Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) Read Online Free Page B

feminine awareness. This was unreal. She’d never had this strong a reaction to a man before. Even the sound of his voice was like sex to her ears.
    He pulled her closer, hugging her against his side, and bent his head, whispering, “I’ll see you after the fight, and we’ll pick up where we left off.”
    His breath smelled of mint, mixed with the vaporous undertone of alcohol. Was he . . . drunk? The heat of his exhale skated down her neck, sending a shiver of goose bumps prickling over her arms. Her pulse quickened at his wicked promise as he ushered her out the front door. Before Ryann could respond or string two coherent words together, his hand connected solidly with her ass in a parting farewell and the gym doors rattled shut behind her.
    And there she was, standing on the sidewalk with wet panties, wearing his sweat all over her, and with a date she never asked for. What in the hell just happened?

CHAPTER
     3 
    A ide n was not exaggerating when he said the Mirage was sold out. The only empty seats she could see were the ones beside her, seats she suspected were reserved for family, and sitting there made her feel a little awkward. People eyed her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Some gave her blatant glares—mostly the women—while others stared at her like she was some kind of circus oddity.
    A guy from the group of men, presumably Aiden’s camp, came over and plopped down in the empty seat beside her. His shirt had Disco Stick printed across the front of it and Take a ride plastered across the back. How cute. She recognized the man he’d been sparring with the other day, standing among the group. He looked no friendlier now than he had then.
    “Don’t let those bitches get to you. They’re just jealous,” Disco Shirt said, bumping her with his shoulder as if they were old friends.
    Ryann turned an assessing look on the man. He was lithe and muscular. The scar above his brow and over his cheekbone hinted he was a fellow fighter. The man was handsome, though not in Aiden’s league of hotness, but he could definitely hold his own.
    “I’m not bothered.” A denial neither of them believed. “I just don’t like large crowds”—which was absolutely the truth.
    He shrugged as if her lie mattered not to him either way. “Suit yourself. I’m Regan, by the way.”
    “Ryann,” she said, accepting his offered hand. His grip was firm, his palm callused—exactly how she had imagined the hands of a fighter would be like.
    “You excited about the fight tonight?”
    “Curious is more like it. I’ve never been to something like this before.”
    Regan laughed. “Well you picked a great one to break your cherry on, sweetheart. Disco puts on one hell of a show. Wicked talented fighter, that guy. So . . . if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know our boy?”
    “I don’t.”
    Regan shot her a surprised look. “Yet here you are, sitting in a spot reserved for family and close friends.” The suspicion in his tone suggested he didn’t believe her.
    “I assure you I am neither.”
    “Wow . . . Disco must want in your pants pretty bad to give you a front row seat to this fight.”
    Ryann’s jaw dropped.
    “What?” he asked, having the nerve to sound offended. He did a double take, looking between her and the aisle as if expecting “our boy” to come jogging down it any moment. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    “Like what?”
    “Like I just told you something you didn’t already know.”
    No comment. This conversation was not happening. Change of subject. “Why do you call him Disco?”
    As if on cue, the house lights went out and floodlights clicked on, illuminating the path from the octagon to the doorway where the fighters emerged. Regan leaned closer to be heard above the announcer and yelled over the ramping noise. “You’re about to find out.” Standing, he laid his hand on her shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze and said, “Enjoy the show, Ryann. It was