Against the Ropes Read online

  Sorry, buddy. You’d do the same thing.

  As they sat down, he relished listening to her make pleasurable little sounds as she tasted a bit of each. “This isn’t the garlic bread you buy in the frozen foods section, is it?”

  He did his best to appear offended. “How dare you, madam.”

  She raised a brow, and he cracked like fine china. “Okay, fine. Normally I cheat and go that direction. But for tonight, I broke out the big guns and used a real French bread and did it myself. Much better.”

  “Mmm. Much.” She took another bite of that piece, then set it aside. “Don’t let me have another, or I’ll never fit into my suits again.”

  “I hardly think that’s an issue. But hey, if you’re looking for a postdinner calorie-burn . . .” He waggled his brows suggestively, and had the pleasure of watching her groan while laughing. “I’m just glad you said yes to dinner.”

  “I’m glad Graham gave us the run of his house. You’re sure he’s okay leaving like this?”

  Greg nodded. “He’s fine. He’s . . . do you want to get that?” he added, when her cell phone started to ring.

  She glanced at her purse, sitting on the chair next to her. “No, ignore it.”

  The ringing stopped, only to start again a few seconds later. “Go ahead. Might as well get whatever it is out of the way.”

  She apologized, started to get up, then stopped and sat back down. “It’s Kara. Normally I’d ignore but—”

  “Totally okay.”

  He watched her worried expression as she answered.

  “No, I’m not at my place, I’m already out. Why, what’s . . . oh. Uh . . .” She looked down at her plate, then over at Greg. “Well . . . okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll figure it out. How long will you need me?” She mouthed an I’m sorry to him. Kara needs me.

  He motioned for her to hand him the phone. She hesitated, then said, “Kara, I’m actually with Greg and . . . no, it’s okay. Please don’t worry. But he wants to talk to you. Yeah. Okay, here.” She handed him the phone. “She’s got to run out and needs someone to watch Zach. It’s a yoga-mergency.”

  Yoga-mergency? “Kara, hey. It’s Greg Higgs.”

  “I’m sorry about this.” Misery and embarrassment were both plain in Kara’s voice. “I completely forgot you two were spending tonight together. If I’d remembered, I wouldn’t have barged in like this.”

  “You need someone to watch Zach?”

  “One of my clients—the one you don’t say no to because she pays way too well—called for a last-minute private before she leaves the country. Apparently she can’t go on vacation without one more round of sun salutations. My normal babysitter can’t make it.”

  In the background, he could hear Zach’s small voice yell, “I don’t need a babysitter!”

  Kara sighed. “I can’t get ahold of Marianne, and her parents are on vacation themselves. I’m so sorry, but—”

  “Stay there. I’m sending reinforcements. And trust me, Zach will definitely not complain. Just trust me.”

  “I’m not comfortable leaving him with a stranger,” Kara warned.

  “You won’t be. Just hold tight.” He hung up, handed Reagan’s phone back to her, then whipped his own out to start texting.

  After a minute, Reagan said, “Okay, curiosity is winning. Who are you sending over?”

  “Graham.” Satisfied, he stuffed the phone in his pocket. “She knows him, Zach likes him, and he planned to stay out of the house for a few hours anyway. He’d been debating a movie, but this is going to be more fun. He’s good with it.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Hey.” He put one hand over hers, let his thumb caress the side. She opened under him, laced her fingers with his. “Has Kara ever been one to shrink in the face of motherly duties?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So she’s going to let us know if it’s not okay.” He took a sip of water, not wanting to let go of her hand just yet to eat. “Plus, I added that kid likely has a good video game collection, which means she’ll have a hard time getting rid of Graham.”

  “Men.” Reagan smiled a little before pulling her hand away to twirl some pasta on her fork. “They’re just boys who eat more and kept getting bigger.”

  “Exactly.” He tugged the back of her neck so she leaned in for a sweet kiss. “But you ladies tolerate us. Bless you.”

  * * *

  KARA wrung her hands, caught herself doing it, and forced them behind her back. Then in her pockets. Then clutching the straps of her yoga bag, she walked back to her son’s room.

  He was exactly where she’d left him ten minutes earlier, sprawled on the bed, arms extended straight up, holding a graphic novel above. If he fell asleep for even a second, that book would fall and smack him straight in the nose.

  She knew because she read the exact same way, and had woken up more than once when she’d dropped her book—or worse, her e-reader—on her face.

  “Remember, Graham’s in charge.”

  “Uh-huh,” Zach said without looking away from his book.

  “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you know your list of restrictions.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The main EpiPen is—”

  “With the rest of the meds, like it’s always been.” He put his book over his stomach and gave her an irritated glance upside down. “Mom, I’m ten. I think I’ve got this.”

  Her little boy, all grown up. Or at least, he thought so. “I know. I’m just being a mom. You’ll thank me one day.”

  His snort as he picked up the book informed her he considered that outcome unlikely at best.

  The knock on the door had her turning, just before she leaned back to say, “I love you, Zach.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Boys. Shaking her head, Kara went to answer the door, and let in the babysitter.

  The babysitter, of course, was the most gorgeous man she’d ever met. Graham’s dusky skin and perma-shadow from stubble made her think of pirates sailing the high seas. His hair was always a little longer than most, and probably skirted the edges of regulations. And he was tall, so tall. She’d also seen the man move. He was a true athlete, even with a yoga mat. He made her feel smart, listened to what she said and treated her like a lady.

  He must be kept at arm’s length at all times.

  “Graham.” She opened the door all the way and let him in. “I’m so sorry you got roped into coming over here.”

  “No big. I had to be out of my place for a while, anyway.” He stood inside her tiny living room, making the room shrink just with his presence. He turned a three-sixty to take in the small space. “Nice.”

  “It’s small, but it works for us,” she said, biting her tongue at the defensiveness. He’d just complimented the space, hadn’t he?

  “Hmm,” was all he said, and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Where’s the squirt?”

  “Zach’s in his room, reading. He might come out, or not. He’s big on reading though, and when he goes into the zone, it’s hard to break.” She waited for some taunt, some egghead joke, something that she could take and mull over, something to make her not like him so much.

  “Cool. Lucky you, getting a kid who likes reading.”

  Dammit. Would the man stop being so damn perfect? With a frostier tone than was warranted, she pointed toward the kitchen. “Emergency numbers are on the fridge. He has an EpiPen in the medicine cabinet, which I put a Post-it Note on so you don’t have to dig for it. He knows how to administer it himself, but the instructions are on the box. If you have a minute and want to read through them, that would be great. I also put a list of his allergens on the fridge next to the numbers. He hasn’t eaten dinner yet, but he can make his own. Please don’t feed him anything from outside the house. If you’re hungry though, you can order a pizza or whatever. Just make sure he doesn’t get tempted and have any.” It was the same spiel she’d given all his babysitters since he was
fourteen months old and popped positive on his first allergy test for, well, almost everything.

  Graham looked offended, his dark eyes flashing. “I’m not ordering a pizza to eat it in front of him when he can’t have a slice. That’s cruel. I’ll have what he’s having.”

  “You might regret that. It’s going to be sun butter and jelly on special, not-normal bread,” she warned. No matter what, she still couldn’t get used to non-peanut butters. But she ate them for her son’s sake. Too bad they were twice as expensive.

  “I’ll make the squirt make me a sandwich. If he can eat it, I can eat it. Guys can eat anything.” Walking back to the door, Graham opened it. She tried hard not to notice how the short sleeve of his polo shirt gripped around his biceps when he did that. “Off you go. The menfolk will be fine.”

  “Yeah, Mom.” Zach, emerging from his cocoon, stood beside Graham. “We’re good.” As if in agreement, Graham laid his other hand on Zach’s shoulder, united in pushing the lone female out of their cave for the evening.

  Her son’s chest puffed out just standing next to the Marine. He looked so happy to be in the company of another male, even if he was being—ew, ick—babysat.

  “Fine.” She debated for a half second, then left without trying a hug. It would only embarrass him. So she just added a thank-you for Graham, and closed the door.

  Instinct had her pausing on the doorstep for a moment. She heard her son shout with joy as he yelled, “Come see what I’ve got in my room! Mom just got me a new game,” and Graham’s more deep-voiced answer, then nothing.

  If his father were around more . . . No, shake that one off, Kara. His father chose to not be around, except in very limited doses. So these moments of male bonding were all she had to offer currently. As he grew, she’d have to intentionally find more opportunities like this.

  But for now, it would be enough to hang out for a night with a sun butter–eating Marine and some unwise video games.

  CHAPTER

  14

  “How have you not seen any of the Harry Potter movies?” Greg asked, rubbing her upper arm as she jerked against him, startled by the action on the screen.

  “I’m a purist. How have you not read any of the—oh!” Reagan covered her eyes as something jumped out from the shadows. Her startle reflex was terrible. “Not read any of the Harry Potter books? They’re classics.”

  “Not much of a reader.”

  She didn’t hold it against him. Some might automatically make the leap into “stupid jock” territory, but that was shortsighted of them. Ten minutes with Greg and it was easy to see there was nothing dumb about him.

  “Are you looking forward to your meet next week?”

  “Shh,” he said, squeezing her closer to his side while they watched Harry and his friends battle through the dungeon looking for the Sorcerer’s Stone.

  “You’ve seen it, and I know how it turns out,” Reagan pointed out, which had Greg sighing and turning the volume down. Score one for female logic. “Are you excited?”

  “To go beat up on a few guys in South Carolina?” He made a noise of disagreement, but she could feel his muscles tighten. Or at least the ones pressed against her. He rotated so that his back rested against the arm of the sofa, and her back leaned flat over his chest. She laid her head back and listened to his heartbeat while he thought. “I mean, Paris Island’s team is probably pretty decent. It’s not like us, but it’ll be a good show for the crowd. Good practice for us.” He thought for a moment, then let his hand drift to the nape of her neck, let his fingers slide in just a little to her hairline and play there. “Maybe worried for some of the younger guys.”

  “Worried they can’t keep up?”

  “A few. Others, worried they’ll do too well and won’t know when to pull back.”

  “You’re supposed to treat this like a real match. You’re not meant to pull back.” Or at least, that’s what her packet of information had told her. “Everyone goes in giving one hundred percent.”

  “Yes . . . and no. A few don’t know when to pull back. You give the full goods, until you know the other guy’s done. Now, if it’s a real rival, like during the All Military games, then hey, play on.” He chuckled. “I’m not gonna pull you off an Army guy. But when it’s one of our own, you don’t go for the throat like you would otherwise. When he’s down, he’s down. No need to keep at it so he stays that way.”

  “I see.” She didn’t fully, if she were being honest with herself. Sports weren’t really her thing, ever. But she was doing her best to catch up. “Either way, are you excited to be traveling and seeing new competition?”

  “Excited to get out of the BOQ. . . and into a new BOQ, sure. And ready to see some new blood. We’ll stop there with ‘ready.’”

  He seemed so blasé about the whole thing. So matter-of-fact. “I have to go with you. It’s my first time traveling like this for work. Can I tell you a secret?”

  He wrapped an arm around her, just under her breasts, and squeezed gently. “Shoot.”

  Why did he have to make her feel so safe, so secure, so dainty when he did that? It scrambled her mind like an egg meant for an omelet. “I’m nervous.”

  “Nervous about what?”

  “About messing up. About making the wrong step. I’ve already made mistakes with this whole prank-war thing going on. And now there are protestors, and that stupid article that seems like it’s going viral . . .” She sighed and snuggled tighter against him. He pressed his lips to her temple, and she was ready to tell him her entire life story, even the embarrassing parts. “I’m worried I’m failing, and I won’t know how badly until I walk into work one day and there’s a pink slip in my mailbox.”

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “Oh, really?” She smiled at the fierceness in his voice. The absolutely certainty he could stop it from happening by sheer will and determination alone. “Who’s going to stop it? I was going to ask ‘you and what army?’ but since the answer would clearly be ‘the Marines,’ I’ll let that one stand.”

  “You’re not going anywhere. I’m just getting started with you.” He slid her down just a little, then did some fancy leg work so that she rested on her side, her back to the back of the sofa, their faces an inch apart. He blocked her from rolling off the couch with his own body. “I’m not letting you get away that easily.”

  “You look at me the way you do,” she said, tracing a finger over one of his brows, then the other, “and you say the things you say, and you make me feel not so much . . .”

  “What?” he asked, his voice all but a rumble in his chest.

  “Not so alone out here.”

  As if that were the answer he’d looked for himself, his eyes glowed hot an instant before his mouth came down over hers. He rotated them once more, so she lay flat on her back, and all that kept his weight from pressing into her were his elbows and one knee. The man was a master at the ground work. He should have been an MMA fighter instead.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him more firmly to her. “I want to feel you,” she whispered. He shook his head and tried to prop himself back up, but she nipped his lip. “I’m not a flower, I won’t get crushed. Please. I need to feel you.”

  Tentatively, he rested his body more fully on hers. Oh, God, she needed that. Needed to feel the full weight of him across every inch of her. The hard, thick length of his every pound of muscle pushing at her softness was so delicious she moaned into his mouth. He returned the sound with a groan of his own, pressing his thick erection into the cleft between her legs before letting his tongue sweep in.

  He tasted like the ice cream they’d had after dinner, and his hands rasped over her skin as he pushed her tank top up to sit right below her breasts. It took everything she had not to suck in her stomach, to flex, try to make it feel flatter as his fingers traced over her torso.

  But if he noticed she wasn’t exactly a thin lady, he didn’t seem to mind. With every stroke of his fingers, calloused tips rasping
over her skin, he seemed to thicken against her thigh more. One thumb brushed just under the wire edge of her bra, but no more. It was as if he were teasing them both, holding out until they were nearly burning with the urge to touch everywhere.

  She was thirty seconds away from unhooking her own damn bra when he sat back, relieving her of his weight entirely. She blinked up at the ceiling, jarred from the quick movement. “What . . .”

  Greg stood, on what looked like not-so-sturdy legs, and did a quick once around the living room. She noticed while his back was turned, he shook out his right leg more than once . . . to relieve the pressure against his erection, she assumed.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” he said quickly, back still turned to her.

  “Then get back here. You changed the channel right when it was getting good.”

  “I want to, but I won’t.” He said it through strained vocals, like he was talking around a lump in his throat. He cleared it, then faced her. The massive bulge in front was impossible not to stare at. “Eyes up here, Robilard.”

  Without even a blush, she met his gaze. “You’re not going to tell me you don’t want me, right?”

  “No. And from the way your high beams are flashing, I know you’re feeling the same way.”

  She instinctively reached down to cover her breasts, then realized there was no point. So she brushed her tank top down and hoped to look nonchalant about the whole thing as she sat up. “Is there something the matter?”

  “I’m just thinking,” he said, and started to pace, “that maybe we’re not ready for this step yet.”

  “Second base,” she said dryly. “We’re not ready for second base.”

  “You don’t have to say it like that.” His voice, like his gaze, was dark and not altogether friendly.

  “Greg,” she said with a sigh, “there are high schoolers who move on to second base faster. I know you’ve got your training schedule, and that keeps you busy. And I’ve got work, and all the weirdness that goes with that. But I thought . . .” She held up her hands, then let them fall again. “I thought we were past that. Aren’t we past that?”