Rogue - Michele Mannon Page 0,17

across my cheek. “Reason two: I knew it the second I laid eyes on you. You and I, fireball, are going to be a thing.”

I jump like he’s pinch another nipple and punch him in the side of his face. “That’s goddamn presumptuous of you.”

Quick as a whip, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in tight, slamming my body into his. “When I want something, I take it.”

“Do something or get out of the ring,” someone bellows.

“Say yes.” He flashes me that grin. Holy hell, the man’s lost his mind.

“Yes to what? Listening to your insanity?”

“Becoming my lover.”

God, who says this? Yet the way the word rolls off his tongue has me screaming yes repeatedly inside my head. Thank sweet hell it’s the voice of reason who answers him. “I don’t even know you.”

“You will. I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Have you been hitting the Kool-Aid again?”

That makes him chuckle.

I feel like the winds swept straight through me and stole my ability to breath. A charmer through and through. With charm enough to con any woman, from Shelby to Sydney, out of her underwear and into his bed.

“Good. We’re in agreement—”

“—I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Are you planning on sticking around for Hell Camp?”

“Yes.”

He smirks. “Then there’s time for me to persuade you.”

God, he’s maddening. And irresistible. “If you let me win, you lose on both accounts. If you win . . .”

“Have you no faith?” He bloody winks at me. “I’m going to step back. I want you to punch me as hard as you can in the face. Got it?”

“You’re insane. I’m not strong enough to knock you out. They’ll never believe it.”

“It’s you and me, fireball.” I feel him lightly kiss my ear. “Do it.”

He shifts back but remains within arms reach. “Do your worst,” he thumps his chest and shouts like a crazy man.

The crowd erupts with cheers. Jaxson. Jaxson. Not one of them is rooting for me.

My victory is going to taste all the better.

Except Jaxson’s rooting for me, his actions prove it. He didn’t have to throw down his rope or take care not to hurt me. Still, I’m puzzled as to why. Sure he’s aiming to get inside my panties. Yeah, he’s a smooth-talking stud with a potty mouth that rivals his dirty, sinful body. Maybe there’s something to be said about lust at first sight. But whatever the reason, it has me thinking that together, Hell Camp might turn out being a sweet slice of heaven.

Tightening my fist, I pull back my arm then, using my body weight, send a punch straight into his face. Not aiming at his nose—although breaking it would have given me more credibility. Instead I hit his cheek, just below the eye.

He stumbles back and, giving a performance that would earn him a star on Hollywood Boulevard, tumbles back onto the mat. Acting like I’ve done him serious damage when anyone with their head screwed on correctly would know I barely hurt him.

Still, Hayden speaks. “I’ve seen enough. There’ll be a ten-minute break then we’ll finish up with the individual fights. And, for Christ’s sake, someone crank up the air-conditioning.”

I don’t budge, but stand there, staring down at Jaxson. Thinking about him. Thinking about the possibility of us.

But first things first. “Jaxson,” I murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t drink the water.”

4

Paris

My pillow smells like him.

I nuzzle in closer, inhaling the familiar woodsy, lemony scent. I never asked Jaxson about it, if he spent his days outdoors then washed up with a lemon-infused artisan soap, its fragrance never failing to turn me on. Except for now, when all I feel is emptiness.

I never meant to hurt you.

My pain is ever so present. Like a horrible case of static cling, constantly sticking with me and, with every movement, every gesture, every inhalation of breath, shooting tiny, incessant pings of pain straight to my heart. Wincing, I roll onto my back and, ignoring the numbness caused by my bound wrists, push myself into a seated position on the mattress.

I take in my surroundings. A chair’s been pulled up next to the bed and a black ski mask now occupies the space. It’s dusk and part of the bedroom is cast in darkness, the natural light fading as the sun sets over Paris. I’m alone; no sound comes from the adjacent bathroom. The fact that this hotel room has an attached bathroom, and not the standard shared amenities Europeans are accustomed to, tells me my kidnapper’s pockets are line with greenbacks