Willing Victim by McKenna Cara

Author:McKenna, Cara [McKenna, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Erotica, Fiction
ISBN: 9781419928482
Publisher: Ellora's Cave
Published: 2010-08-06T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

Laurel shifted the paper grocery bag in her arms and fumbled for her phone, checking its screen. Five twenty-eight. Flynn should be nearing the end of his training, but hopefully not so late that she’d miss watching some of it. She let the butterflies swirl in her stomach, enjoying them. Then she reached the bar and they turned to rocks. Closed.

“Fuck.” What sort of a shady bar wasn’t open by this time? A man emerged from the alley, a huge white guy with a shaved head and tattooed neck and a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Laurel said. “Excuse me.”

His eyes met hers then took a brief trip down the rest of her body, wary but intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Is Flynn down there?” She nodded at the building.

“Yeah.”

“Is there some way I can get in? I’m…supposed to meet him.” In three hours.

“Sure, there’s a keypad.” He stepped in close, looking around, his proximity and rather potent body odor making Laurel’s flight instincts hum a warning. “Punch in four-nine-nine-two-two-five, then the pound key,” the guy said, voice private.

“Thanks.” She offered a smile and sidestepped him, heading into the alley. The keypad was beside the heavy metal door and she entered the code. The box beeped and a lock released. Laurel heaved the door open and stepped into the dim stairwell and that familiar cologne of sweat and Tiger Balm.

The place felt different by day, still seedy and dingy but brightly lit, definitely a gym now instead of a venue for shadowy violence. She leaned in the threshold for a minute. Two men sparred in the ring, wearing head gear unlike on fight nights. She clutched the bag tight as her eyes found Flynn. Track pants and no shirt, just as when he fought, and just as when he fought his body made her weak. He was working out at one of the tall leather punching bags, throwing combinations, hooks and jabs and uppercuts interspersed with blocking motions from his fists and elbows. He’d wrapped his hands but didn’t wear gloves. Laurel frowned, conjuring x-rays of fractured knuckles in her head. When he stopped to grab a bottle of water from the floor she walked over. Flynn set the bottle down and went back to punching. He didn’t look at her until the third time she cleared her throat.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows rising. He dropped his guard and hiked his pants up an inch, cinching the drawstring and retying it. “Hey. How’d you get in here?”

She offered a warm smile. “Some gigantic guy with a shaved head gave me the code.”

Flynn spotted the grocery bag and took a step closer, giving her a deep whiff of his insanely attractive smell. “What’s all this?”

“I thought I’d save you some time and money and cook dinner at your place. If that’s okay.” Her heart stopped at a sudden possibility. “Unless you were like meeting someone for dinner…”

He shook his head. “Nope. Cook away.”

Her pulse started up again. “Oh good.”

“I hope I have all the pans and things you need,” he said.

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