Page 61 of The Fighter

My cheeks color under the heat of his gaze. A warning bell rings in the back of my mind, but I don’t hear it. My insides tighten with need. This morning was the best sex I’ve ever had, and I want more. Even if that’s the only thing he’s offering, I’m going to accept. I’m making a mistake, and I know it, but I’m not ready to stop. I want Tomas Aguilar too damn much.

“I like the sound of that,” I reply, my pulse racing with anticipation. “Give me fifteen minutes to get ready.”

40

TOMAS

Casanova? I don’t give a shit about Casanova. I didn’t come over to Ali’s apartment because of our date—with everything going on, I’d completely forgotten all about it until she opened her door.

No, I came over to give her my abuela’s engagement ring.

My grandparents were married for almost seventy years, and they were in love with each other to the end. I have fond memories of listening to my grandmother reminisce about meeting my grandfather for the first time. “Sebastian was such a good-looking man.”

My sister Carlota, who had always been a romantic, would ask, “Did you fall in love with him right away, Tita?”

“No, mija,” my abuela would reply with a laugh. “I didn’t like him very much. He was polite but too reserved for me. Then, one day, we got into a fight—I don’t remember what about—and I screamed at him at the top of my lungs. Then he kissed me, and that’s when I fell in love.”

Ana Isabel died the year before I left Valencia. In her will, she left my sister her wedding dress and me her engagement ring. I could have used her ring when I asked Estela to marry me, but I didn’t. It was too old-fashioned, I reasoned, and Estela was the kind of woman who would prefer a large diamond.

But maybe, in my heart, I knew she wasn’t the one.

And Ali is?

Carlota got married eighteen months after I left Valencia. She wore my abuela’s wedding dress and looked radiant. I didn’t attend the wedding. She has a son now, Adan, who is almost three years old. I’ve never met him in person. Valencia is a two-hour direct flight away from Venice, and I’ve never made it back home.

Until now.

The last time I asked a woman to marry me, things went spectacularly wrong. This isn’t the same situation. This isn’t a real proposal; Ali and I are just pretending to be engaged to thwart her father’s plan to marry her off to Damir Malinov. And more importantly, Ali would never be as vicious as Estela. She might bristle with rage and bite my head off, my tempestuous dolcezza, but she’s incapable of cruelty.

Still, I was nervous when I knocked on Ali’s door. I made a joke about her dildo, and she wasn’t amused. Worse, she was angry. And then, like an idiot, I mentioned Casanova.

Her words play in a non-stop loop in my mind. It’s casual, this thing between us. We’re not dating; it’s just about sex.

Just about sex.

Casual.

She even flinched when I slid my grandmother’s wedding ring on her finger.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Ali’s been honest all along. She’s made it clear from the first time we met that she wants me out of her gym. She even fought in Ciro del Barba’s underground tournament so she could make enough money to buy me out. Neither of us can deny the chemistry between us, but she doesn’t want me in her life.

And I don’t belong there. My world is bloody and dangerous. I just killed two men without the slightest bit of remorse. I’m no good for Ali.

She disappears into her bathroom to get dressed. Fifteen minutes later, she emerges wearing a sleeveless black dress that clings to her curves. Her lips are red and full, and her hair hangs down her back in soft waves. “I’m ready to go,” she announces.

She looks beautiful, and I want to tear that dress off her body. I’m about to tell her that when a disquieting thought strikes me. “You don’t have to come to the club if you don’t want to,” I say gruffly. “You’re under no obligation to me. I promised to help you with this situation, and that’s what I’m going to do. My support isn’t conditional on whether or not we fuck.”

She gives me a very peculiar look. “I know that, Tomas. If I thought you were going to blackmail me into sleeping with you, I wouldn’t want your help.” She tilts her head to the side, an impish smile on her lips. “Maybe I’m just looking for a repeat of this morning, or maybe I want to know what you fantasize about.”

“Isn’t that obvious?” She’s a drug in my veins, and I’m craving another dose. “You. I fantasize about you. Always.” I offer her my hand. “Let’s go.”

Her stomach rumbles loudly as we make our way down the stairs. “Haven’t you eaten yet?” I demand with a frown.

“No,” she admits. “I drank some tea earlier and got a smoothie downstairs for lunch, but?—”

It sounds like she hasn’t eaten all day. And this morning, instead of offering her breakfast, I fell on her like a starving animal. “In that case, we should stop for dinner first. What would you like to eat?”

“Anything except pizza,” she replies with a wry twist of her lips. “After last night, I think it’s going to be awhile before I crave it again.”

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