Legend (Real Book 6)

Reese

I haven’t seen him since that night. I didn’t go to the gym in Denver again, coward that I am. I’ve been stressing over the possibility of Remy finding out and deciding not to train with Maverick ever again. I’ve been battling the urge to seek out Maverick against feelings of betrayal to the Tates, to Miles, the logical but painstaking truth that our friendship is more than a friendship but probably won’t go anywhere.

Now we’re in Dallas, five days after I gave him my V card. I’m trying to focus on the fact that Miles texted to let me know he, Gabe, and Avery are coming to the semifinals. But the Avenger is causing a stir.

I heard the team discussing how he knocked out a few difficult opponents and ended up one away from fighting Remy again on the last fight. It’s like he’s a legend simply by trying to avenge the Scorpion alone. He’s a contender. He’s getting respect, admiration, and a lot of fear.

I couldn’t bear to listen.

The thought of Maverick fighting Remy, who’s part of my family, is starting to be painful. So instead, as the team talked, I focused on Racer’s trains, the perfect therapy if you ask me.

I’m at a Dallas gym. Today my conversation with myself has been focusing on how great it is that he’s not here so I can actually feel calm as I exercise and also stay focused on supporting Team Remy. I’m glad when I head over to day care, ready to clear my mind with some good old Racer fun, when I get a text from Brooke.

Take the day. R and I are taking Racer to the zoo

You sure?

Yes, picking him up right now

OK HAVE FUN!

Ending up standing in the middle of the sidewalk halfway to the day care, I suddenly don’t know what to do with the rest of my day.

For some reason I find myself traveling the exact same path I came from. I push open the gym doors, greet the receptionist, and am aware of my heart starting to flip-flop in my chest as I slip inside. I pass the treadmills, bicycles, the weight section, heading toward the mats at the end and the boxing bags. I scan the area where I’d find him. There are several guys at the bags now. None of them are as big, or mysterious. Or hot.

He’s gone from my life.

Maybe he doesn’t want to see me ever again. I’m a Dumas, after all.

He’s probably training somewhere with Oz.

I wait a couple minutes more before realizing I’m just acting stupid, holding out for him like this when he’s clearly not showing.

I stride outside, then stare at the buildings across the street. The heat has been painful these past few days, but there’s a breeze today, a partly cloudy sky.

Not ready to go back to the hotel yet, I wander to the park until I see a big shady patch of grass under one tree. In every park we go to, I find the perfect tree and this becomes my and Racer’s perfect spot. I head there with my book and Racer’s snacks and spread out my blanket, sit down, and pick up where I last stopped reading.

“Hey.”

I hear his voice clearly, exquisitely clearly, and raise my gaze up dark torn jeans and a gray T-shirt straining at the shoulders with the lean muscles beneath.

Our eyes connect and my brain flashes to him holding me. Am I hurting you . . ?

His tattoo rippling . . .

His eyes flashing with passion . . .

He shoves his hands into his pockets and just looks at me. And those eyes are looking at me with caution and wariness now.

Maverick is gauging me.

“How long do you have until you need to get back?” he asks, scanning my face as if for the answer.

I don’t even know if my voice will work when I open my mouth. “A few hours. Mom and Dad took Racer to the zoo.”

He unwinds and drops down beside me, lies on his back, and then stares at the tree branches and part of the sky. “I’ve been hitting a park every day. Didn’t know which one I’d find you in.”

“You have?”

He’s staring at the sky, jaw tight. “Yeah. I didn’t want to ask Tate.”

“He wouldn’t have told you if you’d asked. And I might have been hiding as I . . . processed.”

“Processed what?”

I set my book aside, my eyes gobbling him up like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then I glance at the blanket. “How intense it was.”

He shuts his eyes, exhaling and clenching his fingers.

“Do you want my number?”

He sits up and props his elbows on his knees. He nods. “I don’t have my phone on me.”

I search Racer’s bag for one of my lipsticks and then I look at Maverick for permission.

He looks back at me, watching as I curl my hand around his wrist. It’s thick and strong. I press the tip of the lipstick to his arm and write my number down. In coral lipstick, on his forearm. And it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever done.

He watches me tuck the lipstick back into the bag, then remains without touching me for a moment.

He stares down at his arm. Then he turns his face away, exhales, and turns back to me. “Reese,” he whispers mournfully. “I lost control that night.” He looks at my mouth, as if he wants it. And I want him to take it.

I shouldn’t want him to but I do.

“I liked it,” I say. And I liked sleeping in your arms, if only for a second.

I hold my breath, realizing what I just admitted—no, Reese, take it back!—and I don’t move when he reaches out.

“Me too,” he says.

And god, I want Maverick’s lips again.

Hot and strong, waking me up from whatever sleep spell I’ve been in.

It won’t go anywhere, Reese!

He slips his hand under my hair and his fingertips caress my scalp. “You totally bailed on me.”

“You knew I had to leave.”

“Yeah, I knew, but you have a blanking effect on my head. I’m sure you know this because you’re smiling that crooked smile of yours right now.”

“Crooked?!”

He smiles a little, cups the back of my neck, and draws me closer as he lies back on the blanket.

“Maverick . . . what happened . . .” I begin.

He pulls me a little closer. I put my hands on his chest to push myself back but end up just leaving them there, feeling the flat planes of his chest underneath as he murmurs, “What happened what?”

“What?”

“Are you going to tell me how mind-blowing it was or are you going to let me kiss you?”

One more kiss . . . oh god, I’m going to hell. I’m the worst person I know. The most reckless. The most intoxicated by Maverick Cage.

It’s pure impulse. I’m burning and aching and I want to be close. Closer than close. I want to be his tattoo and the woman in his bed and the thing in his thoughts he can’t quite force out and this girl, with him, kissing in the park.

“What happened . . .” I begin, was wonderful and impulsive and frightening and reckless, and I lean over, and I press my lips to his tentatively. He cups the back of my head, his tongue sliding into my mouth.

He groans softly and pulls me above him, grabs my ass. And I love his hands, squeezing, as our tongues start sparring, and I know I can’t keep doing this, that this won’t go anywhere, and it just makes me hungrier, my fingers fisting his shirt, my tongue pushing his, a moan leaving me.

His tongue, slow and leisurely, tastes me. There’s a dog barking nearby, and people passing by the walkway, and when I make an effort to pull away, Maverick just holds my head and angles his, devouring me harder.

His hand slips under the back of my T-shirt. His fingers skim my skin, they’re hot, calloused, and so perfect, I’m a whole shiver.

He rolls us around and sets me down on the grass, kissing me some more and slipping his hand down to encompass my waist, his thumb stroking my abdomen. “Reese.” He breathes against my skin.

I blink up at the sky, then let my eyelids flutter shut as the feel of his lips trailing my neck overcomes reason.

“I don’t take what you gave to me lightly. I don’t want you to think that I did.”

“I wanted to.”

“And I want you.” Maverick’s voice is extremely thick right now. “The guy back home. He kiss you like that?”

“No.”

And he just grins. He looks down at me.

“But . . .” I sit up then. Reese, stop this. “But we can’t . . . you know. Do that again.”

His eyes darken. “I think we should do it more often.” He stares at me, waiting for me to say something, and I can only swallow nervously.

He signals to my book. “What are you reading?” He puts his arm around my shoulders. I stiffen them but somehow melt inside.

“A book.”

“Really?” He lifts his brows, and I laugh and tentatively tuck a loose strand that came undone from my ponytail behind my ear.

“I’ve been hearing a lot about you,” I say.

“All lies.” He cracks a smile.

“You’re kicking ass.”

His expression loses its humor, and he stares straight ahead, thoughtful. “I’m going to kick Tate’s ass, Reese.”

I sit up, staring away. “I don’t like to think about it.”

“You root for him out of principle, I don’t expect you to root for me.”

I stay silent.

“I need to do this for me,” he explains with a fierce and determined gleam in his eyes.

“Maverick . . .” I wrap my arms around myself. It’s not easy for me to find someone I connect with. I haven’t ever felt the kind of connection to a stranger that I felt when I started interacting with Maverick “the Avenger” Cage. “That night with you meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have kissed you just now. I’m trying to find myself, and I can’t do that if I’m lost in you.”

He takes my chin and the touch triggers heat all over me. “I won’t let you get lost,” he promises.

“The Tates are my family. I don’t think we should do what we did again. And Miles is coming to town next month.”

“Miles, that’s his name?”

I nod and glance helplessly at him.

The liquid look in his gaze starts to harden right before my eyes. “Yeah, I get it. He’s not my father’s son.” He grits his jaw, his eyes dark, then we stare at each other. He starts to stand, but then, as if by impulse, his hand engulfs my cheek as he grabs my face and kisses me, almost punishing and hot. I stay there, melted, as he gets to his feet and walks away.

I exhale and shut my eyes and touch my lips.

It’s over. We won’t do it again. Right? Did he agree or not?

Yes, because he was angry.

I’m sure we will be civil but . . . apart. And I can’t stand it. And suddenly I can’t remember why we can’t, why it’s wrong.

Or why I wrote my phone number on his arm.