"You didn't have to go all stalker," I said to turn off the thoughts racing through my head. I couldn't help wincing as I sat back up. G.o.dd.a.m.n, my ribs were killing me. At least the pain didn't make me think about f.u.c.king Parker so much. "Like I said, this place, this world, could be bad for your health. h.e.l.l, so could I."

"How will we know unless you give it a chance?" she asked me.

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. She really wasn't going to give this up. As I winced again, she sat down on the bed beside me, gingerly perching there on the edge as she grazed her fingers across my arm.

"Let me see," she said, her nails leaving gooseb.u.mps in their wake.

With a grimace, I lifted my arm up over my head, exposing my ribs. I could tell without even looking that they were a mess. I could feel it. Parker brushed her fingertips over the swollen parts, her touch so gentle I hardly even felt it, save for another stirring between my legs. I was just starting to imagine her nails raking down my back when she diverted her attention to my hands. My knuckles were bleeding through the wrappings.

"Why do you care so much?" I asked as she slowly began to unwind the tape. "Between what I do for a living and the way I've treated you, most girls would've run screaming by now."

"I'm not most girls," Parker replied, finally exposing my f.u.c.ked up hands. Ain't that the truth?

"Is there any hydrogen peroxide here?" she said. "Any bandages?"

I jutted my chin toward the bathroom door. "In there. Under the sink." I knew because I'd patched myself up plenty of times in this room after the girls left, but never before had one offered to actually take care of me themselves.

Parker stood and gathered her supplies, and when she returned to my side, the look of concentration on her face was too G.o.dd.a.m.n adorable for words. She saturated a few cotton b.a.l.l.s with the hydrogen peroxide and gently applied them to my knuckles, ignoring my grunts and growls as the liquid bubbled and fizzed on my fresh cuts.

"Stings," I muttered.

Parker smirked. "I think you can handle it," she said.

I smiled. I couldn't help it. I liked the way she made me feel, even if it hurt a little. As she rubbed Neosporin on my hands, I blew out a long breath and relaxed, studying her face. G.o.dd.a.m.n, she was beautiful. There wasn't a single thing about her that wasn't angelic. The gentle bow of her lips. Her long, thick lashes and the way they fluttered over her bright blue eyes. The arch of her brows. The slim curves of her body. Parker was a diamond in the rough, and she'd come all this way for me. To find me. I wasn't sure what good deed I'd done lately to deserve this, but I was starting to think maybe I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You really want to get to know me?" I asked her as she met my gaze. "Like... for real?"

Parker nodded. "Everything. Every last detail."

I watched as she wound some gauze around my knuckles. "We can't do that here," I told her. "Like this. In this place, I have to be someone else. I have to be Killer Kellan, the monster, the beast. Every other fighter's worse nightmare. Not Kellan Jarvis, complex human being."

"I like the sound of that last one," Parker said as she finished patching me up-at least my hands, anyway. "We could go back to The Sly Fox. Or out to dinner, somewhere. You did just earn yourself some serious winnings, after all."

I smiled again. The thought of taking a girl like Parker Jones out made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Important. Like I mattered. Like I could be a normal guy, with a normal-and also extraordinary-girl.

But I was tired. And sore. And as much as I wanted to, I wasn't sure I could handle a night out.

"What about my place?" I asked her. "It's not much, but I've got a decent couch. And Netflix. And beer."

Parker blushed. She glanced at my c.o.c.k again, still jutting against the seam of my shorts. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth. It was so d.a.m.n s.e.xy.

"Sure," she said at length. "Your place it is."

My c.o.c.k rejoiced, but I didn't want to get its hopes up. Parker and I were just getting to know each other. That was all. And if I ever wanted to take it farther than that, I was going to have to play it cool.

Although the way she kept stealing glances at my shorts, I got the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was intrigued by a little more than my personality. Hey, a guy could dream. And thinking about slipping my d.i.c.k into Parker Jones was the sweetest d.a.m.n dream I'd ever had.

~ Eight ~

Parker

What the h.e.l.l was I thinking, agreeing to go back to Kellan's place? I felt so stupid, so embarra.s.sed. He probably thought I was one of those girls who put out right away. He probably thought I was ready to f.u.c.k right here, right now in the backseat of this cab.

And wasn't I? Kellan had one h.e.l.l of a monster c.o.c.k. I hadn't been able to stop staring at it in the winner's room. The way it had pulsed and swelled with the beat of his heart had absolutely entranced me. Even through his shorts, I could see how big and thick it was-certainly more than a mouthful. I'd given serious consideration to pulling down his waistband and letting it free just to see how big it really was. And then maybe I would have sat in his lap and slid down on it just to see how much of it I could take...

Jesus, get a hold of yourself. You're doing this for a story, not for s.e.x!

But the heat gathering between my thighs told me that wasn't entirely true.

I couldn't help it, okay? Kellan was so hot. Everything about him exuded s.e.x, danger, and pure, terrifying masculinity. Underneath all that, he seemed like a decent guy, too. Nice, even. When he wasn't going ape-s.h.i.t about me showing up to his fight with a guy.

Now that made me smile. Kellan had been jealous of Thom-actually jealous! So I wasn't imagining things, then. Kellan was into me. He wanted me. Which made the decision to go back to his place both a great, and awfully stupid, one.

Just keep it in your pants, Parker, I told myself. And don't get too drunk, either. You know how handsy you get when you drink...

I bit my lip and stole a glance at Kellan beside me. Maybe that was what he was counting on. Maybe this was all a clever ploy to get between my legs.

As long as he tells you what you need to know, how is that a bad thing?

Maybe I could have my cake and eat it, too.

We pulled up to the curb outside his apartment building and Kellan paid the driver in cash for our ride. Then he hurried out his side and opened the door for me, helping me out even though I didn't need it.

I couldn't seem to get a read on him. Not an accurate one, anyway. Kellan the soldier. Kellan the fighter. Kellan the jealous type. But also, Kellan the gentleman. Kellan the sweetheart with the boyish smile. He had more facets to him than a diamond, and part of me was giddy as a schoolgirl at the opportunity to get to know each one.

Readers are going to love him, I thought as we entered the building and took the rickety elevator up to his floor. Everybody likes a mystery.

Kellan's apartment was shabby, to say the least, but clean-minus a few beer bottles sitting on his counter. It was small, too. Whatever he earned through risking his life in the ring couldn't have been much, and I got the sense he was struggling to live within his means. I didn't see anything too fancy-he had a decent, but older-model, TV and a laptop that looked like it came straight out of 2005-but other than that, his place was pretty Spartan.

Which made me wonder if Thom was right. Was Kellan getting screwed over by his manager without even knowing it? Undoubtedly, Thom was looking into that, too. I hoped he was okay. Thom struck me as more a lover than a fighter, and I had no idea how an illegal fighting ring manager would react to someone asking questions about the distribution of winnings.

Thom's smarter than that. He'll figure it out. And when he did, I'd share that information with Kellan. It was the least I could do.

"Make yourself at home," Kellan said, and I realized I was still standing in his entryway like an idiot. I kicked my shoes off near the door where Kellan had abandoned his and shuffled over to the sofa, sinking into the deep, plush cushions that were comfortable despite the creaking of their springs.

"You want a beer?" he asked from the kitchen.

I nodded. "Sure." Then I grabbed the takeout menu on his coffee table. "If you want, we can order something to eat. I'm buying."

Kellan chuckled and I heard him pop the tops of both beers. "Sounds fair."

I busied myself with the menu while Kellan sat down next to me, so close our thighs touched. He set my beer down in front of me and I handed him the menu as I dialed the number for a local Chinese place and gave them my order. Kellan held up two fingers when I looked at him; apparently, he liked orange chicken, too.

While we waited, I made Kellan watch an episode of Orange is the New Black. He humored me up until we got to the part with the lesbian s.e.x. Then he was actually interested.

"Perv," I muttered around my beer bottle as I took a sip.

"Just one of the many things there is to learn about me," he replied with a grin, then jumped up as the delivery driver knocked.

For the most part, we ate in silence. We watched a few more episodes while we picked at our rice and I let Kellan get comfortable before I started prodding him. I figured he needed to unwind a little after that fight. I also got a bag of frozen peas from his freezer and made him hold it to his ribs to take some of the swelling down.

Finally, when his eyes were getting a little hazy from the beer and he'd sprawled out beside me on the sofa, I asked, "Why illegal fighting?"

Kellan laughed, then winced and clutched at his ribs. "Boy, you sure don't pull any punches, huh?"

I smiled and shrugged. "It's the elephant in the room, isn't it?" Mentally, I started taking notes.

"Fair," Kellan said. Then he continued: "When I got back from Afghanistan, there weren't a whole lot of opportunities open to me. It's weird, coming back from war and having to learn to live as a civilian all over again. And lots of places aren't hiring, so if you didn't have a job before you left, you're kind of screwed. Believe it or not, a lot of what you learn as a grunt in the military isn't really applicable to real life. Everyone wants a degree, even for the menial s.h.i.t. Basically, I had to go with what I knew best, which at that point, was f.u.c.king people up."

I laughed. I didn't mean to. It was awful, but Kellan was so casual about it all. And maybe it was the beer. I was on my second one, despite what I'd told myself before about going easy on the booze.

Luckily, Kellan laughed too. He said, "Anyway, I got a gig as a bouncer. A couple of them, actually. And that worked out for a little while, but the money wasn't good, and if you weren't careful, you could really hurt someone. That's frowned upon, apparently. Even if they're breaking a vodka bottle over your head, you're supposed to deescalate and defuse." He shook his head. "I have a temper, I guess, because that didn't sit well with me, and it wasn't long before I'd earned a reputation as a wild card."

"And that made it hard for you to find work again," I said, "even as a bouncer."

Kellan nodded. "Mmhm." The way the word slipped so lazily from his throat made my toes curl. It was like honey for my ears. "Things got pretty bad. I was either overqualified or not qualified enough, it seemed. Fast food places didn't want to hire me because they were afraid of turnover, which I guess is fair, 'cause as soon as something better came up, I would've split. And offices and stuff didn't really have anything I could do. I tried construction, but didn't make it more than a month. Some loudmouth kept tryin' to make me spill about all the people I killed in the war, and one day I just punched him straight in the mouth, and that was that."

"A touchy subject, I take it?"

"For most soldiers, yeah. Some civilians feel like it must be some kind of badge of honor to take a life. I think they play a little too much Call of Duty, to be honest with you. And this guy just wouldn't let up, you know? Finally got to the point where he started talking s.h.i.t about how maybe the reason I wouldn't say anything was because I was a coward. Maybe I'd been kicked out for p.i.s.sing my pants and that was how I ended up here." Kellan sighed. "Sure, I was hotheaded. But the guy had it comin'. If it hadn't been me, it would've been someone else eventually. You know?"

As vehemently as he was justifying it, Kellan seemed ashamed of that story. I took another pull from my beer and swished it around my mouth as I debated my next question.

"And things got dire, after that?"

"You could say that," he answered. "Guy was going to press charges. I was going to lose my apartment, maybe even my freedom for a little while. It was a real mess. I stopped by a dive bar to drown my sorrows one night, and this guy sits down next to me-Vic. Says I look like I could use another drink. At first, I'm wondering what kind of bar, exactly, I stepped into, but then we get to talking, and he says he noticed my dog tags and he might have an opportunity for someone like me. It's dangerous, but it pays well, and under the table too. Uncle Sam wouldn't have to know a thing about it. I figured I paid Uncle Sam enough over the past few years, in money and blood, so taking something back wouldn't be so bad."

The dog tags-I'd noticed them, too, on the day we'd met. "Do you wear those everywhere?"

Kellan smiled. "Almost. Some people, I tell them it's about pride. I was a Marine, I fought for my country, that kind of thing. That's my go-to answer. It's what they want to hear."

I c.o.c.ked my head. "But you don't really feel that way?"

His smile faded. "Sometimes." Then he added, "It's complicated." And then, he switched it around on me. "What about you? How'd you get to be a writer?"

I sat back, wondering how much I could tell Kellan without lying. "It's in my blood, I think. Dad said Mom used to write all the time before she died. Poetry in college, a few articles for her campus newspaper. Then fiction. She published a few short stories in some literary magazines, and she was working on a novel while she was pregnant with me. Never finished it, though."

Kellan grinned. "I take it you were a handful, even at that age?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. That wasn't it, though. Mom died after she gave birth to me. Placenta previa gone wrong. She bled out. I could've died, too."

"Jesus." Kellan sat forward, setting his empty beer down and running a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Parker. I didn't mean to be an a.s.s."

I waved my hand. "It's okay. Really. You didn't know, and that's the point of this, isn't it? Getting to know each other?"

He looked into my eyes for a long time. It seemed like he wanted to press me about it, to get me to open up instead of the other way around. Mom was hard to talk about. I'd never even gotten to know her, and I felt cheated. My dad was great and all, but he wasn't a writer. He'd never felt this compulsion, this drive. It would've been nice to grow up with someone who got it. Who understood me. I'd never had that. I wasn't even sure I had it now.

As if sensing this, Kellan got up and got us both another beer. He didn't ask any more questions about my mom, and I appreciated that but it also made me feel a little bad about pumping him for information.

"Is that why you want to get to know me?" he asked. "Am I gonna be a character in one of your books, or something?"

I felt that warmth between us return again. "Only if you're interesting enough to be worth writing about," I said with a grin.

Kellan laughed. "And so far?"

"So far, I'm intrigued," I answered. "But I need more before I'm able to properly judge."

"I think I know what you're saying," Kellan said, taking a long drink from his bottle. He set it down and draped his arm over the back of the couch. "You're saying you have to get to know me intimately before you know whether or not I'm worth the trouble."

I had to give it to him. That was a good one. I shot him a sideways glance and a smirk and was just about to come back with something smarmy of my own when I felt Kellan's palm cupping the back of my head.

All my breath left my body in the span of an instant. Kellan's fingers were so gentle in my hair, his touch so light, so tender. When he brushed them over my nape, I felt a thrill tumble down my spine. I closed my eyes, savoring his touch.

Kellan began to caress my shoulder, working his way toward the strap of my tank top. I let him push it aside, let his fingers dance over my bra strap beneath it. Then, slowly, he pulled that down over my shoulder and arm too, stroking the expanse of flesh between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and my collar bone.

"Intimately," I whispered. "How 'intimately' are we talking?"

"Pretty d.a.m.n," Kellan answered, lightly pulling down my other strap. The tops of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s were bared to him now, almost to my nipples. But instead of going for them, Kellan touched my throat, my neck, my jaw, sending a plague of gooseb.u.mps over me from my head to my toes. There was such reverence in his touch, like I was a fragile idol that he was terrified of breaking. He handled me with such care. It wasn't what I'd been expecting.

I finally turned to look at him and realized he'd moved closer. His mouth was only inches away, so full and inviting. His gaze was trained on mine-his eyes weren't even sweeping my body, taking in the parts of it he'd revealed. He was looking at me, into me, and it made my thighs quiver with antic.i.p.ation.

He said, "You're beautiful, Parker. Incredible. And that makes me wonder what the h.e.l.l you're doing with a guy like me. It just... doesn't make sense."

"Does it have to?" I murmured, searching his face for an answer. His lips quirked just a little and I smiled back. "Can't we just do what feels good?"

It was as much of a plea to myself as it was to him. My inner journalist was shrieking at me to pull back, to abort, to keep some kind of professional distance between us. But my heart was singing another song, begging me to submit to the desire I'd felt since the moment I laid eyes on Kellan in that s.h.i.tty bar.

What would Melanie Cartwright do? I asked myself. I knew the answer. She'd use Kellan for as long as she needed him, then cast him aside, leaving him to live with the consequences. Could I do that? Could I be as ruthless as she was? According to her, I had to be, otherwise I was risking my career.

Yet even though I'd only known Kellan a brief time, I was already less willing to risk his wellbeing over my job, my dreams, even. I couldn't begin to articulate why, but I cared more about him than I did any story. I wanted him to feel safe with me. I wanted to earn his trust.

"I don't know," Kellan said softly, replying to my earlier question. "Whenever I do what feels good, it always seems somebody gets hurt."

"What about me?" I asked him. "Will I get hurt?"

Kellan cupped my cheek. "That's what I'm afraid of."