“You want me to take him home?” Rosalyn asked incredulously, staring at Diego through the glass window to the office as he gathered his things. He’d insisted on doing it himself to prove he was fine after a minor blackout, but Doc was concerned about a fatal head injury—they were apparently frighteningly common among fighters.

Doc shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I said someone should. Just to watch over him and make sure. I mean, I think he’s okay. But…” he hesitated. Rosalyn tore her eyes from Diego to glance at Doc. His face was lined with worry as he watched Diego move painfully about the room. “I don’t know whether I can trust myself,” he finished on a quiet whisper.

Rosalyn’s heart broke at the devastation on his face. There was a history there, one Rosalyn didn’t feel privy to.

“Can’t you take him home, then?” she asked desperately.

Doc shook his head. “No. I have no…just no.”

“And Diego doesn’t have anyone else? A wife? Girlfriend? Friend of any kind?”

Doc drew in a breath. “Not that I know of. I’ve never seen one, and he’s never mentioned anyone.”

“A hospital?” she tried.

Doc’s eyes grew wide with panic, but it wasn’t him that spoke.

“No hospitals,” Diego growled. He stood in the office doorway, glaring at her.

“But—”

“No.” With that, he gently shut the office door in her face.

Rosalyn turned to Doc. “Why is he so against hospitals?” she asked.

Doc shook his head. “All the men here are hiding from something. Any public service—cops, hospitals, etc.—might expose them.”

“What’s his story?” Rosalyn wondered, her reporter brain ticking over with curiosity about this man.

Doc shook his head. “I don’t know. But even if I did, it’s not my place to tell you.”

Rosalyn acknowledged that with a nod.

“Anyway, you don’t have to take him home. I wouldn’t expect that.”

“But?”

“But I’d feel better if someone watched him. In my no-longer-considered-a-professional opinion. There’s nothing much I can do for the ribs. I’ve bound them, and they’ll take time to heal the crack. But the head wound is a little more worrying.” He gave her a shrug and left her alone.

She hovered in the doorway to the office, unsure what to do. Leave? Stay? Take the sexiest man she’d ever seen back to her place to just…watch him? Danger signs were planted all along that path. Not dangerous to her safety. Her instincts about him were correct, proven when he’d protected her from Spider and his thuggish friend—Diego wouldn’t hurt her.

But that didn’t mean she was safe from him. The way he made her heart pound, her skin tingle, told her that he was very dangerous to her will power.

Diego opened the door to the office, now wearing a shirt. He leaned heavily on the handle. His face was wan, lined with pain. He glanced over her shoulder.

“Where’s Doc?”

She shrugged. “I think he went to go check on Weston.”

Diego sneered at the mention of the other man’s name. “So why are you still here?”

She hesitated, but she knew her decision was made. “I’m going to take you home,” she told him.

Diego froze. “I thought you said you weren’t here for a piece of the winner.” The words were a little mean, like he was lashing out.

Rosalyn’s face heated at his assumption. “I’m not, but Doc said you’d be in danger for the next forty-eight hours because of your head injury. He wants someone to monitor you.”

He scowled at her. “Doc’s wrong. I’ll be fine.” Though, his hand crept to his ribs as if he wasn’t so sure of that. He was already barely upright, and clearly putting on a shirt had taken a lot out of him. Rosalyn was worried for him, and despite the warning in her head, she knew this was the right thing to do.

“You saved me tonight. Let me save you in return.”

He glanced at her from under heavy lashes, his gaze intense as he studied her. The look penetrated her, tugging at something deep in her soul. Like she was being seen for the first time.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he murmured, voice a rough rasp. But he prowled a few steps towards her just the same.

“Why not?” she asked, breathless. Yearning grew within her.

He stopped a few inches from her, leaning over her. Their breaths mingled. “Because my control is already tenuous around you. It might snap at any moment. Are you ready for that?” His eyes were hot and needy as they pierced hers.

Rosalyn swallowed thickly. “You’re not like that. You wouldn’t do anything unless I wanted it.”

He grinned. “Oh, you’d want it. I promise you.”

She let out a shaky breath. This was one of the turning points in her life. Momentous and life-changing. The weight of her decision pressed down on her, telling her things would never be the same again if she took this man into her home—her life.

“Whatever happens,” she told him. “Happens. But either way, you’re still coming home with me.”

 

 

She drove Diego’s crappy old truck back to her place. She’d caught a cab, and he hadn’t been fit to drive in her inexpert opinion. He hadn’t complained, just watched her hungrily all the way back to her place.

By the time they arrived, Diego was drooping, his eyes slowly shutting before he opened them again with a snap. She helped him out of the car, and it was a sign how much he was truly hurting that he didn’t protest. Or maybe he wanted her close, pressed against his side.

It wasn’t until she got him upstairs in the creaky elevator and opened the door of her apartment that she saw the true issue—only one bed, and not even a couch.

She lived in a tiny studio apartment near the newspaper offices. She didn’t need much for herself; a bed, kitchen, desk. The TV was mounted on the wall at the foot of her bed, meaning she had no need for another seating place. She never had guests, so that wasn’t a problem.

Until now.

She manoeuvred Diego over to the unmade bed and eased him onto it. She leaned over to adjust some pillows behind him, then froze as his hot breath brushed over her cleavage. A bolt of heat zapped to her core and her cheeks heated. She cleared her throat and moved back, avoiding the possessive look in his eyes as he watched her.

“Nice place,” he muttered. She glanced over to see him taking in the small space. She shifted on her feet, awkward at having him in her domain, and began tidying up. She picked up clothes off the floor and dumped them in the laundry hamper in the bathroom.

“Thanks.” After a minute of silence, she couldn’t take it anymore. “You should rest.”

She returned to the room. His gaze followed her.

“Will you join me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut at the images that assaulted her at his words. Them in bed together. Naked. Pressed against each other in a hot, needy, slide of bodies.

This was a terrible idea. All she knew about this man is that he participated in illegal fights for money, and he had a bit of a protective streak. Now, he was in her house, tempting her. She shouldn’t want him, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“No,” she said, voice high and strangled. “I’ll watch over you. Make sure you don’t…you know…lapse into a coma or whatever.” She switched off the light to punctuate her point, casting them in shadows. It took a second for her eyes to adjust. The only light source was from the cool white streetlight slipping through the gaps in her curtains.

He let out a long breath, and some of the heat in his eyes died at the reminder. “Thank you. I know I seem ungrateful. But thank you.”

She gave him a smile. “You’re welcome. Rest. I’ll look after you.”

As if he couldn’t resist the pull of healing sleep any longer, his eyes fluttered shut. Something warm, something suspiciously like affection, filled her chest. He’d trusted her, this hard, unyielding man. He’d trusted her to keep him safe.

Now, his face relaxed, he didn’t look so intimidating. His perpetual scowl had softened, making him look younger and more approachable.

Rosalyn sighed softly to herself and stepped away, knowing it was an illusion. She couldn’t allow herself to fall this man. A man with too many secrets, too much darkness. She’d had enough of that in her life, and she’d finally clawed her way out of it. She couldn’t go back.

Not ever.

But still, she watched him, making sure he was still breathing softly. She pulled out her laptop and began typing up her mental notes from the evening. She’d had real insight into the fights tonight, into the special world they’d created for themselves, more so than her first attempt. But she still had so many questions.

How did these fights start? Who ran them? Why? And why did the men participate?

Luckily, she now had direct access to a man who could answer all those questions. It was perfect, and she couldn’t deny to herself that some part of her had realised this when she’d agreed to take Diego in. It would certainly make her article a lot better to have first-hand access to a man deep within the world she was investigating.

She made a long list of all the questions she wanted to ask, but knew instinctively he wouldn’t want to answer them willingly if she told him why she wanted to know. She wouldn’t mention her job for now. Instead, she’d ease him into it, get him used to the idea of being profiled in something like that, even anonymously.

When her notes were typed up, she drafted an article, writing possible lines here and there, angles to follow, structures. After a while, her mind drifting from tiredness, it occurred to her she’d spent the last thirty minutes writing about Diego and speculating about all his secrets.

Annoyed with herself, Rosalyn slammed her laptop closed and got up from the desk. She wandered the apartment silently for a while, not knowing what to do with herself now that a man slept peacefully in her bed.

Or, more accurately, she knew exactly what she wanted to do, but knew she shouldn’t, and some internal part of her was debating between what was right and what she yearned to do.

She wanted to lie next to Diego and listen to the steady beat of his heart as he slept. To feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek rather than watching from across the room.

But that was the dangerous way. The way that led her to getting her hopes up and giving her heart away to a man who wasn’t good for it.

Eventually, though, the lure proved too strong. She eased herself onto the other side of the mattress and lay back in the darkness.

She listened to his breathing, and felt an odd sense of peace. Of connection.

And for a moment, she let herself pretend.