Part 25 (1/2)

”Wouldn't be her first divorce, won't be her last.”

”This is going to be a really s.h.i.+tty family holiday, isn't it?”

”Yeah,” I say. ”No doubt.”

She takes my hand, squeezes it tight, and I squeeze back.

And we walk back to our hotel without incident.

”Want to start training tonight?” she asks me. She gives me this cute smile that just melts all my residual rage away.

She has this weird control over me. G.o.d help me if she ever figures that out.

”Train?”

”Yeah. Show me some of Kaminski's videos. Explain to me how he'll fight you. We'll go through it mentally, you know. They say it's very powerful to visualize something you want to do before you go through with it. Helps you get prepared.”

I nod at her. ”Sounds good, Ca.s.s.”

”You may have to teach me some stuff, but I'll pick it up quick.”

”Of that I have no doubt.”

Chapter Twenty Eight.

The next two days went by in a blur. Just one big smudged pa.s.sage of time. Ca.s.sie and I studied Kaminski's fight videos. She became my scout, studied MMA techniques at an astonis.h.i.+ng rate.

She picked it up fast, and as each day pa.s.sed, we became less interested in goofing off, in enjoying ourselves on this brief holiday before a fight night that we knew would be the most important thing to happen to us in a while.

When you're in trouble, the stakes have a way of seeming larger than they are. It's true we could just run away if we lost the fight, go into hiding, or even take a chance back in the States under new names, or in different states.

But to us, it felt like the end of the world was coming. Ca.s.sie handled it well, as well as anyone could hope to. She's a fighter, just like me. Brave beyond her life experience had any reason to make her.

Some people paid her father a visit, nasty looking people. How they had reach even out here in the United Kingdom, I have no idea. Whoever he borrowed from was connected, and in a big way.

Kyle explained the situation to them, told them he'd have their money.

And they told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn't, there'd be a price he'd have to pay, and it wouldn't be in green, and it wouldn't just be him who paid it.

But after several nights of tireless training and studying, of her sitting endlessly at the computer and watching fights, and me working on my conditioning, getting my health as perfect as possible before the big night, we decided to go out.

We needed a break.

And it was just what we needed.

We went out for dinner and drinks, a proper date. You might even call it our first.

Ca.s.sie wanted to go to a place she read about in her guide book. She's got this mental checklist of things she has to do while in England, and it strikes me as an odd way to travel.

I'd rather wing it, go where the wind takes me.

I shouldn't have had any drinks, but a few wouldn't hurt me, anyway. The only rule was I had to stay on the hard liquor a no beers or wines... none of that excess sugar. No bloating, no extra water weight. I need to be at my quickest to win this fight. It's the major advantage I have over Kaminski.

Ca.s.sie went through gla.s.s after gla.s.s of a sparkling chardonnay, and I matched her shot for shot with twelve year-old Glenlivet. It was an expensive night, for sure, but with three days until the fight, I had the distinct impression we both needed to let off some steam, cost be d.a.m.ned. We burned through a ton of our cash, but we came out of that restaurant laughing, hand-in-hand.

Now, back at our hotel, she gives me a rosy-cheeked and cheeky grin, and asks me, ”Do you want to go to the pool? It's heated.”

Instinctively, I flick my eyes toward the bedside clock, see the red-pip digits blinking zero-zero-thirteen. I turn to her, and think to myself: h.e.l.l yes.

I tell her so, and she lets out a loud laugh. We're both buzzed, both quick to smile, and it's like there's not a worry in the world.

She needed this... and I think I may have, too.

Ca.s.sie begins to put on a show, and it's so unlike her, but it's so s.e.xy. She pulls her dress slowly up her thighs, s.h.i.+fting her hips as she does so, laughing with more than a hint of nervousness.

I lean back on the bed, groan a little at her, feel blood thundering into my c.o.c.k.

”More,” I tell her, licking my lips. ”Show me more.”

”You'll just have to be patient,” she says curtly, making a face, before breaking into a laugh again. She's slowly sidling the dress up her thighs. I see a flash of her underwear, purple, a glimpse of her shape. It turns me on like nothing else. I feel it in my throat, my chest, my abdomen, my c.o.c.k.

G.o.d, I want her. She's so f.u.c.king perfect. Everything about her is everything I want. It's s.e.xy that she's acting a little out of character, letting loose... having fun.

This time, she brings the hem of her dress higher. The daring Aztec-print bunches up, and she's showing me her underwear, her hips, her waist. The dress comes higher, and I can't take my eyes off her. Every inch of her hot skin is like a drug, leaves me longing for more.

Then the dress is up around her neck. She pulls it over her head, arms up, and I can't control myself anymore. I go to her, push her against the wardrobe's cold mirror-door, the dress still covering her face.

”Don't move,” I tell her, pinning her hands above her.

”Chance, I can't see.”

”Don't... move.”

I kiss her down the back of her upper arm, savoring the soft skin. I kiss her down over her armpit, and run my fingers up her sides. She squirms, laughs, and so I nip her neck gently, turning the laugh into a yelp.

She smells so good, and I can feel the warmth of her rus.h.i.+ng breath through her dress. I bring my lips to hers through the fabric, take her lower lip and hold it between my teeth.

I hold her hip in my hand, run it around to the small of her back, let a finger dip beneath the elastic of her underwear...

”No,” she says, wriggling her wrists free of my hand and pus.h.i.+ng me away.