“Stop! Please stop,” she shouted, and she wasn’t sure if she was talking to Clay or Max, or just praying to the universe for an end to this fistfight. But when she looked around, the street was empty, and she knew this was going to be between the two of them.
Clay lunged forward quickly, brushing off the double-blow like it was nothing, but Max went after him again, raising his fist and swinging hard. Clay dodged that blow, then Max threw another, landing one on Clay’s shoulder that barely seemed to bother him. Especially since he grabbed Max’s hand, twisted it around his back and yanked hard.
“Don’t ever touch her again,” he seethed, jerking the arm higher. Then he let go and reacquainted his fist once more with Max’s jaw, sending the big man stumbling backward and landing flat on his ass on the sidewalk. Max was helpless, huffing in a heavy pile, staring up with wide-open eyes at the man who’d landed the final blow. With fists clenched at his sides and anger radiating off him in hot waves, Clay bent over him. “Now I’m giving you five seconds to get up and run the hell away.”
Max nodded once, scurried to his feet, and took off down the street. When Clay turned to Julia, he was breathing hard and blood streaked from his temple down his cheek.
CHAPTER TEN
He flinched as she dabbed at the cut with a wet washcloth.
“It’s okay,” she said softly.
“I know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head where he’d hit the building.
Kneeling between his legs, she gently cleaned the blood as he sat in her bathroom. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
She shot him a doubtful look. “Not even a little?”
“Not even a little,” he said, but the expression on his face told her otherwise when she wiped off the last drop of blood. She reached for the Neosporin, applied some to the cut, and then opened a Band-Aid, pressing it gently along his temple.
“There,” she said. “You look totally rugged now.”
He managed a small laugh as she rose, dusting his other cheek with a kiss. Handing him two Advil and a glass of water, she said, “For your head.”
He swallowed the pills and gave her the cup. She set it down on the sink. “Now let’s get you out of your clothes and you can rest.”
“I’m not resting,” he said, rolling his eyes at her.
“You need your rest.”
“It’s only a cut. I’ve been cut worse at my gym,” he said, and she knew he was trying hard to be the big, tough man. She was having none of that. He’d gone to the mats for her, and she was going to take care of him until he was no longer bloodied and bruised, and even then some.
“I don’t care,” she said, parking her hands on her hips and giving him a sharp stare. Then she bent forward and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“You’re not taking off my shirt to go make me lie down in bed,” he said roughly, trying to swat her hand away. She grabbed at his hands and stilled his moves.
“Oh yes I am,” she said sternly. “Watch me.”
She worked her way down his shirt, unbuttoning the fabric, spreading it open and gently taking it off, trailing her fingertips along his chest as she did. He moaned low and husky as she touched him. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Mister.”
“It wasn’t a funny idea. More like a dirty one,” he said with a sly grin.
She reached for his hand. “Come on. Bed. Now.”
“Bed for other things,” he said, but he let her lead him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then he stepped out of them. After laying the clothes neatly on a chair, she turned around to find him already in her bed, briefs on the floor.
“You’re fast.”
“Zero to undressed in no time,” he said in a tired voice.
“We’ll add that to your skill set.”
“Come here,” he whispered, resting on his side under the sheets. “Let me unzip your dress.”
She moved to him, perching on the edge of the bed. He reached his hands up the back of her dress, those same hands that had defended her and protected her, and gently lowered the zipper on her dress, his knuckles softly grazing her spine as the dress fell to her waist. She shifted her body, so she could watch him. He smiled faintly as he unhooked her strapless bra. She stood and turned to face him, sensing he needed to show he could take care of her, even when he was the one hurting. She placed his hands on her hips, guiding them to slide the dress down her legs. Off came the shoes, then she curled up next to him in bed.
“Thank you,” she said, gently tracing his other cheek with her finger. “For doing that.”
“Julia,” he said, pulling her in close. “I can’t believe that’s what you’ve been dealing with.”
She sighed. “Yeah. That’s my life.”
“This needs to stop. You’re not safe,” he said, concern thick in his voice.
“He’s not even usually the one assigned to me. My regular has the flu or something,” she said, flashing back to Skunk’s pale face and peaked look earlier that day.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said firmly as the shadows from the moonlight streamed across the bed, casting the room in a blue midnight light. “So this is what I didn’t get to say in the car. I play every week. With actors, clients, colleagues and some of my friends. It’s not a rigged game. It’s a real game with real stakes and real money. Come to New York this weekend, and join us. Play for real. Play in a game that’s not a set-up where you’re not hustling. And take us down. Win on your own terms,” he said, and the idea took hold instantly, planting roots inside her. She craved that feeling—win on your own terms.
His offer was so alluring, like a faint scent of something delicious trailing through the air. But then, did she still know how to win on her own terms?
She scoffed out of self-preservation. “What if I lose?”
He scooped her hair off her neck, nuzzling her. “Where is my badass woman?”
“Huh?”
“What if you lose? I thought you were a poker shark? Don’t lose. Come to New York. Play your ass off. You’re a card player. You don’t come to lose. You play to win. So play, and win fair and square,” he said, and there was something immensely appealing about his offer.
She quirked her lips in consideration. “It does sound like fun,” she admitted.
“And if you lose—which you won’t—let me pay him off,” he said, his eyes locked on her the whole time. The look in them was intense, and true—he wanted this. He wanted to help her. She had always known he had this side, but now she was seeing it in action, and the gesture was slinking its way around her heart, loosening yet another layer of her stubborn woman-against-the-world attitude.
“Clay,” she chided softly, lightly running her fingers along his strong chest. “I don’t want you paying my debt.”
“All the more reason for you to play hard.”
She stared sharply at him, determination in her eyes. “I always play hard.”
“I know you do.”
“If I do this, you can’t make it a rigged game. Don’t make it fake.”
“I would never do that.”
“I want to win for real. Because I’m good.”
“You’re going to kick unholy ass. And if for any reason the game ends, and you’re not in the black, I will take care of the debt. Deal?”
“I really don’t want you paying it off,” she said, grabbing his wrists for emphasis. “Promise me it’s a real game, and we go to the end of the night. We play until everyone else folds.”
“I promise you.”
“I don’t want to have to take your money. I want to prove that I can do this.”
“And you will. I offer it as insurance. That’s all. And that’s why you’ll win. Because you want to do this on your terms. Because the thought of anyone paying your way makes you dig your heels in like a batter at the plate swinging for the fences. Come to the plate. And hit it out of the park,” he said, as if he were making a motivational speech.