zipper and pull my panties to the side. Done.
Before I lost my head and did something insane, I tried again to return to his thigh.
Maximo wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing my back against his front. His voice rumbled right in my ear when he ordered, “Watch the fight.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t.
“Relax.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t.
He bit down on the spot that already displayed his mark. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
I was.
Maximo went silent, and so did I. I forced myself to watch the fight because I had no clue when I’d be able to see another one, let alone one so good.
Kid connected a killer right hook to Finisher’s jaw. He took the advantage, coming on strong and landing blow after blow. His technique was perfect, each punch landing at a different location, making it hard for Finisher to block while also inflicting damage to a widespread area.
The crowd went wild, growing louder with each show of unfettered brutality. Like the two previous bouts, the ref was there, but he didn’t interfere. Not even when Finisher was being held up by the ropes rather than his own two feet.
My hands clutched Maximo’s forearms as I stared at Finisher’s gloves.
Come on, man, tap. Kid is not going to stop.
Tap, tap, tap!
I leaned forward, unsure if he was even conscious and able to tap out.
Kid’s fist connected with Finisher’s eye, tearing open a cut until blood sprayed Kid’s face and chest.
And Kid laughed.
A twisted, cruel, gleeful laugh.
A chill went down my spine at the sound.
I must not have been the only one to realize how crazy he was because Finisher finally tapped.
Almost everyone erupted in applause, though there was some angry bitching from those who’d lost their hefty bets.
Clapping until my hands stung, my cheers cut off suddenly when Maximo spanned my hips and ground my ass into him, lifting his hips to press harder. “Ready to go, dove?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe?
Using his hold to lift me to my feet, he kept me close so when he stood, my back was pressed to his front. His arm went around my chest, keeping me pinned to him as we waited.
Kid catapulted off the top rope like he’d joined the WWE before jogging over. He shook Maximo’s hand before gently booping my nose. “Thanks for the good luck, doll.”
I’d have congratulated him, but Maximo spoke first. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.’
“Cool.” With the strut of a winner, he headed toward the long hallway, stopping occasionally when someone grabbed his attention.
Especially if that someone was of the female variety.
Maximo released his hold on me and took my hand. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone as we walked, just lifted his chin in the briefest acknowledgement. When we reached the crowd that’d formed at the exit, security guards I hadn’t noticed forced a path for us.
At least the arena is safe in its lawlessness.
Unlocking his SUV, Maximo opened my door but didn’t meet my eyes once. He got in, started the car, and began driving.
I’d thought his withdrawn mood was because he was preoccupied with making sure the night went smoothly. As far as I could tell, it had, yet he was still on edge.
Giving him space, I looked out the window as we made the long drive in awkward silence.
Only once we were home and standing in the foyer did he finally break it. “Did you change your mind yet?”
Startled, I asked, “About what?”
“This. Us.”
“What?”
Speaking slowly, he enunciated each word. “Did you change your mind about us yet?”
Yet?
Was he trying to scare me away?
That asshole.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Worth Every Second
Juliet
RAGE SIMMERED IN me, and I worked to tamp it down. I would not show him how he affected me. I would not feed his unreal, massive ego by letting him see how crushed I was. I would not be pathetic and weak by begging him to keep me.
“Is that what you want?” I asked.
It was his turn to be confused. Or play dumb, I wasn’t sure which. “What?”
“Did you bring me there to scare me away?” My hold on my temper slipped, and I shook with anger. “Were you hoping I’d go running because you didn’t have the balls—”
“Watch yourself, Juliet.”
“Go to hell.”
His eyes narrowed. “Been there all night, worrying you’d change your mind when you saw what I do.”
That stole some fire from my belly, but I clutched to it. Anger was easier than sadness. It was a hell of a lot safer than hope.
I crossed my arms. “Why would a few boxing matches make me change my mind?”
“Those