Shadowboxer (Tapped Out 1)

Would he remember me? Maybe he would just take the check and shove it in a drawer, because he didn’t recall any random female named Mia and didn’t need the cash.

I had a feeling he didn’t need it now either.

“How rich are you?” I asked, as surprised as he seemed to be by the question.

I’d once had control over my mouth. My vocal cords must be somehow connected to my now running rampant hormones. Weird.

He slanted me a look. “What makes you think I am?”

“Where would you like me to start?” I asked.

At his arched brow, I sighed. The man really was like a mule sometimes. Most times. Not like me at all.

“The way you talk, for one thing.” I caught myself gesturing and stopped, fast. I had enough nervous habits already. “You usually speak formally. You must be educated.”

“I’m a college dropout,” he said almost smugly.

“From which college?”

He winced. “Cornell.”

“Ivy League. Right.”

“There are scholarships, grants, loans—”

“Did you have any?”

He wisely chose not to answer that question.

“Then there’s your clothes. This coat.” I indicated the leather jacket that had practically molded itself to the contours of my body. I was beginning to think he should add that cost to my tab too, since I doubted I’d ever return it. “The sports car you drive when you’re not slumming it—” Great. I’d just flashed my cards and my ass in one fell swoop.

Yep, orgasms were out for the foreseeable future.

Fox came to a dead stop and tilted his head like a dog cocking one floppy ear. He was just as adorable too. “How do you know what I drive?”

I jerked a shoulder. “People talk.”

“Mia.”

“I did recon on you,” I muttered, darting a look up at him as I dragged my ragged thumbnail to my mouth. I didn’t bite my nails. An occasional cuticle didn’t count.

“Recon? You mean like a spy mission?” He stared at me, his mouth falling open just enough that the tip of his tongue slid between his teeth.

I absolutely did not get wet. Er, wetter, since I was still wet from before. That would’ve been foolish. I was a practical businesswoman who only wanted to clean his clock and make bank.

“A good fighter finds out everything he can about his opponent.” I shrugged again, figuring if I kept acting nonchalant I’d eventually con myself into believing he was nothing more to me than someone to face in the octagon. It wasn’t a lie if you managed to convince yourself.

“You are not a ‘he.’ You are a woman, a fact I can now vouch for quite intimately.”

There it was, that hint of fussiness to his speech that made me mental. I went toe-to-toe with him, tipping my head back to glare into his eyes. “Women can’t be fighters?”

Ignoring my question, he lowered his lips near my ear. “Is that why you just fucked me? More recon? Now you know my favorite position is woman on top. That’s why I had you above me. When your breasts bounced under your tight T-shirt, I pretended you were naked.” He bit the shell of my ear, offering the soothing swipe of his tongue before he retreated. “Make sure you write all that down, baby.”

“Oops, I forgot my pad.” I tucked his coat around me as we started walking again. He didn’t reach for my hand, and I didn’t care.

Liar.