10
Jesus Christ, did every woman in Las Vegas want him?
Jules couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight of Krista, the makeup artist, casually touching Nick’s bare shoulder as she pressed a buffing pad along the ridge of his brow. He must’ve made a joke, because the woman threw her head back and laughed, tossing her glossy dark hair over her shoulder. Nausea churned in Jules’ stomach. Krista was curvy and sexy, and she’d been very sweet and helpful the entire photo shoot. She was exactly the type of woman Nick would be interested in. Jules had no reason to be upset. She knew that, but sometimes it was hard to remember.
It had been a little over a week since the nightclub incident—that’s what she’d started calling it. She’d managed to avoid him for the most part while she tried to find the words to explain to him her reasons for pushing him away while also giving him a semipublic hand job. But her heart still tripped over itself every time she caught a glimpse of him. So far, he’d behaved as if it hadn’t even happened. He’d walked into the photo shoot as if nothing had changed between them.
“What do you think?” Enrique, the photographer she’d hired for the campaign, walked up to the table, taking a drink from his bottle of water.
Jules jerked her attention back to the laptop in front of her, staring at the thumbnails of video clips and stills he’d taken during the first half of the shoot. She’d been reviewing the segments before getting distracted by Nick and Krista, and Krista’s hands on Nick. She swallowed and forced herself to focus. “These are great. I love the close-up shots of his hands as he’s putting on the hand wraps. I’m so glad you were available on such short notice.”
Enrique nodded and came up beside her to point one out. “We could change this one to black and white. We’d have shadowing here, and could even slow it down. It’s very versatile.”
“It is. I’m imagining it as the start of the spot. We open with music and then a slower version of him putting on the wraps as we build up to the other guys and broader shots with faster and faster cuts between images.”
“That’d be a powerful way to set the mood,” Enrique agreed. “We could take stills from this too.” He pointed at a video of Nick standing, turning toward the camera and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’d look great in print.”
“It would. These are all amazing. I think we’re ready to move on to the more dynamic action shots,” Jules said as she stepped back from the table.
Enrique nodded, and then went off to supervise his two assistants as they changed the lighting around. They’d converted a corner of the gym so they’d have access to punching bags and other training accessories they might need, which meant they were shooting at night when everyone was gone. Which was fine, except she wished there were more people around to keep her attention off Nick. But then she thought of what had happened at the club and realized a room full of people couldn’t save her from wanting him.
The music that had been playing while they were shooting changed from a dance beat to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies.” With a sigh of frustration at herself for still being hung up on him, she plastered on a smile and walked to where Nick stood, determined to face her demon head-on. He adjusted one of the giant wind machines an assistant had set up at the beginning of the shoot, fiddling with the dial on top. Krista had gone back to her table of supplies.
“You’re doing great. Enrique is very happy with what we’re getting. Thanks again for doing this,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, trying not to think of where her hands had been a week ago.
His trademark cocky smile appeared, the one where one side of his mouth tipped up higher than the other, but he didn’t look at her. She swallowed hard when her tummy fluttered in response. “Did you doubt me?” he asked, and turned the fan on.
“No . . .” She automatically started to reassure him, but stopped when he tossed his hair dramatically, the thick dark strands catching the wind and blowing out behind him. She caught a faint whiff of the citrus scent of his shampoo. It was the same scent she’d worn on her skin after spending the night with him back in Chicago. Arousal tugged low and deep in her belly at the memory.
He moved his shoulders and hips in time with the music as he tossed his head again. She couldn’t help teasing him, laughing a little. “Are you pretending to be Beyoncé?”
Looking over his shoulder at her, he winked. “Everyone secretly wants to be Beyoncé.”
She laughed harder, not even bothering to restrain it. As she watched him toss his hair like Beyoncé, bare chested with his hands still in fight wraps, she realized just how much she’d missed him. Missed this playfulness. Missed the way he could make her laugh when she was stressed. After that disastrous dinner with her dad last week, things had been very tense between them. He only spoke to her when he had to, and avoided her the rest of the time. Laughing with Nick was nice and made her forget that for a few minutes.
“I wouldn’t mind being Beyoncé,” she agreed when she finally stopped laughing. “But you should stop playing with the wind machine. It looks expensive.”
“Nuh-uh.” He grabbed her hand when she reached for the dial and pulled her in front of him, facing the wind. “Just try it.”
“What? No.” But she’d started laughing again.
“Just try. Here.” He gently nudged her feet apart. “Power stance,” he explained. “Now close your eyes and toss your head.” His hands went to her shoulders to pull them back before sliding down her arms to take her hands, leaving her skin tingling. She couldn’t stop her fingers from curling around his, craving more of his touch.
Spreading her arms out, he made her dance while singing, “All the single ladies,” softly in her ear. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and his breath sent prickles of heat down her neck. Shivers raced down her spine, and her nipples tightened at the sensation of the coarse wraps against her skin. The hard muscles of his chest were solid and warm against her back.
At one time she would’ve turned and kissed him, but that part of their relationship had to stay in the past. With his chest pressing into her back, though, it was hard to remember exactly why. Before Jules realized it, she was playing his game, swaying and shaking her hips to the music. She had to resist the urge to press herself against him every time her butt brushed his hips, reminding herself for the hundredth time that they were just coworkers. She’d just started singing the chorus with him when someone cleared her throat.
Krista stood there giving them a knowing smile. “Enrique says it’s time for the sweat.” She held a spray bottle in one hand and a white cloth in the other.
Jules pulled her hands away from Nick’s and turned off the machine, already missing his warm body at her back. “Sorry, we were just playing around.” When she looked back at Nick, he was staring at her, an intense heat in his eyes, and she felt so damn good, so damn happy, that she couldn’t find it in her to regret letting her guard down.
Krista just smiled in response and held the cloth out to Jules. “Wanna help?”
“Oh, sure.” Taking the cloth, Jules realized the bottom side was soaked in a familiar smelling oil. “Is this olive oil?” she asked, making a face.
Krista nodded. “It’s heavy enough to sit on his skin for the whole shoot without getting absorbed.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“The idea is to make it look like he’s been training, so layer a small amount of the oil on his forehead, nose, cheekbones, pecs, and stomach.” Krista demonstrated by pointing to each body part as she spoke. “All the places that normally get shiny when you sweat. I’ll spray water on the oil, and it’ll bead up to look like sweat. Shit, forgot the towel. Go ahead and start. I’ll be right back.” Setting the spray bottle on a nearby stool, she hurried away to dig through a large duffel bag.
Nick picked up the spray bottle and sat on the stool to give Jules better access. She couldn’t take her eyes from his broad, muscled chest. When she didn’t move toward him, he raised a brow, smirk firmly in place, that heat still in his eyes. “Grease me up, woman,” he said in a Scottish accent, imitating Groundskeeper Willie from The Simpsons.
She laughed, warmth flowing over her. “Okeydokey,” she said, parroting Lunch Lady Doris’ answering line. Before she could stop herself, her mind flashed back to Chicago again. This time her traitorous brain conjured up the memory of the two of them lounging in Nick’s bed, eating pizza, and watching a Simpsons marathon. Quoting lines to each other. Laughing. It had felt so good to just be with him. Kind of like it did now.
No. She shoved the memories away and hauled herself back to the present.
She smiled at Nick, hiding her confusing jumble of emotions. He knew he got to her, but she couldn’t confirm he was right or she’d be a goner. That knowledge gave her the confidence to step forward and start slathering oil all over him. No big deal. She touched the cloth to his chest, and an ache started between her legs. She bit her lip, struggling to focus on something other than the pulse between her thighs. Something other than Nick’s gorgeously muscled body, and the gorgeously sweet man it belonged to.
She finished one pec, leaving it shiny, before moving to the other. She wanted to touch him with her bare fingers, to feel that smooth skin over hard muscle without anything between them as she rubbed in the oil. She remembered giving him a massage after he’d endured a particularly intense workout, smoothing her hands over his muscles, working them until he’d moaned. When she’d finished, he’d rolled over, hard and thick for her. “Come here,” he’d whispered. She’d moved over him, fingers biting into the muscles of his chest as she’d lowered herself onto him. Her body pulsed in response to the memory.
Stupid brain. Thanks a lot.
She forced herself to finish his chest and then lowered her hand to his stomach. He sucked in a breath, and it was like they were back in that club just over a week ago.
Her gaze jerked up to find him watching her. His eyes were intense and so dark they looked black. And for just a second, that chemistry was back. His gaze drifted down to her mouth, and she couldn’t breathe.
“Got it,” Krista said, rushing back over holding up a white towel. “You can use this so I don’t get your shorts wet with the water.”
Nick practically jerked it from her and put it on his lap, busying himself with making sure the towel covered his official WFC fight shorts completely. Jules realized that maybe he’d been hard and was covering himself. The thought should’ve embarrassed her, or maybe even made her feel awkward. But, fuck, all it did was make her want him more.
Drawing in an unsteady breath, Jules handed the cloth back to Krista. “Here, you should probably finish his face. I don’t want to put too much on.”
Krista shrugged and stepped in to take over. Nick didn’t say anything, but he winked at Jules, his gaze lingering on her lips as a small smile curved his own. She realized then that her options for self-preservation were limited. She needed to either stay the hell away from him or make him realize why they really needed to be just friends. Since staying away wasn’t an option, she had to talk to him, even if she didn’t know quite what to say.
She walked back to the table and sat down at the laptop, resolving to stay out of the way and let Enrique direct the shoot. She tried to focus on the thumbnails, making notes about the ideas she had for the ad, but her gaze kept going back to Nick. It wasn’t just that he was hot. It was that he was sweet, warm, and funny. He kept the crew laughing the whole time. She missed that.
She missed him.
And she was being a typical Darcy by not talking to him about their issues. He deserved better than that. She needed to set things straight and make sure he knew that she wasn’t interested in taking things further because she couldn’t be who he wanted. She was too messed up, and she’d only drag him down. Not to mention that she’d be risking not only her job but his too if they started seeing each other. She wasn’t sure if his flirting tonight had been Nick being Nick or him trying to make something else happen between them. It was pretty obvious that they needed to clear the air.
If that dinner with her father had taught her anything, it was that she had to take responsibility for leaving Nick. How could she expect Nick to move on when she hadn’t explained things to him? She was behaving just like her dad, and she hated that.
Nick deserved to know why she’d walked out on him. She owed him that much.
When Enrique declared they had enough shots, Krista started packing up her gear, and the rest of the crew began to dismantle the lights. Jules hurried over to Nick and caught him just before he disappeared into the locker room. “Hey, Nick, can I talk to you for a minute?”
He turned to face her, running a towel over his chest in an attempt to get rid of some of the oil. “What’s up?”
Forcing herself to look at his face and not his oiled-up chest, she took a deep breath and let it out with a rush of words. “We need to talk about what happened in the club, and about what happened in Chicago. I owe you an explanation, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to realize it. Do you think we could meet somewhere and talk?”
He paused, his eyes wide in shock. She hurried to add, “I know it’s late and you probably have to get up early to train, so we can talk later. Tomorrow, maybe?”
His throat worked as he swallowed, clearly trying to figure out what to say. She felt bad that she’d put him on the spot. “No, tonight is good. There’s a pub near my place. Let’s go there?”
She nodded. “I need to finish up with Enrique, but I can meet you.”
“Great. I’ll text you the address. I’ll meet you in an hour.” He turned and made his way into the locker room, his towel slung over his shoulder.
Holy shit, this was happening. Now she needed to figure out what to say.
Nick drummed his fingers on the table, his stubbled chin resting in his other hand. He shifted in his seat as his eyes scanned the terrace of DJ’s, a small pub a couple of miles from his place.
Given the way Jules had been avoiding him after what had happened at the club, he’d been surprised she wanted to talk. He especially hadn’t expected her to finally offer to explain why she’d set fire to the best damn thing that had ever happened to them.
He wasn’t sure whether she’d actually offer an explanation, or if it’d just be more excuses, but his curiosity far outweighed his wariness. He rubbed the back of his neck, his right leg bouncing restlessly under the table. Even though he was tired from the photo shoot, he felt wired and awake.
He checked the time on his phone. She was only a few minutes late, probably stuck dealing with work stuff, but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if she’d decided to bail. A flicker of disappointment curled through him at the idea, and he leaned back in his chair, adjusting the damp knot of hair at the crown of his head.
A dull ache took root right in the center of his chest, growing the longer he sat and waited. His stomach churned anxiously, but he didn’t move from his chair. He’d waited a year for an explanation, and he damn well wanted to hear it.
Fuck, he was such a goddamn mess over her. His brain was racing in circles trying to keep up with his stupid emotions. What he wanted was simple: Jules, in his bed, in his arms, in his life. Period. Why did it have to be so damn complicated?
He grabbed his phone, opened Instagram, and mindlessly scrolled, waiting for Jules. Still.
“Hi, Nick. Nice to see you, Nick. You look great, Nick,” she said from several feet away, and his head snapped up. He smiled at the way she’d turned words said in anger and frustration into a private joke. A little burst of adrenaline surged through him, almost like before a fight. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes were hollow. Sad. The ache in his chest intensified, not for himself, but for her. She looked tired, more than she had at the shoot. Not happy and smiling and laughing like when he’d flirted with her in front of that stupid wind machine. It had felt good to laugh with her again. Really good.
He set his phone screen-down on the table and stood, moving to the other side and pulling out a chair for her. He raised his hands, wanting to pull her in for a hug, but at the stiffness in her shoulders, he dropped his arms awkwardly to his sides. “Hey.” Not knowing what else to do with himself, he fell back into his seat.
She sank down gracefully into her chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. God, he wanted to fist his hand in that blond hair, pull her close, and promise her that he’d fix whatever had put that haunted look on her face. She glanced up at him, swallowed, and toyed with the edge of her laminated menu.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked, tipping his chin at the menu. “Something to eat? You hungry?”
She shook her head, looking down at her lap. Her shoulders heaved as she pulled in a deep breath, her breasts rising under the red tank top she’d changed into. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
He reached across the table and slipped a hand under her chin, gently tilting her face up and forcing her to meet his eyes. “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”
She hesitated, and then her shoulders gave a small, but unmistakable shake. “I just . . .” She sniffed, and when she blinked, two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Nick signaled to the waitress. “Can we get a glass of sauvignon blanc over here? It’s an emergency.” The waitress nodded and hurried off.
Despite the tears clinging to her lashes, Jules choked out a laugh. “Thanks. I guess I could use a drink.” She sighed heavily and sat back in her seat, studying him with an unreadable expression. Something in her gaze softened, and she bit her lip.
“What?” he asked, one eyebrow rising.
She shook her head, shrugging with one shoulder. “You remember my favorite wine.”
“Of course I do. Remember, we were walking home from a movie, and we went into that little wine store near my apartment? You picked up a bottle of White Knight sauvignon blanc and told me it was your favorite. Do you remember what you said next?”
She wiped at her tears and shot him a tentative but genuine smile. “That I liked to enjoy a glass every night for the health benefits. The other glasses were for my hilarious jokes and awesome dance moves.”
He chuckled and leaned forward, cupping her face with one hand. He brushed away a tear with his thumb, savoring the softness of her skin. “How could I forget something like that? I remember everything about you, Jules. Every damn thing.”
For several heartbeats, neither of them moved. Her bright blue eyes held his, so much emotion flickering through them. Fear. Doubt. Sadness. Lust. Guilt. A sweet, tender kind of relief. It was right then that Nick realized his seed of hope wasn’t a seed anymore. It was something bigger, stronger, with deep roots, blooming with possibility.
The waitress set the wine in front of Jules, breaking the moment. She wrapped her graceful fingers around the stem and took a healthy sip. She let out a shaky laugh and took another big sip. Several times she opened and closed her mouth, as though she was searching for the right way to start.
Despite the knot in the pit of his stomach, he jumped in. “You said you wanted to talk. About what happened at the club, and about Chicago. That you wanted to explain.”
She swallowed thickly and nodded. “Yeah. Just trying to figure out where to start.”
His pulse whooshed in his ears. “Let’s start with the club.”
She nodded again, tracing her fingers around the base of her wineglass. Her brows drew together, and he clenched his fist at the urge to touch her again, giving her a little space.
Finally, she looked up, her gaze steadily holding his. “I owe you an apology. More than one, really. For what happened at the club, and for . . . for Chicago.” She licked her lips, took another sip of wine, and continued. “I’m sorry about what happened, that night after the fights. We . . . I got carried away, caught up in the moment. It was unprofessional, and it shouldn’t have happened.”
He frowned slightly, his stomach clenching. “But it did.”
She nodded slowly, and her eyes skimmed down his chest. “You were right. I was jealous of those other women when I had no right to be.”
His blood warmed, pumping faster through his veins at her admission she’d been jealous. “If you need to tell me you’re sorry for your own reasons, I get that, but don’t pretend like we both didn’t want it.”
“I lost control.” She paused for a beat. “You have that effect on me.”
“Pretty sure I’m the one who lost control,” he said, shooting her a grin, trying to lighten the moment. “Sorry about your dress. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”
A tiny smile curved her lips up, and she glanced down. “Don’t worry about it.” The smile dropped away. “But it can’t happen again, and I’m sorry, because I don’t want to lead you on or give you the wrong idea about who we can be to each other.”
“And what does the wrong idea look like?”
Her shoulders slumped, and when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Us, Nick. We’re the wrong idea. I can’t be with you, not the way you want.”
His heart sank into his stomach at her words, and he crossed his arms. “Tell me why.” She bit her lip, hesitating, and a heavy pressure clawed at the inside of his chest. “Tell me why we’re wrong. Tell me why you walked out on me in Chicago. Because I don’t fucking understand, Jules.”
Several heads had swiveled in their direction, and Nick cleared his throat, knowing he needed to keep his voice down.
“I know.” She blinked. After several seconds, she sucked in a deep breath. “I wasn’t expecting to find . . .” She shook her head and started over. “You see, the thing is that I . . . my family . . .” She slumped back in her chair and glanced up at the sky, as though she might find the words, or the strength, or whatever it was that she needed up there.
“Jules.” He leaned forward and took one of her hands in both of his. “Just talk to me.”
She smiled tentatively and nodded, leaving her small hand in his much bigger ones.
Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. “What we had in Chicago was really great, Nick. More than great. But I also knew it didn’t have a future, and I never meant to lead you on.”
“We didn’t have a future because you were only in town for a few weeks?”
She shook her head, and her eyebrows drew together, a pained expression on her face. “No. Because I can’t do relationships. You’re a great guy, and you deserve someone normal.”
Nick felt his eyebrows rocket up his forehead in surprise. “What?” What the hell was she talking about? “Why do you think—” He cut himself off, not sure how to articulate the confused jumble of thoughts tumbling through his brain.
Jules shrugged. “I think it’s fair to say my parents should have never gotten married. My mom got pregnant young and they didn’t have a choice. When I was growing up, fighting always came first for my dad. He was almost never around. My parents fought constantly when he was home, and I was an afterthought. My mom and I were never as important as his fighting career. We were in his way.” She let out a sad sigh, and he could almost see the memories flickering behind her eyes. “I know what it’s like to live with a fighter, and I know the heartbreak that comes with it. I know what kind of dedication and focus it takes to succeed, and I want you to succeed, Nick. I do. But I can’t go down that road with you, both for my own reasons, and because I’ll only hold you back.”
Nick shifted in his seat, seeing her in a slightly different light. A more complete light. Like she’d finally given him that missing puzzle piece.
And while he felt as though he more fully understood her reasons for running, he couldn’t ignore the anger tightening his chest at how unfair she was being, not giving them a chance when they were so good together. He couldn’t help but feel that she was writing him off partly because of his career, even though her shitty childhood had more to do with Craig Darcy being an asshole than with fighting. Swallowing, he shoved his anger down, knowing it wouldn’t help him get what he wanted right now.
When he didn’t say anything, she kept talking. “In Chicago I didn’t expect to . . . I didn’t expect to find you, and connect with you the way I did, and it scared me. Trying to make it work wouldn’t have been fair to either of us for so many reasons. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that at the time. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. She was explaining why she’d run, but all he could hear was that they’d had a connection, an intense one that had scared her. That she’d had a tough go of it as a kid and was dealing with a lot of baggage thanks to her parents. That she didn’t want to hold him back, because her parents had mistakenly taught her that family was a burden, not a blessing.
He got it, but it didn’t melt any of his anger away. She couldn’t help the way she’d been raised, couldn’t help the terrible examples she’d been given as a kid, just like he couldn’t help feeling pissed off at the entire situation.
None of her reasons for running were actually about Nick, and damn if that didn’t fill him up with so much hope he could barely breathe. It also pissed him off a little, but he shoved that away. Even though he knew he had the right to be angry, he tried to convince himself that it was selfish, and not what Jules needed.
“Nick, say something,” she whispered.
He smiled and gave her hand a firm squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that as a kid. I had no idea. Thank you for telling me.” He could see in her eyes that she wanted him to tell her he forgave her, but he couldn’t because it would’ve been a lie. He could understand, and he could try to move forward, but he couldn’t deny the anger and hurt still simmering just below the surface.
She nodded, an almost shy smile flickering across her mouth. “You deserve to know the truth, and I needed to take responsibility for the way I acted.” Her features tightened. “I don’t want to be like my dad. He pushes people away. He doesn’t communicate.”
“I don’t think you’re like him.” It took everything he had not to push up out of his chair and pull her into his arms, the need to comfort her vibrating through him. Comfort her and convince her that she didn’t have to hold herself hostage to her parents’ mistakes. The fact that she couldn’t see that ate at him.
She shrugged. “The apple never falls far from the tree.” Fresh guilt flashed in her eyes, but she kept talking. “I wanted to clear the air because we’re working together, and the way I left wasn’t right. And even more than that, I like you, Nick. I’d really like for us to be friends.”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and let out a heavy sigh, weighing his words before he spoke. “I think you know I want a hell of a lot more than friendship, Jules. I’d be lying if I didn’t make that clear.” He sighed. “But I’ll try.”