Holding Strong

Another squeeze—this one of excitement, he was sure.

He kissed her jaw. His voice rough as gravel, he said, “You want more, don’t you?” Please say yes. His restraint was about to unravel.

She shifted against him, and moaned, “Yesss...”

Coming down to an elbow, he scooped one arm under her hips for a better hold, and thrust in a little harder, a little deeper.

Almost there.

As he filled her up and then some, her heels dug into his thighs, maybe in protest, but he was lost. He felt the giving of her body as she accepted him, knew she squirmed to adjust, and it destroyed him.

He watched the movement of her breasts as he rocked them both, saw her face as, amazingly, she neared yet another release. Wanting that a lot, he kept up a steady rhythm, each stroke harder, taking him deeper, and when he knew she was ready to come he encouraged her, doing his best to hang on, determined to feel the grip of her body as she climaxed, this time with him buried deep.

Legs wrapped around him and eyes squeezed tight, she bowed her body hard. “Denver.”

Fuck yeah. “That’s it, baby. That’s it.” As soon as he felt her winding down, he gave up the fight. Driving into her one last time, he held himself deep, groaning harshly as the pumping release drained away his tension.

By small degrees, he sank down onto Cherry’s soft, giving body.

He knew he should move off her, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

She had both hands knotted in his hair.

From the inside out, he felt like smiling.

Her fingers loosening, she kissed his chest and went limp.

Lifting his head, he looked at her—and the smile turned into a grin. Ms. Cherry Peyton was dead to the world.

Carefully, Denver turned to the side of her and sprawled out, welcoming the cool air that washed over his damp, heated skin.

Lord have mercy, she was incredible, even hotter than he’d hoped for. His heartbeat still rocked him and getting enough air into his lungs wasn’t easy, but he had to touch her.

He rested a palm on her silky upper thigh, amazed to find her skin still so warm.

She didn’t stir.

Because lethargy pulled at him, too, he forced himself from the bed. Give him an hour and he’d be ready to go again, so he needed to run to his room to get his stuff, which included more condoms. As he stepped into his jeans commando, he glanced around her room, looking for the key card, but didn’t see it anywhere. Not on the desk, the dresser, the nightstand. He eyed her purse on the desk chair, then her utterly relaxed body.

No reason to wake her, he decided, and he opened her purse, rummaging around a wallet, comb, cell phone, phone book and a few makeup items. No key card. He peeked in the wallet. She carried only forty bucks on her, a few credit cards and ID. Flipping open the small phone book, he finally found the key card jammed inside between the pages—and a listing of phone numbers for all the fighters.

Cannon, Armie, Stack, Miles...his number was there, too, though she’d never called him.

Had she called any of the other guys?

That damn jealousy nudged in, disturbing his peace of mind. Why the hell did she need contact info for men she wasn’t dating? He knew for a fact none of them had been out with her. Their circle was a close one. He’d have heard. Hell, he’d have seen.

Feeling like a damned snoop, he dropped the phone book back in her purse.

If she’d had plans to play the field, he’d convince her otherwise. Together they were combustible; he’d keep her so satisfied she wouldn’t even think of other men.

With that decision made, he gave another quick glance at her still sleeping form. The ways she affected him... He shook his head.

Forcing himself to head to the door, he slipped silently out of the room. Despite his current disgruntlement, he wanted her again. At times, he thought he might always want her.

Soon as possible, he’d spell out to her exactly what he needed: exclusivity—and no flirting with other men.

* * *

THE BANGING ON the door caused Cherry’s heavy eyelids to lift. Her head hurt, her throat was scratchy, and she only wanted to go back to sleep.

But the knocking didn’t stop.

When she sat up, the room seemed to swim around her, causing her stomach to pitch. Whoa. She held on to the mattress a moment to get her bearings.

Shivers wracked her as she looked around the room in confusion—and realized she was naked.

Oh yeah. Denver.

Where had he gone? Her brows pinched, making her head pound harder as she tried to figure out how she’d gone from drowning in pleasure to waking alone and feeling so wretched.

More knocking sounded and, thinking that might be Denver, she tried to get herself together.

Wrapping the sheet around her body she made her way across the room, every step an effort. When she peered out the small security hole, she saw Armie instead of Denver.

With Denver gone, immediate worries settled in and she pulled open the door. “What’s the matter?”

Until she spoke, she didn’t realize how croaky her voice would sound. She tried clearing her throat, but that just made it worse.

Armie had his hand raised to knock again, his mouth open to speak—but the second he saw her, his gaze dropped to roam quickly over her sheet-shrouded body.

Brows lifting, his gaze finally met hers. “Damn, Cherry, way to stop my heart.”

Feeling more miserable by the second, she slumped against the door frame to stay upright. “Where’s Denver?”

“He’s not with you?” He peered in around her with a frown. “Because honestly, doll, you look like he’s been here.”

Confused, she looked around the room, trying to sort it out. “He was, but I must have fallen asleep.”

“Yeah?” Grinning, Armie sidled in uninvited. “So you two were together? That’s what Stack told me.”

Walking away, Cherry went to the bed and more or less collapsed to sit on the side. Staying upright took great concentration. Freezing, she hugged the sheet tighter and tried for a deep breath. But that hurt most of all.

“What’s wrong?” Armie approached cautiously. “You’re not going to keel over, are you?”

“No. I just don’t feel well.”

He put the back of his hand to her forehead, then whistled. Crouching down in front of her, he tried to see her averted face. “You’re burning up.”

Wrong. “I’m freezing.”

“That’d be the fever.” He reached around her for the blanket, and that’s when Denver walked in carrying an overnight case. He drew up short at the sight of Cherry on the bed in a sheet, Armie touching her.

Even through bleary eyes, she read the suspicion in his gaze. Before he could speak, she did. “Where did you go?”

He dropped a duffel bag and crossed his arms. “I went to get my things.”

So cold that she couldn’t stop shaking, she wanted only to be alone. In her throaty voice, she said, “Will you two leave? I need to get dressed.”

“Dressed to go where?”

“Back to bed?” She seriously wasn’t up to anything else.

Denver’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve already seen you.”

“Lucky bastard,” Armie murmured, and then with a disapproving frown, “But I haven’t seen her, so walk me out. I came to see you anyway.”

Denver hesitated, studying her a moment, but finally he nodded. Thank God. A minute longer and she’d have crawled back under the covers just to hide.

As soon as the door closed, she dragged herself out of the bed and found a T-shirt and panties. Shivering almost uncontrollably, she went into the bathroom. One look in the mirror and hiding became a real possibility.

Such a mess. Wild hair, ruined makeup, red eyes and a pale face.

But she flat-out didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Just getting her shirt and underwear on proved a trial. No way could she wash off her makeup or tidy her hair. By the time she staggered out of the bathroom, she felt weak as a baby. And that made her weepy.

This was supposed to be her big night with Denver—and here she’d gone and gotten sick.

* * *

“FIRST,” ARMIE SAID, the second the door closed, “get that shit out of your head.”

Knowing exactly what he meant, Denver said, “Fine. Then tell me why you’re here.”

“Not to hit on her, and you know it.”

For ten seconds longer, they had a stare-off.

And Denver realized he was being absurd.

Not only was Armie trustworthy, he didn’t go for girls like Cherry. Hell, for the most part he avoided them.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he dropped back against the wall. What he felt for Cherry blew his control. He had to get a grip, and fast, before he made an ass of himself.

Or rather, more of an ass. “Right. Sorry. I know she’s not your type.”

“Didn’t say that.”

New volatility demolished Denver’s relaxed posture.

With a half grin, Armie admitted, “If you hadn’t stepped up, I’d have been all over it.”

“Bullshit.” Armie’s preferences were well known—because he made them known. He was congenial with all women, but made it clear that he divided the fairer sex into three categories: women up for grabs because they were fast, nasty and rough around the edges, or in other words, perfect for his tastes; nice women, which he considered all fluff and uninteresting; and women related to anyone he knew, which put them off-limits—like Cannon’s sister, Merissa.

Although Denver thought Armie might fight a losing battle with the last.

Through his teeth, Denver said, “I thought you didn’t like nice girls.”

With a shrug, Armie murmured, “Cherry is a different type of nice.”

Didn’t he know it. She was the perfect mix of sweet and sexy. Her brand of nice could give any guy a boner.

Determined to set Armie straight right now, Denver came forward in a single aggressive step—

And Armie laughed at him.

Far from amused, Denver warned him, “You’re pushing your luck.”

“And you’re being entertaining.” Armie shook his head, then said with mock pity, “I can be a prick, Denver, I know. But I wouldn’t do that.”

Shit. No, he wouldn’t. Denver retreated with a deep breath that didn’t even come close to helping. “Yeah, I do know it. Sorry again.”

“Tell it to her, not me.”

“Already planning that particular chat with her.”

Snorting, Armie said, “Good luck with that.”

“Meaning what?”

“You’re coming on too strong, man. But then, hey, who am I to say? Maybe she’s into that caveman shit.”

If Armie didn’t stop being so deliberately provoking, he’d flatten him just for the fun of it.

With a clap on the shoulder, Armie said, “I can see you’ll enjoy unleashing that big badass protective streak tonight, huh?”

Shaking his head, Denver scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s why I’m here, actually.” Going far too serious for Denver’s peace of mind, Armie said, “I overheard some stuff and I figured you should know. When I didn’t find you in your room, Stack said you’d be here.”

“What stuff?” More than anything, he wanted to get back inside with Cherry. He’d lose his edge in her soft body and then maybe he could feel like himself again instead of suffering so many chaotic emotions.

“I went to my car, but Havoc, the sneaky bastard, was hanging around there, so instead I went back toward the bar—”

“You dodged Havoc? Jesus man, just talk to him already.”

“And,” Armie went on with emphasis, ignoring both the interruption and the derision, “off to the side of the bar, three guys were talking about Cherry.”

Forgetting Havoc, Denver straightened. “What do you mean, they were talking about her?”

Armie rubbed the back of his neck. “See, that’s the troubling part. It sounded all covert and underhanded, so I got closer.”

“What did they say?”

“Something about having to see her, but knowing she wouldn’t welcome them, so they’d have to catch her off guard then force the issue.”

None of that made sense, but still it pissed him off. “You’re sure they were talking about my Cherry?”

Armie grinned. “Already claimed her, huh?”

“Armie—”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so. See, when I heard the biggest one use her name, I interrupted. Not like Cherry is a real common name, ya know?”

Figured Armie would get involved. “What happened?”

“I asked if they were talking about Cherry Peyton. You should have seen their faces. They were busted and knew it. The youngest one got all shifty and asked if I knew her. I said yes, and he asked what room she was in.”

When they traveled together, the group always shared room numbers for emergencies, but he knew Armie wouldn’t give that info to an unknown. “I hope you told him to fuck off.”

“Those exact words, actually.”

Impatient, Denver glared at him. “Jesus man, it’s like pulling teeth. Spit it out already, will you?”

Armie shrugged. “The biggest one—who, by the way, is bigger than you—tried to insist that I spill my guts. And by insist, I mean he went ugly real fast. Actually grabbed my shoulder and tried slamming me to the brick wall.”

“Stupid.”

“Yeah. But the dumbest part? The oldest one pulled a knife.”

“Jesus,” Denver breathed again. His brain scrambled, wondering what the men wanted with Cherry.

“Punches were thrown. I kneed the knife wielder in the balls. Decked the other one. Some other people got in on it and the oldest of the three called a halt. The cowards were going to limp off but I figured you’d want some answers, right?”

He didn’t give Denver a chance to reply.

“So I...insisted.”

“You insisted?”

“Yeah. I mean, Cherry’s one of us, right? Like you said, she’s your Cherry. And if they meant to hassle her—”

Jumping past all that, Denver asked, “What’d you find out?”

“They claim to be related to her.” Armie heaved a sigh. “And given how they told it, I sort of believe them. I mean, they were snotty about it, like maybe defiant. I dunno. I’d have grilled them more, but Havoc nosed in and trapped me.”

Damn. Lousy timing. “He interfered?”

“Not really.” Now evasive, Armie glanced at the door. “You aren’t going to rush in there and take care of her?”

Of all the... “That’s none of your damn business.”

Armie’s smile cracked. “Yeah, see, I didn’t mean in the sack. I meant because she’s sick.”

Denver gave him a blank stare.

“She has a fever, man.” And then, “You didn’t know?”

“No.” Damn it, he’d thought she was too warm, but he’d still been wallowing in satisfaction and not thinking straight—or rather, he’d mostly been thinking about a repeat performance.

Fists low on his hips, Armie frowned at him. “Why the hell did you think I was feeling her head? Not exactly what I zero in on, you know.”

Shoving the door open again, Denver stepped in to find Cherry back in the bed with the covers pulled all the way up to her ears. Even from across the length of the room, he could see her shivering.

His heart turned over as he strode to her. Sitting beside her on the bed, he smoothed back her hair. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small raspy voice without opening her eyes. “I think I’m sick.”

Heat poured off her. “Yeah, baby, you definitely are.” He realized Armie had followed him in. Ignoring him, he asked, “Have you taken anything?”

“Don’t have anything. I just want to sleep.”

She’d said earlier that she had a headache, and she hadn’t wanted to eat. She’d been unsteady on her feet—and he’d assumed she’d drank too much.

Armie shifted closer. “Want me to go grab some stuff before I head out?”

Head out? Denver turned to him. “You’re not staying ’til morning?”

“Now that both Havoc and that crazy chick know where to find me, it’s best if I just get on the road.”

With a roll of his eyes, Denver said, “I thought you were taking the girl to her room.”

“Did that, then left. But she followed me.”

Cherry made a choked sound and Armie eyed her with interest. “Don’t expire, honey. Turned out she mostly just wanted me to talk dirty to her.”

She cracked open one eye. “Bet you’re good at that.”

Smiling, Armie said, “Yeah.”

“Here’s a news flash,” Denver interjected, just to keep the two of them from teasing in front of him. “Havoc can find you at the rec center, too.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t bother coming to Ohio.” Looking past Denver, Armie studied Cherry with concern. “Something for fever? Anything else?”

Again Denver stroked her hair away from her face, put his mouth to her forehead, and flinched. “The gift shop is closed.”

“So I’ll make a run to the store. Not a problem.”

“You don’t mind?” Denver didn’t want to leave her.

Pushing herself up against the headboard, Cherry huddled a little tighter and, teeth chattering, said, “You can both go. I can take care of myself.” That statement ended with a cough.

Which Denver had been expecting.

He needed to get her fever down. While walking Armie to the door, he rattled off a list of things for him to grab. When he reached for his wallet, Armie refused him.

“You paid for my drinks. We’ll call it even.”

“Thanks.” Soon as he left, Denver went into the bathroom and dampened a washcloth. When he headed back, Cherry watched him with alarm.

“What are you going to do?”

“Smothering a fever won’t help anything, babe. You need to lose the blanket.”

“No.”

The demonic tone might have amused him at any other time. But not now. She looked miserable and it twisted his heart.

He sat beside her again. Putting the damp cloth on the nightstand, he took hold of her blanket.

“Denver, no,” she whimpered.

“Trust me, okay?” Relentlessly he wrested the blanket from her, but let her keep the sheet—for now. “I’ll make you more comfortable.”

Around more coughing, she growled, “You’re not a damn doctor.”

“My father is.”

That stalled her. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He rarely shared his family history. No point to it. But if conversation helped her to relax, hell, he’d tell her fairy tales if she wanted to hear them. “He has his own practice.”

While she licked very dry lips and thought about that, he stroked the cool cloth over her face and then her neck.

At first she sucked in a breath. A second later she leaned into his hand.

If, as he suspected, she had the bug that’d been going around, sex was off the table for at least a week. It’d take her that long to start feeling human again.

Her hair was smashed on one side, frazzled out on the other. And he’d never seen her makeup so wrecked. But he wanted to hold her close and care for her, and for however long it took for her to get well, he wanted to be with her. With or without her looking her usual irresistible self.

With or without sex.

Armie had great instincts and if he didn’t trust the guys claiming to be her family, then Denver didn’t trust them, either. So at least for now he had a damn good reason to stick close—beyond the fact that for the first time in his life, a woman had him in over his head and he knew it.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN DENVER TUGGED her sheet away, too, and then urged her against his body, bone-deep chills had Cherry trying to burrow closer. “This is awful,” she mumbled.

“Me holding you?”

Never that. His attention was the most wonderful thing to ever happen to her.

But the timing was the worst.

Almost too drained to reply, she whispered, “You seeing me like this.” When he lifted up the back of her T-shirt, she braced herself. The first touch of that cloth felt like ice on her spine and she hissed in a breath that brought on a nasty coughing fit.

He stroked her, rocked her, made soft shushing sounds—those same husky sounds he’d made while holding her legs open and gently squeezing into her.

Remembering his size, the delicious sensation of being filled, Cherry ducked her face. “This sucks so badly.”

“I’m glad I’m here with you.” Holding her hair up with one hand, the cool cloth in the other, he stroked it from her nape all the way down her back to the top of her barely there underwear. “And I love your panties.”

She groaned. “If I’d known I was going to be sick—”

“Don’t say you wouldn’t have worn them.”

“I don’t own any other kind.” But by God, she’d have bought some briefs if she’d known it wouldn’t do her any good to tempt him.

He went still, then hugged her carefully before easing her to her back on the bed. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

She reached for the sheet, but he stopped her, saying again, “Trust me.”

Trusting him had nothing to do with the teeth-rattling shivers. “Hurry.”

She watched through gritty eyes as he went into the bathroom to rinse out the cloth.

Trying to concentrate on something other than her discomfort, she rasped, “Tell me about your dad.”

After a long pause, he said, “He’s a terrific doctor. Well respected.” He returned in less than half a minute and again sat beside her hip. He started on her legs, and sure enough, some of the awful chills let up so that she mostly felt lethargic and very achy all over.

She studied Denver’s face. With his head bent down, his wavy hair hung forward, concealing his high cheekbones. This late in the day, he had a very appealing beard shadow on his jaw and chin. His nose was narrow with a slight crook from once being broken. Long lashes framed his amazing topaz eyes.

And his mouth, firm and sexy... “Does he look like you?”

“He’s as tall as me,” Denver remarked while working to cool her down. “Athletic, but never competed.”

“Meaning he’s not all buff like you.”

Denver smiled. “Same features, but his coloring is different. Lighter than mine. He’s fit.”

As he leaned over her legs, she lifted a hand and stroked her fingers through his shaggy hair. Jogging under the afternoon sun had added golden streaks to the light brown color. It was just long enough to be held in a rubber band when he fought. “Bet he wears his hair different.”

“Military short.” He lifted one leg and moved the cool cloth behind her knee. “He doesn’t say much about my hair, but I know he doesn’t like it. My stepmother does, though.”

Cherry looked from his hair to his face and saw his lean jaw tighten. “Your stepmother?”

He tensed, then suddenly turned and lifted the front of her shirt all the way above her breasts. “Yeah.” For just a moment he cupped his large hand over her left breast, his thumb teasing dangerously close to her nipple. “You are so damned pretty.”

A sweet talker—who wanted to change the subject. “I look terrible.”

He bent to her breast for a soft kiss, almost stopping her heart. “You just look sick, honey—but not here.” He kissed her very briefly again, the press of his warm mouth gentle, and then he straightened. Gaze riveted, he touched the cloth over her upper chest, around each breast, down to her belly.

She squirmed, both from the coolness of the touch and from the absorbed way he looked at her body.

Tears burned her eyes and she sniffled. “I wish I wasn’t sick, damn it.”

One brow lifted. “I wish you weren’t, either.”

Melancholy weighed heavy on her, and she knew she had to ask. “Will this be it?”

With the cloth held still high on her inner thigh, his gaze locked on hers. “Come again?”

Scrambling away from his touch, she pushed her shirt down and pulled the sheet over her. Shoving her ratty hair back, she sniffled, feeling so dreadful it was almost unbearable. “It’s taken me forever to get you here, and now—” That awesome accusation got interrupted with harsh coughing that hurt all the way through to her back.

Denver left the bed to fetch a juice from the in-room bar.

“Don’t,” she wheezed. “It’ll cost a fortune.”