Page 33 of Breaking the Habit

He was too delectable.

“This is gonna be a good one,” Riley said, her voice coming out shaky. She was wilting under his overflowing masculinity, the testosterone that radiated off him. She wanted to crumple into a willing, wanting puddle. So he could take her already and stop this misery.

“But tougher.” Levi wet his bottom lip, brushing his knuckles against the top of a chair. Then he snapped those honey eyes to her, mischief and sincerity written there. As if he could hear her deepest thoughts. “You should give me a kiss for good luck.”

Riley swallowed hard. Here was her doorway, and Levi had done the hard work of kicking down the door. He still wanted it, wantedher, though she’d done her best to put distance between them. She should have known he’d pounce the second she made her decision. He probably could smell it, a feral cat finding food.

She stepped forward, unable to rip her attention off this wall of man, the fascinating arcs and dips of muscles beneath the flimsy, stretched-thin T-shirt. She’d completely unravel the second he put his hands on her.

That’s how bad she wanted it. That’s how hard she’d been fighting it.

Levi reached out for her, his rough palm grazing her elbow. She inhaled sharply—the small touch rocketed through her, straight to her pussy.

She was in so much trouble.

The door opened. Lex came in a moment later, and Levi wilted a little. Riley turned and drew a fortifying breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

They’d been so close.

So fucking close.

“Am I interrupting something?” Lex asked, a curious grin on his face.

“Riley’s wishing me luck.” Levi’s eyes sparkled. Nobody believed that for a second.

“Okay, well, we’ve got minutes, buddy. Let’s get a move on.” Lex jerked his head toward the hallway, his tone bringing Riley back to earth. She scooped up her camera bag, her tried and true Mark IV slung around her neck, and followed Levi and Lex.

Travis met up with them further down the hallway, and it was about then that Levi started his prancing. Hopping from left foot to right, pumping his fists in the air, murmuring some unknown string of words to himself. The whole thing was mesmerizing. Riley shot pictures, pausing behind them in the hallway to kneel and get a low angle.

But once they stepped through the threshold into the arena, the real magic started. Except this week, the cheers were louder. People were already chanting “LE-VI, LE-VI!”

He’d gone from unknown to somebody in a month’s time.

Adrenaline and chanting carried her down the tightly packed aisle. She snapped pictures endlessly, trying to capture the heat of this moment: the fierceness he exuded as he entered the cage, the warrior essence that completely overtook him as he faced his opponent for the first time.

This was the magic of photography. If she could get the timing right, she could capture something that people only glimpsed fleetingly but then forgot about. She elbowed her way between the other photographers, thankful for her combat boots to help her hold her ground as they all jockeyed for the best position.

The bulky ref entered the cage and read the rules. Riley’s heartrate picked up.Come on, Levi. You got this. Win the fight.

Her throat became a vice as the match began. Levi hadn’t been kidding—the competition was tougher now. She could see it within the first seconds. Levi landed fewer punches than in the first fight; his opponent was quicker, more skilled.

The first round was an equal dance. Nobody gained any ground, and the round ended without a knockout or a clear winner. As Levi recuperated off to the side, Riley realized her mouth was parched. The past five minutes had been a total blur. A creative blackout.

“I can tell you’re new,” came a throaty voice. Riley whipped around; the photographer to her right watched her through slit eyes. “How’d you get the pass? Liftin’ that skirt?”

Riley’s nostrils flared, and she set her jaw. “Through my artistic portfolio, actually. Not like you’d know what that is.”

“Cut the crap, honey. You’re taking up space down here.”

The asshole’s words reminded her of the truth about sports photography. She was flanked by men, most likely veterans who’d earned their stripes the long and arduous way. And here she was—a newcomer, whisked in as part-fancy, part-professional by a demanding fighter.

She barely deserved to be here.

But that didn’t mean she planned on backing down.

“Actually, I’m taking up the least space between the two of us. And besides—” She jammed her right heel down, digging right into his foot. “You aren’t scared of a harmless little girl, right?”

The asshole swore and jerked backward, opening up plenty of room for her. And just in time. The second round was beginning.

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