Full Contact (Redemption #3)(83)

Rampage laughs. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even cuter when you’re angry. Go, before I do something the Predator will make me regret.”

“He doesn’t own me.” I throw out the words over my shoulder as I stomp away.

Rampage’s smile fades. “Yes, he does.”

Jess and I dance up a storm until Blade Saw decides he wants in on the action, leaving me without a dance partner. But never mind. The dance floor is packed. I wiggle and shimmy with a few of the non-Redemption fighters from the event, showing off my moves as best I can in the three-inch silver stilettos and skirt I always keep in my trunk in case of an emergency dance trip, which with Jess, happens every week.

The band returns to the stage and launches into a cover of Atrocity’s “Let’s Dance.” Good song. My fighter buddies think so too. One of them is so happy he gives me a hug. He disappears. Oh, he hasn’t disappeared. He has turned into Ray.

My new fighter friends run away. One of them is holding his hand over his eye. He doesn’t look so happy anymore.

And neither am I. Ray closes in on me. His hair is wet like he just showered, and he smells deliciously of citrus-scented body wash. My entire body aches for him, and I am tempted to open my arms until he scowls.

“What the f*ck are you wearing?”

“Clothes.”

Ray shakes his head. “No one should see you dressed like that but me.”

“Not anymore.”

People dance around us. Someone bumps into me, and Ray grabs him by the shoulder and pulls back his arm.

“Watch where you’re dancing.”

Heart thumping, I step between them, pressing myself against Ray’s body as I push down his arm. “Calm down. We’re the ones who shouldn’t have been standing on the dance floor.”

Ray growls deep in his chest but he doesn’t move. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

The music segues into a cover of Orisha Sound’s sultry “Own Ya.” Ray’s eyes burn into me, and he tangles one hand through my hair and yanks my head back, leaning close to whisper in my ear. “I am f*cking wound up tight after that fight. It took me this long just to come down enough to walk in the door to find you so we could talk. This is not a game you want to play with me right now.”

“I’m not playing games. I meant what I said last night.”

“Jesus Christ, Sia.” His free hand tightens around me, his fingers digging so hard into my skin that I’m sure I’ll have bruises tomorrow. “Then what are you doing in my arms?”

Emotion wells up in my chest. I can’t bear to pull myself away. His body feels so right against mine. Warm. Safe. Solid. Unyielding. This is where I want to be.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t walk away.”

He looks down at me, his expression dark and hungry. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

I slide my hands over his chest. “If it’s anything like what you do to me, then you can’t walk away either, so maybe we should dance.”

His hand slides down my spine to my ass, and he holds me against him as we sway in slow circles around the dance floor. I press my cheek against his chest and wrap my arms around him and pretend last night didn’t happen—pretend he didn’t break my trust and all is right with the world.

“Ray.” I whisper his name.

He tips my head back, firm fingers under my chin, then he leans down and slants his mouth over mine. His kiss is possessive, demanding, leaving no one in the bar in any doubt that I belong to him.

And he belongs to me.

The band segues into Beyonce’s “Drunk in Love.” I finally try to pull away, but Ray holds me tight. His heart beats steadily, his hips sway gently to the music, and his arms are firm around me. Who was I kidding when I told Jess it was over? I’ll never get over Ray. He is the missing part of me. Hard to my soft. Dark to my light. Rough to my smooth. Heart of my heart.

“So quiet.” He nuzzles my neck. “What are you thinking?”

“I think we should go talk.” I rock up and brush my lips over his. Ray groans softly and cups my nape with his hand, and moments later we are caught in a passionate kiss that I feel through my heart and deep into my soul.

The band switches gear to an Anthrax cover. I mentally take back my comments about their improvement. Musically, they are better, but they don’t have a clue about putting together a set. The dance floor clears, and Ray excuses himself to take a call. By the time I get back to the table, Doctor Death has joined the party along with Shayla and a few other Redemption fighters I don’t know. I suffer through five minutes of good-natured abuse about taming the Predator, and then Doctor Death pulls me to the side.

“Did you think about what I told you about Ray?”

I give a casual shrug. “I know his secret.” Not entirely true. I have made a reasonably intelligent guess that he’s some kind of special agent, maybe black ops or FBI or even, if the rumor is true, CIA. And I’ve watched enough TV to know that if I’m right, he can’t reveal his secret to me without putting me in danger. Which, although kinda frightening, is also kinda cool. My Ray. A spy.

“So you know it can never work.” He pulls me into his arms as if in sympathy, except when you’re consoling someone, you don’t cop a feel of their ass.