private time together. He’d enjoyed the closeness...
But he’d yet to enjoy her naked.
Time and circumstances had conspired against him on that one. Just when things had been heating up with Harper, just when it seemed she was ready to say “yes” instead of “not yet,” he’d been offered the fight on the main card in Japan. He’d fought with the SBC before. He wasn’t a newbie.
But always in the prelims, never on the highly publicized, more important main card. Never with such an anticipated event.
In a whirlwind, he’d gone off to a different camp to train with Cannon, getting swept up in the publicity and interviews that went with a main card bout...
Until, just a few lousy days ago—so fucking close—he’d miscalculated in practice and sustained a deep cut from his sparring partner’s elbow.
A cut very near his eye that required fifteen stitches.
It made him sick to think of how quickly he’d been pronounced medically ineligible. Before he’d even caught his breath the SBC had picked his replacement.
That lucky bastard was now in Japan, ready to compete.
And Gage was left in Ohio. Instead of fighting for recognition, he fought his demons—and got tweaked by Harper.
He went after her, calling down the empty hallway, “I am not pathetic.”
From inside a storage room, he heard her loud “Ha!” of disagreement.
Needing a target for his turbulent emotions and deciding Harper was perfect—in every way—he strode into the room.
And promptly froze.
Bent at the waist, Harper had her sexy ass in the air while she pulled disposable cups off the bottom shelf.
His heart skipped a beat. Damn, she was so hot. Except for bad timing, he’d be more familiar with that particular, very perfect part of her anatomy.
Not sleeping with her was yet another missed opportunity, one that plagued him more now that he didn’t have the draining distraction of an upcoming fight. His heart started punching a little too hard. Anger at his circumstances began to morph into red-hot lust as he considered the possibilities.
But then, whenever he thought of Harper, lust was the least confusing of his emotions.
Now that he was home, he’d hoped to pick up where they’d left off. Only Harper had antagonism mixed with her other, more welcoming signals, so he had to proceed with caution.
“What are you doing?” he asked, because that sounded better than saying, “Damn, girl, I love your ass.”
Still in that tantalizing position, she peeked back at him, her brown hair swinging around her face, her enormous blue eyes direct. With her head down that way, blood rushed to her face and made her freckles more noticeable.
There were nights he couldn’t sleep for wondering about all the places she might have freckles. Many times he’d imagined stripping those clothes off her, piece by piece, so he could investigate all her more secret places.
Like him, she was a conservative dresser. Despite working at a secondhand boutique clothing store she always looked casual and comfortable. Her jeans and T-shirts gave an overview of sweet curves, but he’d love to get lost in the details if he could ever get her naked.
She straightened with two big boxes in her hands. “Armie had small juice containers out for the kids, but of course adults are going to want something different to drink. Same with the snacks. So I’m changing up the food spread.”
Due to her schedule at the boutique, Harper had been unable to attend the party with the youngsters, but she’d sent in snacks ahead of time. She had a knack for creating healthy treats that looked fun and got gobbled up. Some of the options had looked really tasty, but if she wanted to switch them out, he could at least help her.
She glanced at the slim watch on her wrist. “Lots to do before everyone shows up for the prelims.”
Since pride kept him at the rec center anyway... “What can I do to help?”
Her smile came slow and teasing. “All kinds of things, actually. Or—wait—do you mean with the setup?”
“I...what?” Was that a come-on? He couldn’t tell for sure—nothing new with Harper. Clearly she’d been pissed at him about something, but now, at her provocative words, his dick perked up with hopes of reconciliation.
Snickering, she walked up to him, gave him a hip bump, then headed out of the room. “Come on, big boy. You can give me a hand with the folding tables.”
As confusion warred with disgruntlement, he trailed after her. “All right, fine.” Then he thought to remind her, “But I’m not pathetic.”
Turning to face him, she walked backward. “Hit home with that one, did I?”
“No.” Yes.
“I can help you to fake it if you want.”
Despite the offhand way she tossed that out, it still sounded suggestive as hell. “Watch where you’re going.” Gage reached out, caught her arm and kept her from tripping over the edge of a mat.
Now that he had ahold of her, he decided to hang on. Where his fingers wrapped around her arm just above her elbow, she was soft and sleek and he couldn’t stop his thumb from playing over the warm silk of her skin.
“Thanks,” she said a little breathlessly, facing forward again and treading on.
“So.” Though he walked right beside her, Gage couldn’t resist leaning back a bit to watch the sway of her behind. “How would we fake it? Not that I need to fake shit, but you’ve got me curious.”
Laughing, she leaned into him, smiled up at him, and damn it, he wanted her. Bad.
Always had, probably always would.
He’d had his chance before he left for the new camp. Even with the demands of training, he’d wanted her while he was away. Now he was back and the wanting boiled over.
Her head perfectly reached his shoulder. He stood six-three, nine inches taller than her, and he outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds.
But for a slim woman, she packed one hell of a punch. “Harper,” he chided. She was the only person he knew who seemed to take maniacal delight in tormenting him.
Rolling her eyes, she said, “You are such a grouch when you’re being pathetic.” She stepped away to arrange the cups on a long table placed up against the wall. “Everyone feels terrible for you. And why not? We all know you’d have won. Maybe even with a first-round knockout.”
Did she really believe that? Or was she just placating him? “Darvey isn’t a slouch.” Gage wouldn’t want an easy fight. What the hell would that prove?
“No,” she agreed, “but you’d have creamed him.”
“That was the plan.” So many times
