judgment, Dr. Summers.”

Oh, now it was Dr. Summers, was it? What the hell kind of game was he playing? Vi wasn’t sure, but she was just pissed enough to take off the gloves and find out. Whatever he was trying to pull, she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. The CFA had hired her to do a job, and she wasn’t going to let him make a mockery of her or her career. “Well, for starters, the guy in that profile wouldn’t be sitting across from me right now because he knocked out his coach during a CFA press party,” she snapped.

His jaw tightened, blanching the pale scar on his cheek. Something flashed in his eyes that looked a whole lot like remorse. Unfortunately, victory wasn’t nearly as sweet as she’d imagined. She watched him a moment longer, waiting for him to give her something more—anything more.