by Shayla Black
Horrible mistake.
Agony knifed through my body. The room began to spin. Stars danced behind my eyes. A cold sweat enveloped me. My stomach pitched. I bit back a wail and melted into the couch, frantically gulping in air and willing myself not to puke.
No way could I physically defend myself. As I gently rested my pounding head against the couch, that reality spread like a cancer. I was helpless. I fought the urge to cry.
Ryder
Standing in the kitchen, stirring the stew bubbling on the stove, I listened for any sign the girl was rousing in the other room. She’d been out too long.
Suddenly, I heard the rustle of fabric. Relief washed through me. Lowering the flame on the stove, I hurried to the great room, but as I rounded the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The petite beauty was sitting up, head tipped back, eyes closed. Her long, inky mane spilled over her shoulders. Now that I could really see her? Jesus, she was beautiful. But the tear trickling down her cheek damn near ripped my heart out.
I needed to get her some pain meds, but my feet refused to move. I couldn’t peel my gaze from her delicate features. Something about this girl filled me with déjà vu. Eyes narrowing, I studied her intently.
As if sensing my stare, she lifted her head and slowly turned my way.
Our eyes locked. The air in my lungs froze. My heart skipped a beat before exploding against my ribs.
Had I finally gone crazy and started hallucinating?
I whipped my gaze to the brown-eyed girl in the photo on the mantel, then glanced back at the woman on the sofa. But there was no denying who she was. How had I been so fucking blind?
Katiana.
Victor Markov’s daughter was all grown up—and even more tempting than she’d been at fifteen, when I’d had no business lusting after the budding beauty. Of course, that hadn’t stopped me. Not noticing the little vixen had been impossible since she’d constantly sent me inviting smiles and hungry stares. As if her artless flirtations hadn’t been enough, her not-so-subtle invitations for me to use her innocent body to fulfill all my dirtiest fantasies had nearly driven me insane.
I’d laughed off her advances and waved away her sexual curiosity. What else could I do? I might have been a horny twenty-eight-year-old cage fighter, but I wasn’t a fucking pedophile—not that Katiana had seemed at all childlike. Besides, if Victor had known the lurid things I dreamed about doing to his precious mishka, he would have cut off my balls with a rusty knife.
But threats of incarceration and death by castration hadn’t been enough to keep me from fisting my hungry cock while fantasizing alone in bed each night. No, I first imagined Katiana’s sweet, virgin cream spilling over my taste buds as I tongue-fucked her into oblivion. Then I obsessed about coating my dick with her hot, slick nectar before I squeezed into her tight, virgin pussy and claimed her fragile hymen, becoming the first and last man inside her as I taught her all about screaming sin. Every time a scalding load splattered across my chest, self-loathing quickly followed. The guilt and shame left me feeling like the worst pervert on the planet.
It had taken me a while—months of soul searching and solitude—to understand I’d been so fixated on her because I’d been in love.
As I stared at a grown-up Katiana now, my reaction to her wasn’t much different. Sure, her features were a bit more defined, thanks to maturity. Though she’d blossomed into a stunning beauty, she still had that ball-churning air of innocence. And I still wanted her so fucking bad.
But besides being lush and alluring, she was finally legal.
Cock straining, I drank her in as she dragged a slow stare up my muscled body, well-honed by the elements. Her gaze felt like the caress I’d ached for years ago—until I realized my rustic clothing, shaggy hair, and full, wiry beard had her plump lips twisting with repulsion.
Clearly, she didn’t recognize me, which was probably for the best. Then again, why would she? The cocky, well-groomed, six-time UFC Heavyweight Champion she’d crushed on was long gone.
I gritted my teeth. I’d avoided mirrors these last three years for a reason, but I knew I barely resembled a human now. I was more like an animal in multiple ways. But the man whose face had been plastered on sports magazines and cereal boxes was never coming back.
He was dead.
At least Katiana thought so. Hell, the whole world did. It was better for everyone if she continued believing that.
For now, I’d play the benevolent hermit who happened to save her and continue to protect her, as I’d been doing from afar all these years.
“How much pain are you in?” My voice was rusty and brittle from lack of use.
She tensed, terror flaring in her eyes. To her credit, Katiana didn’t crumple. She held up a warning hand. “Stay where you are. Don’t come any closer or I’ll have to hurt you.”
Hurt me? I arched a brow and bit back a smile.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here,” she continued. “But this cabin is mine. You can’t just break in and waltz around the place. You have to leave. Now.”
“You’re actually going to send me out in that blizzard after I saved your life?”
Katiana blinked. “T-thank you. I do appreciate your help, but you’re trespassing on private property. If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to call the sheriff.”
“Let me get this straight,” I began, shoving off the doorjamb and striding toward her. Though Katiana didn’t flinch, the smell of her fear peppered the air. “I pulled you out of a mangled Jeep, reset your dislocated shoulder, hauled you and your belongings up to my home, piled layers of blankets over your unconscious body, stoked the fire to warm you, stitched up the gash on your forehead…” I watched as she lifted her hand and touched the thick bandage there in surprise. “Oh, and I prepared a pot of stew to share with you. And you’re going to kick my ass out the door in the middle of a goddamn blizzard?”
“You can’t stay here. This isn’t your home.”
“Christ, lady, if that’s how you show appreciation, I should have left you out there.”
Katiana’s cheeks flared crimson, the way they always had when she was flustered. “I already told you I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Mr…”
“Just Ryder.” My real name wouldn’t mean shit to her. In and out of the octagon, I’d been known as Rage. Ironically, the moniker had become ominously accurate. I stared at her and arched a brow. “And you are?”
“Kat.”
She didn’t want to be called Katiana anymore?
What the hell was she doing here? And where was Victor? He’d checked on me a couple times every summer, but never in winter. And always alone. Did he even know his daughter was here?
I couldn’t allow Victor to climb the walls with worry, not when I owed that man my life and my sanity—what little was left, anyway. I definitely owed him the courtesy of letting him know that Katiana was at the cabin. I’d have to tell him about the accident and her injuries, too.
Knowing Victor, the stubborn, overprotective bastard would do something stupid, like try to drive up the mountain tonight. I’d handle that soon. Right now, I had to play along so I could ply as much info as possible from his sexy-as-sin daughter.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kat.” The smile I sent her felt as foreign as speaking again. “I assure you, I’m not trespassing. I have permission to be here.”
I felt her condescending scowl all the way to my toes. As a kid, she’d never been easily intimidated, but now she possessed a self-assurance that was stunning.
“I doubt that,” she scoffed. “Who gave you permission?”
“Victor Markov.”
She blanched. I wanted reach out and smooth away the furrow knitting her brow. “You’re lying. He would have told me if he’d invited you to stay here.”
“If you don’t believe me, call him and ask him yourself.”
Anguish stamped her face. Tears filled her eyes. Her chin began to quiver.
What the hell?<
br />
Katiana carefully rose from the couch. Clutching her left arm around her middle, she shuffled to the door and retrieved the weird-looking thermos I’d set beside her suitcase, then cradled the canister to her chest. Tears slid down her cheeks as she thrust it into my hands. I noticed then that Victor’s name was scrolled into the vessel.
Holy shit, were these his ashes?
“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d love more than to call him…hear his voice and tell him I love him one last time. But I c-can’t.” She choked on a sob. “This is all that’s left of him.”
As if she’d spent the last of her energy on grief, she clutched the back of the couch and sank onto the cushion. Her muted sobs filled the room.
I gripped the urn, gaping at it in disbelief. The warrior who had saved me was dead.
The world I’d worked so hard to erect crumbled out from beneath me like a landslide, spiraling me into a bleak, empty chasm. The sounds of Katiana’s anguish were destroying me even more.
I eased down beside her, wrapped my arms around her, buried my face against her neck, and cried with her.
3
Katiana
When Ryder grabbed me, I nearly shoved him away, but he felt warm and strong and comforting. I hadn’t been held in what felt like a lifetime. Then when silent sobs racked his body, I knew his grief that Papa was gone was every bit as real as mine. I was still struggling to believe Papa had been friends with this scraggly mountain man. And that he’d invited the beast to stay here in our cabin.
Abruptly, Ryder sat up and palmed his tears dry, staring silently at the flames leaping in the fireplace. “How did he die?”
“He had a massive heart attack. The coroner said he didn’t suffer, that he’d likely been gone before he even hit the floor.” I could still see him lying at my feet, his vacant stare fixed on the gym ceiling.
Ryder leveled his pale blue eyes, brimming with pain, on me. I saw his soul.
My heart sputtered. My stomach swirled. He no longer scared or repulsed me. In fact, I must have hit my head harder than I suspected, because… No. I couldn’t possibly be attracted to this animal.
But I was. The gentle but insistent throbbing between my legs confirmed it. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Suddenly, he lifted his chin and sniffed the air. Had he finally gotten a good whiff of himself? While he didn’t stink, a pungent musky, woodsy scent clung to his hair, clothes, and body. He smelled wild and feral. Oddly erotic.
Without a word, Ryder set Papa’s ashes down and headed toward the kitchen. “I made you some food.”
Though my stomach growled and my mouth watered, I started to tell him not to bother, but he disappeared into the kitchen. No matter how benevolent he seemed or guilty he tried to make me feel, he couldn’t stay. It wouldn’t be smart to share Papa’s place with this furry stranger I still knew nothing about.
He returned with a steaming bowl of stew, a thick slice of buttered bread, and a glass of—I took a sip—Kool-Aid.
“It’s not much.” He shrugged apologetically. “But it should warm your insides.”
“Thank you.”
He flashed me a grimace that looked as if he’d forgotten how to smile. Then he dashed back to the kitchen, leaving me sad…and more. I was tingling in places I shouldn’t be. My nipples and my skin felt tight. What was wrong with me?
I stirred the chunky stew and tried to focus on the important stuff. How long had he been living here? Why was he here? Was he hiding from something? Someone?
Maybe he was simply one of those people who wanted to live off the grid. This was the perfect place for that. Papa had spared no expense on solar panels, rain water purifiers, and propane deliveries to make our little cabin self-sustaining while providing all the creature comforts of a city home.
Striding back into the room with his own food, Ryder joined me on the couch before thrusting his palm at me, revealing two little pills.
“What are those?” I asked suspiciously.
“Ibuprofen. For your head. Unless you want something stronger to knock you out?”
“No,” I barked. My brain was muddled enough. I didn’t need to add a potential date rape drug to the mix. “Thank you.”
I felt like a child as he waited, watching until I swallowed the pills. When I’d complied, he simply nodded and dug into his food.
I took a bite and my taste buds instantly threw a party. “Oh, my gosh. This is incredible.”
He flashed me a crooked grimace this time. “Glad you like it.”
“Are you here because you’re a world-renowned chef hiding from Rachael Ray’s hit squad?” I teased.
He tensed, his expression pained as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his bowl. I’d hit a nerve.
“How did you know Papa?”
He wiped a napkin over his hairy mouth, seeming to stall for time. “Victor was your dad?”
“Well…yeah. I said this was my cabin, and since I have Papa’s ashes…”
“Right. Right.” He quickly looked away.
“And?”
“And what?” His question sounded too innocent to be real.
I dropped my spoon in the stew and raised my voice in irritation. “How did you know my father?”
“Oh, we were friends for years.”
Bullshit. “Really? Where did you two meet?”
“Through a mutual friend.”
Convenient. “What’s the name of said mutual friend?”
“Mark.”
“Papa didn’t have any friends named Mark,” I bit out. “Want to try again?”
“You know him by another name.”
“Of course he has an alias. Why didn’t I think of that?” I drawled sarcastically. “And what would that be?”
“Grizzly Winston.”
I gaped. That’s a name I did know well. Papa and Grizzly had been friends for decades. After Grizzly retired a two-time middleweight champion, Papa had hired the man to train other fighters.
“How do you know Grizzly?”
“Like I said, we were friends.”
Ryder’s deliberate evasion was ticking me off. “You’re built like a fighter. Did you ever train at Papa’s gym?”
It was possible he’d started coming to work out while I’d been away at college these past few months.
Ryder’s lips narrowed to a thin, tight line, until all I could see was a mass of wheat-colored hair. Then without warning he shoveled in the last bite of stew, crammed the remaining bread into his mouth, and stood. “I need a shower.”
I couldn’t argue, but now, in the middle of our conversation?
As he disappeared down the hall and shut the door to the bathroom, I focused not on his fine, tight ass or wide, delicious shoulders but the irritation consuming me.
“Fine. You don’t want to answer my questions? Then I’ll go straight to the source.”
I set down my food and cautiously stood. Though my body screamed in protest, I shoved the pain aside and retrieved my purse. I rooted around for my cell phone but couldn’t find it. Then I remembered it was still sitting in the cup holder of my Jeep.
Son of a…
Ryder
The mountain of hair in the sink was shocking, but after lathering up my face and shaving for the first time in forever, I stared in the mirror, utterly stunned. The face I’d hidden hadn’t changed much. My features were sharper now. The scar I’d earned defending my second heavyweight title still marred my cheek. The lines around my eyes had deepened from sun, wind, and time.
But I scrubbed a hand over my freshly shaved jaw, and for the first time in over two and a half years, I saw me.
Ryder “Rage” Evans was back without an ounce of fanfare or a tickertape parade. Not that I wanted that shit. The only reason I’d unearthed the former legend was Katiana. Not that I had a choice. If we’d kept talking, she would have connected the dots. It was way easier to show her who I was than to hurt her out loud.
>
Coward.
I scowled at my reflection, unable to refute the obnoxious voice in my head.
I dreaded her reaction. I could handle her disdain based on sight alone. But I’d never survive revealing my identity and verbally slicing myself open to confess all my sins only for her to reject me.
But now that Victor was gone, there was no one left to throw me another fucking lifeline. And no one to protect Katiana. If anything happened to her… Well, I’d been in love with her for so long. Without her, why remain on this earth?
Shoving that morbid thought aside, I quickly showered.
When I washed all the hair away, I dried off, then slid on a fresh pair of jeans and a gray thermal shirt. Self-doubt unfurled in my brain, but I shoved it down.
“It’s show time.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I exited the bathroom, feeling as if I were both making a prison break and heading to the death chamber. Katiana would either welcome or rebuff me; the odds were fifty-fifty at this point. But I wasn’t clinging to illusions anymore. The timing had been all wrong for us before. I’d been born a decade too soon. And leaving Katiana behind was the biggest regret of my life.
Now…well, I’d see if there was such a thing as a second chance.
Stepping into the great room, I discovered her sleeping again. Unable to stop myself, I knelt on the floor beside her, drinking her in, listening to her soft, even breaths. I memorized every detail of her, from the graceful arch of her dark brows and the sleek hollows of her cheeks to those thick black lashes fanning across her creamy skin.
I skimmed a fingertip down her narrow nose before gently tracing the lush bow of her lips. Every cell in my body screamed at me to kiss her, to drown in the wet warmth of her mouth. Maybe then she’d understand the depth of the love I’d kept locked inside me all these years.
Powerless to stop touching her, I trailed a knuckle down her cheek. A sleepy moan slid off Katiana’s lips as her lashes fluttered before slowly lifting.
She blinked once, twice. Then a storm of confusion, shock, and disbelief shimmered in her big brown eyes.