Uncaged Love: Volume 6 (Uncaged Love #6) Read online

  My heartbeat kicks up and warmth spreads though me. Colt is good at this, pulling me away from my problems, giving me a safe harbor in his arms.

  He takes his time, letting the kiss go on as his hands explore the strip of skin exposed at the base of my T-shirt. He lifts it, inch by slow inch, his hands large and rough over my back. I feel a release of tension in my bra as he unfastens it.

  I settle on his lap, my arms around his neck. His lips start a trail at the corner of my mouth and move across my cheek and down my jaw.

  I let out a long exhale, sinking into him, my body responding in all the familiar ways. Loving Colt has never gotten old or repetitious, and the spiraling sensations start to edge out everything else that has competed for my attention in the last hour.

  He lifts the bottom of my shirt and I raise my arms so he can tug it over my head. Both the shirt and my athletic bra hit the floor with a whisper.

  Now his hands are everywhere, over my naked back, his thumbs coming around to cross my ribs.

  Then he’s cupping my breasts and pressing me back on the sofa. I fall against the cushions, my hair spreading out like a fan.

  “Jo,” he says, his face hovering over mine. “I love seeing you like this.” He lowers his head and his warm lips capture a nipple. I arch up into him. Now everything’s erased. I can only see and hear and feel what is happening to me right now, one moment to the next.

  Colt moves down, feathering kisses along my belly. He unsnaps my jeans and the cool metal sound of the zipper sends a shiver through me. He pulls them open and exposes the front edge of my silvery gray panties. “Mmmm,” he says.

  His hands grasp the band and tug. My jeans slip down my thighs, chased by Colt’s mouth as he feathers kisses along my skin.

  He pauses to untie my shoes and pulls them off. Then the jeans crumple to the floor.

  “Unfair,” I say, reaching up for his shirt. “Take this stuff off.”

  Colt smiles, flashing those dimples, then whips his shirt over his head. “Anything my lady requests.”

  I reach up to place my hands on the bumps of his abs. It’s such a miracle they are there, hard and muscled, though bisected by the scar from his surgery to repair the damage from the gunshot wound. After a year, it is still noticeable, red and slightly raised. I slide my thumb along it, as I often do, grateful that he pulled through. That he’s here.

  Colt slides his palm across my forehead to wipe away the crease there, knowing my thoughts. He dips his head and grasps the top of my panties with his teeth. He tugs them down. His hair tickles my belly.

  When he’s got them to my knees, he takes them the rest of the way with his hands, his nose nudging down, brushing against the most sensitive parts of me.

  My hips lift and I let out a little cry. This just gives him more access, and his tongue delves into me, sliding in with wet heat.

  He adds his fingers and I’m lost, moving with him, pleasure radiating from his touch like a pebble in a pond. The need begins to build, all encompassing and white hot. I tighten around him, desperate to go over the cliff, to release into that space where I’m obliterated and only our collision remains.

  I slide back and away from him, breaking the connection and reaching for his jeans. I want them off, to get to his skin, to feel more of him.

  He kicks off his boots and stands, letting the jeans fall. His boxers are fitted and silky, dark gray. I smile, remembering him putting them on this morning. I get all the visions of him, the normal everyday ones, and then these, his erection springing free of the constraints.

  He is one of the most fit men in the world, at the tip-top of his career. And I have him right now. His thigh bulges as he moves over me. I want him to possess me, overpower me, take me over. I can lose myself then, not worry about what I think, what anyone else thinks of me. It’s just us, and the language of how we are together, our own code, our own way to be.

  Colt braces on his elbows over me. His face nuzzles into my neck, disappearing into my hair. I wrap my arms around him, broad and solid. I press against his lower back. I want him inside. I want him now.

  He slides along me, taking his time, teasing me with his length. I spread my knees wide, trying to lift myself up and onto him, and I can feel his smile against my jaw. I can hear his thoughts, the “Patience, Jo,” that he doesn’t say.

  Then he moves, and in one bold stroke, drives into me to the hilt.

  I cry out, my hands pressing him down. The world is erased, gone, lost in the sensation of his skin sliding inside mine.

  He keeps the pace, moving with power over me. I tilt my head back and let it all take me over. His long, languid strokes, his breath against my ear.

  Colt moves his hands beneath me and lifts my hips. He drives more deeply, and now the pleasure bursts out into mad, mad need. I clutch at him, shifting with each movement. He groans into my hair and I can feel the throbbing inside me. I topple over the edge and everything fractures, my body pulsing around him. I can hear my own voice, mingling with his, and we clutch each other as the world splinters.

  I’m suspended there, held so tightly, letting the waves crash over us. He grips me like I might actually fall away from him. We hold that way, a mad crazy clutch of bodies, until finally he relaxes and lets us fall back on the cushions.

  I run my fingers through the short soft stubble of the hair above his neck and stare up at the ceiling. The brown water stains spread across the off-white paint, half-flecked with texture. Once I looked up at them and wondered if my life would ever amount to anything. Now, I know I have to hold on to what I have, and be fearless in the face of family, love, and acceptance, or I could lose it all.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning I stay in bed when Colt leaves to go train. I have the day off, since Sammy had a fight last night and won’t work out today. The other girls aren’t quite as dedicated and don’t tend to show up at the gym on Saturdays.

  I can’t sleep, though, so I get up and putter around the condo. The dawn is bright and sunny, a perfect summer California day. If Zero were in town, I might have dragged him to the beach.

  My phone buzzes. I walk over to it, wondering why Colt is breaking away from practice to write me.

  But it’s not him. It’s Eve, his mother, sending a text.

  It’s lovely out. Why don’t we go shopping for centerpieces for the wedding dinner?

  She’s been my ally on the change of venue and style of the wedding. Her husband, Colt’s father, the longtime heavyweight boxing champion The Cure McClure, originally came up with a spectacle designed for maximum publicity. Four model-perfect bridesmaids. Designer gowns. A huge venue with over one thousand guests. And of course, helicopter coverage to keep the riffraff paparazzi at bay so that the paid photographers would release only the images deemed appropriate by The Cure’s publicist.

  After I had a meltdown in Vegas over the sausage dress, a horrible fitted gown that looked like it was exploding glitter out the bottom, Colt and I decided to axe all of his father’s plans and have a small wedding in Hawaii, where my mother’s family lives.

  At first, The Cure tried to bully his way, but Eve stepped in and assured us that something subtle would go a long way toward ensuring that the family name continued to stand for good taste and understatement.

  She got her way.

  I type out a quick “Sure.” I have been trying to include her in the details since I pulled the wedding rug right out from under Colt’s family. She is a lovely, calm woman, and I still wonder why she ever agreed to marry someone like The Cure.

  Eve says she’ll arrive in one of the family cars in an hour, so I drag myself to the shower. Thankfully, Eve isn’t picky about how I dress, and I can wear jeans and a T-shirt without her looking at me twice.

  Unlike The Cure. I’ve gotten more than one lecture about “proper appearance” from that man. Even though Colt usually shows his solidarity by pulling on a ball cap at nice restaurants, I do generally force myself to put on something fancy
when his father will be judging me.

  But today, when I stare at myself in the mirror in a red UFC shirt and jeans, I think maybe I’ll dress up a little. Wherever Eve wants to buy centerpieces is bound to be expensive. They’ll expect their clientele to have a certain look.

  I go back to my closet and pull out a pale green sundress. It’s simple and flattering, stopping right at the knee with a flare of extra skirt. I have some strappy sandals that don’t make me want to kill myself after an hour, so I put those on too. These two things with the giant diamond ring are hopefully enough to make me look the part of the bride.

  The bell buzzes, and I snatch up my phone and card wallet, then realize I have no pockets. Usually if I’m in a dress, I hand everything to Colt. Crap. I don’t even own a purse.

  I throw open the door, see it’s just Pete, the driver, and ask him to wait a second. I have no idea what I’m going to do.

  Shoot. I knew I shouldn’t have worn a dress.

  I hunt around for a little shopping bag that I can carry. But I give up when there’s nothing but grocery sacks and UFC string bags. I turn away from the driver waiting by the door and shove the phone into one side of my bra and the card wallet in the other.

  Hopefully nobody will buzz my boobs, and Eve will probably pay for everything anyway. I won’t worry about having to dig money out of my cleavage.

  “Okay,” I say to Pete, and follow him out the door. I’m relieved we have a numeric pad entrance option on the condo because I so do not have a third boob to stash a key.

  Eve is composed and regal in the back of a black Mercedes, decked out like a queen in a pale gray suited dress. Her silvery hair is twisted up in an elegant chignon. She never looks anything but beautiful and serene.

  “Hello, Eve,” I say.

  “I’m so glad we’re able to make this little outing,” she says, and pats the seat. “There’s a lovely shop downtown that specializes in this.”

  “I’m sure you’ll know the perfect thing.”

  Pete pulls away from the entrance of the building and out into traffic.

  “Your sundress is lovely,” Eve says. “We’ll have to go to a girly restaurant after, since we don’t have the brutes with us.”

  “That sounds fine,” I say. I feel calmer just sitting with her. Eve always has that effect on people.

  We visit a fancy flower shop and pick out candles, dried flowers, and shells to be part of the centerpieces that will be shipped to Hawaii. They look a lot like the dried lei I received from my mother when I first met all her family. I was eager to get back to Oahu to get to know my teenage brother better. And see what sort of relationship I could patch together with a mother who left me in the hospital the day I was born.

  We’re seated at a quiet little cafe with white linens and a vase of pink roses on every table when Eve folds her hands together on the table. I can see her grip is tight enough to make her knuckles white. This is big.

  Immediately I go on guard. Nothing ruffles this woman, yet whatever she has to say is seriously getting to her.

  Her voice is hesitant. “Jo, I’m not sure you’re aware of what’s happened since your interview with that awful woman last night.”

  I glance at my boob as if my cell phone can spill the information through my dress top.

  I have to work hard to avoid letting my voice quiver when I say, “She seemed to think I was single-handedly destroying the feminist movement.”

  “You’re being targeted in a campaign with an agenda,” Eve says. “They are using all the footage they can find of the wedding plans, anything Colt has said.” She pauses. “It’s disgraceful, really, how these people take things out of context to further their own causes.”

  My mouth goes dry. I can’t get things right even when I’m not trying to do anything at all. “What should I do?” I ask. “Give an interview?”

  I’d rather die, really, but Eve is obviously upset.

  “Oh, no, we’re not going to give any of them the satisfaction.” She smiles kindly at a waiter, who sets down a tray of crackers covered in God-knows-what. Bits of cheese and seeds and green things I don’t recognize. Eve always eats like this.

  I just sip the tea that’s gone cold and wait for her to tell me what I am going to do.

  “Colt’s father and I discussed it, and he actually had a good suggestion.”

  I want to groan. I never like what The Cure has to say.

  “We think it might be delightful for you to go on ahead to Hawaii now instead of later. You can reconnect with your family there and oversee your brother’s progress. He’s training full-time now, and I hear he’s coming along quite well.”

  This makes me relax. My brother Hudson is training to be a boxer. He wants to be just like The Cure. I’m hoping he only gets the punching part right. The rest of The Cure is not an act to follow. “I can do that,” I say. “But I’ll miss Colt’s challenge match. And training my girls.”

  Eve waves her hand. “The match for Colt is nothing, and it was only some backroom deals that got him in the cage with this guy. He’ll beat this little upstart inside a single round.”

  She is probably right on that. There isn’t anyone on the horizon who can beat Colt, although there is some real talent low on the circuit, working their way up.

  “But Sammy. She has one more match before the wedding.”

  “Did you already arrange for someone to take over while you’re on your honeymoon?” Eve asks.

  “Well, sure. Killjoy was going to handle her,” I say.

  “Then he can just start early,” Eve says. “Easy enough.”

  “Does Colt know you are suggesting this?” I ask. I can’t imagine Colt knew his parents were pushing me out of LA and didn’t tell me.

  “He won’t want you to leave, of course,” Eve says. “But if you’re happy with the idea, he will agree. We came to you first.”

  “Won’t there be reporters in Honolulu?”

  “Nothing like here. You saw how isolated we were during Colt’s recovery.” Eve picks up one of the cracker concoctions and peers at it. “We’ve arranged for a house for you near the gym. If you need a car, we’ll get one for you. I imagine you’ll be spending a lot of time with your family.”

  I do want that. Arriving just a week before the wedding, which was the old plan, seemed sort of stressful. Now I can take my time.

  “Okay,” I say. “When do you think I should leave?”

  She relaxes, relieved I have agreed without a fuss. “We have a private plane on standby whenever you want it. Tonight, or in the morning perhaps.”

  I hold on to my teacup with an iron grip. “Okay. I’ll talk to Colt.”

  “I’m so glad you are going,” Eve says. “I hate that those reporters were going to make such a mess of your last weeks before the wedding. It’s such a special time.”

  The waiter brings more tea, and Eve is generous enough to keep a light conversation going without me, as if she knows I have a lot to think about now.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Colt drives me out to the private airport on his Harley. My bags were sent ahead with the driver, but he wanted to see me off himself.

  I hold on to him, firm and sure, glad we get to be so close for these last moments together. The city whizzes by, but I barely notice, feeling his muscles shift and move with the turns of the motorcycle.

  We pull into the airstrip and park by the plane, which has a steep staircase leading down to the tarmac.

  Colt kills the motor, but doesn’t move. Neither do I. Suddenly it seems like a bad idea to go.

  I press my cheek against his back and squeeze him more tightly. He holds on to my arms, and I can feel him sigh.

  Finally, I swing my leg over and pull away. The pilot comes up to shake Colt’s hand. “Always a pleasure to see the champ,” he says.

  I can tell Colt still thinks those words should be about his dad. He can’t get used to them being about him. “Take care of my girl,” he says, and grabs my hand
.

  “You know I will.” The pilot turns to me. “You can come up when you’re ready.”

  Colt pulls me against his chest. “I’ll fly down after the match. I won’t go a whole month without you.”

  I look up at him. There’s no dimples today. His face is all serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle that reporter well,” I say, as if I’m being sent away for being naughty.

  “It wasn’t your fault. They had the whole thing planned from the beginning. You didn’t even say anything.”

  “But I should have. I don’t know. I should have fixed it.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “There’s nothing to fix. When people decide to tear you down, they’ll just do what they have to do. It won’t matter in the end. I know who you are.”

  But he took me to my apartment. He was thinking the same thing as everybody else. Why won’t she fight?

  “I’ll train with Hudson,” I say. “Who knows, maybe I’ll cut down every female fighter in the Pacific before you get there.”

  “That’s my Jo,” he says. “I love it when you talk trash.”

  He brushes his lips against mine, gently, with tenderness. The engine starts up on the plane, and I know I have to get up there or mess up their flight schedule. “I love you, Gunner,” I say to him.

  “I love you right back, Hurricane,” he says.

  I try not to wince at my old fight name. “Talk to you after the puddle jump.”

  He pulls away, and I run to the base of the steps, turning to wave before I climb up.

  Once I’m inside the cabin, I feel despondency creep over me. I’ll have to make do without him. But he’ll visit, like he said. And I’ll have Hudson and my mother and all those crazy aunts and uncles, and my grandfather and Tutu.

  I’m completely alone in the cabin with the chairs that rotate and the built-in sofa Colt was strapped to when we took him to Hawaii for rehab. I buckle myself into the same chair I sat in before, as if I shouldn’t take The Cure’s or Eve’s seats even in their absence.