Fighting Dirty

Her jaw clenched. Sneering, she asked, “You’re not banging her now?”

“Nope.” He hadn’t been with another woman for some time. To him, a man used to frequent satisfaction, it felt like an eon. Until Rissy, he just couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. “Right now, I’m trying to check your swollen ankle. And yeah, it is swollen.”

Begrudging, she admitted, “I twisted it when I jumped out of the way of the car.”

Fresh rage burned through him. “A car you insist wasn’t trying to hit you.” He peeled away her sock, put his warm hand around her arch and studied her slim ankle.

“Why would anyone want to hit me?”

His gaze lifted to hers. Yeah, that was fear he heard—which maybe explained her antagonism because a woman like Rissy would rather give in to bluster than show anxiety. “No idea,” he lied. He had plenty of ideas. “But maybe it was just some drunken prick who decided to watch you dive for cover. People are twisted.”

Her shoulders relaxed a near-infinitesimal amount. “You think?”

“It’s possible.” He quickly removed her other shoe and sock, then opened the snap and lowered the zipper to her jeans.

“Armie Jacobson, are you trying to get me out of my pants?”

“Yeah.” From angry, to vulnerable, to teasing. He eyed her anew. “How much did you drink?”

“Not much. And come to think of it, I’m starving.”

She hadn’t eaten at Rowdy’s. As preoccupied as he’d been watching her, he’d have noticed. “Lift your hips.”

She did, and he stripped off the jeans. She wore black lacy panties that looked supersexy with the lace top. On stiffened arms, Armie loomed over her. “When you walked into the bar, I damn near got hard.” He lowered down to kiss her brow, her cheek above the road rash, then the corner of her mouth. “You’re always pretty, but I like how you dolled up.”

“For you,” she whispered.

Yeah, he’d figured that out. Armie treated them both to a deep, soft kiss, and though it wasn’t easy, he kept it to just that, no more. “I’m going to get you some ice for your ankle.”

“Okay.” Her hand knotted in his shirt. “Soon as you tell me why women keep texting you and why you haven’t made it clear you’re off the market, for however long we last.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MERISSA KNEW SHE was deflecting. She was shaken, her cheek burned and more than her ankle throbbed. When she’d landed against the curb, it had felt like she’d rattled her entire body. She had a tight grip on Armie’s shirt, keeping him close, not to blame him or start an argument with him. Just to ground herself.

Having sex with him, right now, would go a long way toward making everything else disappear.

Had someone tried to run her over? Maybe.

But she had been daydreaming—about Armie, of course—and not paying attention, and what Armie said made sense; it could have just been a drunken prank.

Although, Rowdy’s was the closest bar and there weren’t many who’d be able to leave his establishment that drunk, not if they intended to drive. Somehow Rowdy always seemed to know and he’d insist people call a cab.

Plus, crazy as it seemed, she thought she might have heard someone laugh as the car zipped past her.

When she shuddered, Armie pulled the blanket from the end of the bed. “You’re chilled? Would you like a warm bath? You could prop your ankle on the tub ledge and ice it—”

“I want a shower, not a bath. And I want something to eat.”

“Okay—”

“And I want an answer.”

He freed her fist from his shirt and sat back, then rubbed both hands over his face. “If I start telling women I’m off-limits, that’s going to give rise to questions. We’re trying to keep this quiet, remember?”

“Ohmigod.” Her aches and pains forgotten, she jerked upright. “You’re keeping all your options open.”

“Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth.” He put a hand around the back of her neck. “You’re the only option I want and I’m trying to protect you.”

Her heart expanded. “Then tell the women you’re off-limits for your fight.”

“That’s a myth, Stretch, and they’ll only feel challenged.”

“Do something, damn it!” She shoved him aside and went to stand. “How would you feel if I was constantly being contacted by—”

As if she’d willed it, her phone began ringing.

Armie narrowed his eyes at her.

“It’s probably Cannon.” Grabbing for her purse at the side of the bed, she dug out the phone, read the screen, and— Oh damn.

“Who is it?” Armie asked silkily, already looking over her shoulder.

“You know it’s Steve.”

“Want me to answer for you?”

“No.” She brushed her thumb over the screen, then said, “Hello?”

“Merissa. How are you?”

Ignoring the heat of Armie’s stare beside her, she cleared her throat. “I’m fine. What do you want?”

“You,” he said immediately. “A second chance.”

“We already covered this.” It didn’t make sense. Steve was not the persistent sort—unless his ego demanded he get her back, since she was the one to walk away from him. “I’ve moved on, and I’m sure you have, too. Please don’t call again.”

“Wait—”

Disconnecting without hearing what he had to say, she tucked the phone back in her purse, then faced Armie. “And that,” she told him, being snippy, “is how it’s done. Maybe you should have taken notes.”

Armie grinned at her. “You’re hot when you’re pissed.” He stood, took her hands and gingerly pulled her to her feet. “If I promise to deter any interested ladies, will you stop giving me the stink eye?”

She blinked. “I’m not.” That sounded so awful. And appropriate.

“So is it a deal?”

She sighed. “You’ll let them know, for whatever reason, that they don’t need to keep checking in?”

He crossed his heart. “Now, why don’t you get your shower while I pull together dinner?”

“I could cook.”

“Let me, okay?” One hand to the back of her head, the other on her waist, he took her mouth in a sweet kiss that lingered, went deeper, turned scorching. His tongue leisurely explored her mouth, and his breathing deepened.

When he slid his hand from her waist, under her shirt and then up, she made a small sound of compliance.

Until he got to her ribs.

Inadvertently flinching away from pain, she said, “Ouch.”

Concerned, Armie said softly, “Let me see.” He peeled up her stretchy top, then muttered, “Ah, hell.”

Rissy peered down at the expanding bruise. “I think that’s where I hit the curb.” Now that she saw it, it hurt even worse, as did her hip. She lifted the waistband of her panties and found another, smaller bruise that had been hidden. “Looks like I landed on a rock, too, maybe.”

“Why didn’t you say something, Stretch?” Showing incredible gentleness, he took her shirt off over her head, unhooked her bra and stripped off her panties.