Moody: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 2

  “What was that about?” Griffin eyes me suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” I mutter, because I seriously have no clue what the hell just happened.

  Chapter 2

  Moody

  There are two things in this world that I love, fighting and sex. And I’m damn good at both. What I’m not good at is commitment. It’s one of the reasons I’ve kept my distance from Izzy.

  She deserves a hell of a lot more than anything I have to offer.

  But seeing her two nights ago at that cursed engagement party has fucked with my head. Emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years rise to the surface. Because I need to have her. Need to touch her. Taste her. Feel her come apart in my arms.

  Four years I’ve dreamed about her. The way she whimpered my name when I was balls deep inside of her. Dreams so scorching hot I’d wake up rock hard, and end up pumping my own cock like a fucking teenager in heat.

  Still, I managed to stay away, knowing it was for the best.

  Because the woman deserves it all – the white picket fence, two-and-a half kids life that all the chicks want. But hell if I’m going to sit back and let Jason Reagan give it to her. The guy is a class A asshole.

  “You’re seriously going to let Izzy marry that bastard?” I growl out when Griffin sits down next to me at the bar.

  He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head. “It’s not my call.”

  “You’re her brother, and he’s the fucking jackass that–”

  “That what?” Griffin sighs heavily. “What are you more upset about? That he sanctioned a fight that I wanted to participate in, or that his family leant me money to pay off my medical bills?”

  “At thirty-five percent interest.” He won’t tell me how much he owes, but I know it’s a shitload.

  Griffin leans back and breathes out wearily. “You’re always looking for someone to blame. But it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t yours. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m still alive. Time to move on.”

  I give a small grunt and motion to the bartender to bring two beers, which he returns with promptly.

  Time to move on. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. But seeing her again, feeling the connection that was still there, made me question why I’ve been fighting it for so many years.

  She wants me, at least her body does. I saw the way she responded when I touched her. Saw the arousal burning across her cheeks.

  I know women. How to pleasure them. How to read them. And there’s no denying that the attraction is mutual. It was there. Just as hot and explosive as it was four years ago. Despite how much I fucked things up. Or even how much she hates me.

  It’s something. But it sure as hell isn’t enough.

  “You really think Izzy’s going to be happy with that guy?”

  “I don’t know.” Griffin stretches his legs and tips his beer at me. “But after the shit she went through with the last guy she was with–”

  “What shit?” I clench my back teeth so hard I feel like they’re going to break.

  “I don’t know the whole story. Just the broken pieces that I’ve put together from when I was in the hospital. Whoever the asshole is he left her devastated.”

  I have a sinking feeling I know exactly who the asshole is.

  “She didn’t give you a name?”

  “No. I just know he took advantage of her, got her knocked up, then took off.”

  I choke on my beer. “She was pregnant? Did she…have the kid?”

  Griffin shakes his head. “She miscarried in the fourth month. I doubt Izzy would have told anyone if she hadn’t ended up in the ER.”

  My head is a clusterfuck of emotions.

  Why the hell hadn’t she told me? I know why. Because I was a selfish, arrogant prick, who made her feel like nothing more than one of my one-night stands. Guilt floods through me like a tidal wave.

  I need to talk to her. Apologize. Explain why I ran. I was trying to protect her. Even as I think it, I know it’s a bullshit excuse. I was too much of a coward to admit the feelings I had for her, to fight for what I wanted.

  “Does Izzy even know about your connection with Jason?” I shift in my seat and eye him.

  “No. And it’s going to stay that way.”

  I grunt and take a long swig of my beer.

  Griffin studies me, gaze hard. “I’m not going to fuck things up for her. She’s finally happy.”

  “Maybe.”

  Or maybe it’s time I start fighting for the one woman who ever meant anything to me.

  I tilt my bottle back and take a deep drink. Then a small smile tugs at my lips, because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  White picket fence or not. Isabelle Stewart is mine.

  Chapter 3

  Izzy

  My cell buzzes with another text message from Moody.

  We need to talk.

  Call me.

  With a heavy breath, I delete it, just like I’ve deleted the last dozen.

  Five days have passed since the engagement party, since he came roaring back into my life.

  It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself to stop thinking about him, I keep seeing his face, feeling his touch against my skin.

  Hot.

  Electric.

  Scorching.

  And the dreams. Damn, but the dreams are sinful torture that leave me aching with need. An ache that not even my vibrator can curb.

  The thought of seeing him again makes my skin prickle, my stomach clench. At the same time, my face burns with shame.

  I’m getting married. I shouldn’t be thinking about anyone but Jason.

  “You okay?” Kate asks, sitting down on the couch beside me with her glass of wine, dark brows drawn down in concern.

  “Better now that you’re here.”

  Her lips tug up, but I can see the worry in her green eyes. “Have you decided on a date for the wedding?”

  “Jason was hoping for late May.”

  “That soon?” Her brows draw up.

  “It’s all been such a whirlwind.” I sip at my wine, emotions scrambled, heart betraying me.

  “I’ll say it again, are you sure this is what you want? I know he’s filthy rich and looks like Bradley Cooper and everything, but I just...” Her lips tighten and I can tell she’s struggling to hold something back, which for her is odd, because Kate usually says whatever’s on her mind. It’s one of the things I love and hate about her.

  “Just spit it out.”

  “There’s just something off about him. I can’t put my finger on it. I mean how well do you really know him?”

  “I know that he’s stable, and he respects me. We want the same things. Plus, my parents love him. It’s a good arrangement.”

  “How romantic.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Romance is overrated.”

  “Right,” she says sarcastically. “Well, please tell me he’s at least hung.”

  “God, you’re crude,” I say, laughing.

  Kate loves men, and they love her. But she’s not really one to settle down. Once that insta-connection is gone, so is she.

  “Well, is he?” She takes a deep sip of her wine, eyeing me.

  I shrug, feeling my cheeks warm.

  “Shit, Izzy. Please tell me you’ve slept with him.”

  “Of course. It’s just not a big part of our relationship.”

  Her eyes go huge. “Bullshit. It’s the most important part.”

  It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Not everyone’s as dirty minded as you.”

  “True.” She chuckles, then raises her brows and leans forward studying me. “When’s the last time you two had sex?”

  “I don’t know,” I say sheepishly, because I honestly can’t remember.

  “And you don’t think that’s weird?”

  “We’re both busy. I’ve been working nights and–”

  “And nothing. I hate to tell you this, but if he’s not getting it from you, then he’s getting it somewhere els
e.”

  “Jason’s not like that.”

  “Does he even make you come?”

  “God, Kate. You’re incorrigible.”

  “I’m just saying, you’re young, beautiful, and successful, you deserve more than a cold fish between your legs.”

  I choke on my wine and start to cough.

  “What about the hottie I saw you flirting with at the party.”

  “I wasn’t flirting.”

  She smirks. “But you knew who I was talking about. What’s his name?”

  “Moody,” I say on a sigh.

  “God, what I wouldn’t give to have a tumble with him.”

  “Kate.”

  “Maybe you could give me his number. Hook us up. Since you’re getting married and all, you wouldn’t mind right?”

  “Sure,” I mumble.

  “There’s the look. I knew it.”

  “What look?”

  “That one.” She points her finger at me, one brow cocked. “You’re jealous.”

  “No, I’m not. He’s just…he’s a bit of a playboy. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Kate’s expression goes stoic, green eyes studying me. “He’s the one, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit. I can see it on your face. He’s the guy who broke your heart. Left you all”–she motions with her hands up and down my body–“Cold and bitter.”

  “I’m not bitter.”

  She snorts and shakes her head. “So what did he do?”

  “Nothing. I told you–”

  “You always were a shitty liar.” She reaches over and picks up the wine bottle from the table, then refills my glass. “So tell me, is he as good in bed as he looks?”

  She stares at me until I finally answer.

  “Better,” I admit, because it’s the truth.

  “Hah! I knew it.”

  “It doesn’t change anything.” My cheeks are on fire, but I manage to glare at her.

  “It changes everything. I saw the way he was looking at you. Like he could devour you.”

  “Or destroy me,” I mumble, but Kate doesn’t seem to hear.

  “You’ve got to call him. If he’s the one, then–”

  “I’m getting married.”

  “To someone who you don’t even love.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really?”

  “It might not be the whole insta-lust thing, but what I have with Jason is–”

  “Boring.”

  Yeah, boring. But boring doesn’t break your heart and leave it shredded in a million pieces.

  Chapter 4

  Moody

  She won’t answer her phone, or reply to my texts, and it’s pissing me off. Sure I know I deserve it, but hell if the woman isn’t just as stubborn as she always was.

  “I know you’re pissed at me, Izzy. But answer your damn phone. We need to talk.” I shove my cell back in my pocket and walk into the gym.

  Theo is waiting for me at the front desk, a big goofy grin on his face. At twenty-five, he finally hung up his gloves a couple months ago to focus on running the gym and spending time with his new family.

  I don’t get jealous. Not very often. But if there’s one man I envy, it’s Theo Ryan. And not because of the two title belts he holds. Because he’s found it. That once in a lifetime love that bleeds and drains you dry, right before putting you back together as a better man.

  Mackenzie did that to him. It was a rough few months, but they have it.

  Lucky fucker.

  “You look pleased with yourself.” I toss my bag behind the counter and glance at the gym schedule.

  “I am.” He hands me a stack of papers. “It’s a contract. You’re going back to Vegas baby.”

  I scan the document, eyes widening when I reach the dollar figure. “Shit.”

  It’s almost triple what I normally get for a fight.

  “I thought you’d like that.” Theo slaps my back as he walks around me. “Just do something for me?”

  “What?”

  “Cut your hair. You look like a fucking girl.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  Theo grunts and shakes his head. “I’ve doubled your training schedule. But I’ve blocked you off for next Friday night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re babysitting.”

  “You’re kidding right?”

  “I’m taking Mac to New York for the weekend. My mom can watch Logan, but she has to work Friday night. She’ll be back in the morning to pick her up.”

  “Fine. But you owe me.” I don’t really care. I love the kid like she’s my own.

  My own. It suddenly occurs to me that if the baby Izzy had carried survived, she or he would have been close to the same age as Logan.

  I swallow hard. I’ve never thought about being a father. Not really. It has always scared the shit out of me. But the thought of Izzy having my child does something to me.

  “You okay?” Theo asks.

  “Yeah.” At least I will be once I finally make Izzy see the truth.

  Chapter 5

  Izzy

  Four years earlier…

  “Stay with me.” Moody’s broad fingers cup my face, my back is pressed against the door, his powerful body trapping me.

  I chew on my bottom lip, unable to answer. Not that I want to run. I want to touch him. Feel the flex of muscle beneath my fingers. I want to do more than stand frozen, staring up at the man I’ve been half in love with since I was sixteen years old.

  “You’re drunk,” I say, licking my lips, when his head dips closer to mine.

  Just one taste.

  “Maybe. But I know what I want.” His mouth slants over mine, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. “Tell me you want it too.”

  I do. God, I want him more than I’ve wanted anything or anyone. But it’s so wrong.

  It’s not just that he’s my brother’s friend. It’s that of all the people Griffin’s warned me about, Moody was always at the top of the list.

  Reckless. Self-absorbed. A player.

  But I’ve seen the other side of him. The real Moody Brock. He acts like he doesn’t care, but I know it’s just a show.

  Tonight, beneath the alcohol-induced haze in his eyes, I see the brokenness that he’s so desperately trying to hide.

  I reach up and brush my fingers over the dark bruises around his eye, where my father’s fist connected a few hours ago. In the hospital waiting room, Moody had stood there and taken it. Every blow. Every harsh and accusatory word.

  I hate my father for it.

  We’re all hurting. All scared that Griffin won’t pull through. But blaming Moody for it is like blaming the sun when you get a sunburn.

  Griffin knew the chances he took every time he stepped into the ring.

  “You should put some ice on that. It looks pretty bad.”

  “I’ve had worse.” His eyes suddenly darken and he pulls away, building a wall around himself. A wall that so rarely comes down, except with me.

  “You can’t keep blaming yourself,” I breathe out heavily, suddenly cold without his large arms wrapped around me. “The aneurysm was a ticking time bomb. You couldn’t have known. What my father said–”

  “Was true.” His back is turned to me now, the muscles in his shoulders bunching with tension. He reaches under the kitchen counter and pulls out a bottle of Jack, then opens it and takes a large swig. When he looks at me again, his expression is unreadable. “You should go.”

  Pain radiates off him in waves.

  He stiffens when I move toward him, and take the bottle from his hand, placing it on the counter.

  “I’m not going to leave you.” It’s a bold statement, especially for me. But no matter how much I know I’m probably going to regret it, I can’t leave him. Not now. Not when he’s hurting.

  “Izzy.” His hands are on my hips, pulling me to him, and he rests his forehead against mine. �
��You know what will happen if you stay.”

  The words are a breath of warning against my cheek.

  I give a small nod, running my fingers up his chest and around his neck. On tiptoes, I brush my lips against his. “Yes.”

  For a moment, he stills, his breathing as rough as my own.

  I’ve dreamed of this moment every time he spoke to me, teased me, every time I was forced to see him with a new woman on his arm, wishing it was me.

  When he doesn’t kiss me back, fear starts to build inside my chest. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want me.

  I start to pull away, and he groans. Then his lips crash down on mine. Hard.

  His tongue pushes into my mouth, and his large fingers tangle in my hair as he all but devours me.

  I’m completely lost in the kiss. Knees weak. Core clenching in need.

  The taste of him is intoxicating. Whisky and sin.

  Pleasure whips across my skin like wicked flames ready to consume me.

  I’ve never been kissed like this.

  It’s so much more than I ever thought possible.

  I shouldn’t have started this, because I know there’s no stopping. Not now.

  My hands snake into his hair as his mouth devours me with the masterful caresses of his tongue, and skillful sweeps of his lips.

  I want this. I want it so bad I can hardly breathe.

  His hands skim down my waist, gripping my ass, and slowly grinding the hard bulge of his erection against my stomach.

  As if I weigh nothing, he lifts me, so that my legs are wrapped around his hips, and carries me towards the bedroom.

  This is really happening. I’ve dreamed of this. Fantasized about what it would be like to feel his rough hands on my skin. Reality is so much better.

  He lays me on the bed and one hand pushes beneath my loose, cotton shirt.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to touch you.” His hands are on me, stripping my clothes, calloused fingers rasping against my skin.

  I jerk as his tongue strokes against the sensitive tip of my nipple, then his mouth covers it in a sharp suction. His lips cover my other breast. Sucking it, he teases it with his tongue, then rakes his teeth across the sensitive peek.