Zel: Markovic MMA, Page 2

  In all the years she had performed on stage as Nena Rubens, never once had she been aroused by a patron. As a general rule, she offered the body shot to whomever had paid for the performance, but the second she had clapped eyes on the blond Adonis in the front row, she’d decided to switch things up a bit. For the first time in a long time she’d been able to separate one face from the crowd. She had danced as if doing a private show. Judging by the crowd’s reaction, they had loved it.

  Fanning her face, Sara grabbed a bottle of water and swallowed an icy sip. You have to calm down! She couldn’t walk into her autograph and schmoozing session all hot and bothered. It wouldn’t be professional.

  Loud rapping at the door grabbed her attention. Expecting Lucy, her sister-slash-assistant, on the other side, she grabbed her robe and slipped into it before wrenching open the door. She recoiled in surprise. Instead of being eye to eye with a spunky brunette, Sara suddenly had an eyeful of one of the very last men on earth she ever wanted to see again. She reacted on instinct and slammed the door in Ramsay Ramirez’s face.

  But Ramsay was too fast. He had always been too fast. He gripped the door and shoved it forward, causing Sara to stumble back toward the vanity. She quickly grabbed the slipper chair and held it up like a shield. Eyeing her abusive stepbrother, she warned, “I’ll scream if you take another step closer.”

  He grinned evilly. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Certain he meant that, she shakily insisted, “You’re not allowed to be here. The restraining order says—”

  “That judge was in Texas. We’re standing in Nevada right now, Sarita.”

  Feeling sick at the sound of her nickname coming from his mouth, she shook her head. “The restraining order follows me across state lines. You are not allowed to be here.”

  “So scream,” Ramsay said with a tired shrug. “Ten bucks says I can haul your fat ass out of here before anyone comes running.”

  Cold dread gripped her stomach. He would do it, too. He had done worse.

  “Is there a problem here?”

  Her panicked gaze jumped to the doorway where the handsome blond fighter now stood. His stance was one of practiced aggression, his feet spaced evenly apart, his weight shifted back and his hands relaxed but ready to strike. He towered over Ramsay by two or three inches and had a leaner, meaner build.

  Relieved to have a champion so close at hand, she shot the fighter a desperate glance. Please, she begged silently, make him leave me alone.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Ramsay asked in that incredibly aggressive way of his.

  The fighter didn’t even blink. He seemed wholly unfazed by Ramsay’s asshole routine or the Hermanos gang tattoos on her stepbrother’s neck and arms. “I’m her date,” the blond lied. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Her brother,” Ramsay ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Stepbrother,” Sara quickly inserted. “He’s my stepbrother, and there is a permanent restraining order in place. He’s not allowed to be here.”

  “Then it’s time for you to leave,” the fighter said. Stepping forward, he grabbed Ramsay by the back of the neck and grasped his wrist, wrenching it behind his back and forcing her ex into a painful bend that caused him to yowl. He marched Ramsay out of the dressing room and down the hall, disappearing from her view. There was quite a commotion a short time later. Sara held her breath as she listened to the men arguing. Something big and heavy slammed into a wall. Ramsay? The fighter?

  Dropping the chair, she rushed to the door and hid behind it. She pushed it mostly closed, just in case Ramsay got free. He was going to be thoroughly pissed off after this, and if he managed to make his way backstage again, it probably wasn’t going to end well for her.

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. She cowered behind the door and held her breath. The footsteps stopped outside the door. A wave of panic engulfed her.

  “Ma’am?” Three swift knocks on the partially closed door followed. “He’s gone.”

  She stepped to the side and peered out the crack between the door and the frame. At first, all she could see was a white poplin shirt and classic black blazer. She tilted her head back and breathed out a sigh of relief upon seeing the fighter again.

  My rescuer.

  “Thank you.” Sara opened the door to let him inside. A moment too late, she remembered she was almost naked and only wearing a robe, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already seen everything already while she danced. Still, she felt vulnerable and exposed in a way that was almost too intimate.

  His icy blue eyes raked down her body. She seized the opportunity to size him up as well. With those broad shoulders and that angular jaw, he possessed the fierce look of a warrior. Even now, completely relaxed, he stood like a fighter. Somehow he managed to look powerful and capable without the aggressiveness she had seen earlier. He made her feel secure and safe.

  She imagined the rippled muscles hidden beneath his shirt and mustered tremendous control to keep her greedy fingers still. He was so close she could smell the subtle cedar notes of his cologne. She inhaled discreetly and buzzed on his manly scent.

  “I’m sorry.” He stepped back from the doorway, obviously discomfited by her half-naked state. His accent—almost Russian but not quite—piqued her interest. “Should I come back later?”

  “No!” Embarrassed by her hasty response, she added, “I mean, I’d like you to stay. I’d like to explain that mess you just witnessed.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations. I was happy to help.” His expression turned dark. “That guy is an asshole. If you have a restraining order, you need to talk to the club security, to your hotel security and to the local police. He needs to be trespassed and run out of this town.”

  “He’s not so easily dissuaded,” she replied quietly. She didn’t think this stranger wanted to hear about the very estranged husband she had back in Houston or her ties to an Albanian loan shark who had given her a start dancing in his first club. “There is a lot of ugly history there.”

  The knight who had just saved her raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

  “Yeah,” she laughed nervously. Drawing together the lapels of her robe, she pulled them tight and tied the sash at her waist. “Please come inside.”

  With a nod, he accepted her invitation and entered the dressing room. She closed the door behind him. Thinking of the little white lie he had told, she teased, “So…what’s your name? I should know your name if you’re my date, right?”

  “I shouldn’t have lied like that, but I wasn’t sure what else to do.” He smiled and extended his hand. “Zel Tesla.”

  “Sara Contreras.” She clasped his warm, rough hand. Noticing the confusion wrinkling his forehead, she quickly explained, “Nena is just a stage name.” Certain he was one of the fighters in town for the big match, she asked, “Is Zel your real name or just a fighting name?”

  “I fight under my real name. Most of us do.” He hesitated. “Do you watch MMA fights?”

  “Not really,” she admitted. “I’m not a big fan of violence.”

  “Oh. Right.” Was he thinking of Ramsay? Putting the pieces together?

  Hoping she hadn’t hurt his feelings, she hastily added, “But, um, I’m interested in these fights because you’re my hometown boys.”

  “You’re from Houston?”

  She nodded. “Born and raised. I couldn’t pass up the chance to book a gig the same weekend when the men from Ivan’s warehouse are fighting.”

  “You know Ivan Markovic?” He seemed surprised by the connection.

  “We aren’t close or anything, but we have a few friends in common. I actually saw him fight way back in the day when he used to brawl in those cages at the old meatpacking plant,” she admitted.

  “But you said you don’t like fights,” he pointed out.

  “I don’t. I didn’t.” She swallowed anxiously as memories she had long since buried tried to resurface. “I was involved with a man who liked them. He was trying to climb the u
nderworld ladder and those fights were the place to be seen.” Allowing herself a moment to reminisce, she said, “I still remember the day the Red Army landed in Houston and started their invasion. It was chaos. The old players—the motorcycle gangs and the Mexican street gangs and the Vietnamese crews—weren’t ready for the kind of war that Nikolai brought.”

  Zel seemed taken aback. He fidgeted with his left hand as he said, “You seem to know a lot about the underworld.”

  Her gaze settled on the barely visible peek of a familiar tattoo marking the spot between Zel’s left thumb and forefinger. Realizing they had more in common than just Ivan, she swiped her right thumb over the same spot on her left hand and cleaned away the makeup covering her mark. Lifting her hand, she said, “So do you.”

  Zel’s smiling expression collapsed as he glimpsed the tiny tattoo on her skin that marked her as a person in the Albanian mafia’s debt. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you know Besian.”

  “I know him. Probably better than you,” she allowed. “But my debt is paid. Yours?”

  He shook his head. “Soon.”

  “The fight?” she guessed.

  “Yes.” Hesitantly, he asked, “Were you one of Besian’s girls?”

  “Would it matter if I was?” She had never been embarrassed or made a secret of her humble beginnings on a badly lit Houston strip club stage.

  “No,” he answered quickly. “I don’t care about those kinds of things. We’re all just trying to make a living and survive. I was only curious about how you ended up in his debt.”

  “That’s a long story.”

  “I’d like to hear it. Tonight,” he added with a smoldering glance.

  The offer hung in the air as a promise of night she wouldn’t ever forget. Wondering if she was reading him right, she said, “Maybe.”

  “While you decide if you’re going to tell me that story,” he presented her with the program from that night’s show, “would you mind signing this for me?”

  “I don’t mind.” She crossed to her dressing table and chose a marker from the cup Lucy had left. Glancing at the mirror mounted over the table, Sara noticed Zel’s eyes trained on the outline of her ass through the clinging robe. Her tummy fluttered as she realized he hadn’t just come for an autograph. If that was all he’d wanted, he could have waited for the meet and greet.

  No, he’d come for something else.

  Something she was more than willing to give, especially after the way he had come to her aid. If nothing else, he had earned a proper thank-you kiss. Before Ramsay had appeared without warning or invite, she had been fantasizing about this very man. Refusing to let her ex-con stepbrother take anything else away from her, even this fleeting moment of possible happiness, she pushed that horrid encounter out of her mind and focused only the man standing before her now.

  With a seductive swing of her hips, Sara approached Zel and took the program from his hand, making sure to graze her fingertips against his skin. She smiled coquettishly and placed the program against his chest. The tip of the marker raced across the bottom of her vixenish pose.

  Her signature in place, she toyed with a button on his shirt. His heartbeat sprinted beneath her fingertips and she took that as her cue to continue. Rising on tiptoes, Sara languidly sniffed his neck and lazily purred, “You smell amazing.”

  Tiny goose bumps erupted along his neck. The corners of her lips curved with a smug grin. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “Are you serious?” The vein in his throat jumped. He seemed taken aback by her rather brazen behavior, but also very, very interested.

  “Yes.” She smiled saucily and pressed her plump lips to his. He stiffened in surprise but quickly relaxed as she sucked his lower lip between hers. Anxious quivers rocked her belly. A hungry groan escaped his throat and vibrated through her lips. His strong arms wound around her back, and he hauled her against his chest. Fingers sifting through his short hair, Sara captured his mouth in a sensuous kiss. Her tongue slipped between his lips, searching for his.

  What are you doing? You don’t know this man. Slow down.

  But she didn’t want to slow down. Kissing this man felt incredible. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so alive. She trembled inside, her heart racing and her breaths coming faster and faster.

  As their tongues mated, Zel’s hands rode the curve of her back and grasped her bottom through the flimsy fabric of her robe. Her eyes widened as his cock stabbed her soft belly. The length of his hardness made her curious so she slid her hand down his abs and over his belt buckle.

  When she grasped him through his trousers, Zel groaned and pumped his hips. Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed him backward until his back hit the door. They traded frantic kisses as Zel dragged her robe down around her shoulders. Sara let her arms drop and, with a little shake, sent the robe fluttering around her ankles.

  Standing in just her rhinestone thong and tassels, she felt incredibly sexy and just a little bit vulnerable. Zel groped her bare cheeks with his big hands. He peppered her jaw and neck with kisses. Hands on her shoulders, he spun her around and pulled her ass against his cock. His rough palms caressed her breasts and belly.

  When he tugged on her nipple tassels, she sucked in a sharp breath. He nibbled her neck and sucked on the curve of her throat. Eyes closed, she pushed back against his cock, wiggling her ass to tease him.

  As his fingers found their way to her slick cleft, her eyes flew open and caught their reflection in the mirror. Her heart raced as she watched his hand beneath the thin triangle of fabric covering her sex. Zel’s gaze burned hers in the mirror across the room.

  When a thick finger slid inside her pussy, Sara whimpered and bucked. His thumb settled over her clit and flicked the swollen nub. Zel’s dexterity amazed her as he worked her pussy in a way she had never experienced. Her knees trembled as he fingered her slick sheath and rubbed her clit with just the right amount of speed and pressure. His teeth grazed her shoulder as he alternated suckling the sensitive spot with teasing nibbles. Sara’s toes curled at the sensual assault. Her breath hitched as she approached orgasm.

  “I want to see you come.” Zel’s whisper tickled her ear. “Look at me.”

  Sara couldn’t deny his request. Their eyes locked in the mirror. For the briefest of moments, she wondered how the hell this was happening. Twenty minutes ago, she was fantasizing about touching him. Now he was doing these wicked, wicked things to her body.

  As the waves of ecstasy crashed down upon her, she pressed her pussy into his hand, milking his digits for every last ounce of sensation. Only his arm curled around her waist kept her from falling to the floor in a boneless, quivering heap. She shivered when he gently removed his fingers from her G-string. He brought the shiny fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. The sight drove her wild.

  Suddenly Sara was overwhelmed with the need to taste him. She turned around and dropped to her knees. Her greedy fingers tugged on his belt buckle and unzipped his fly. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled it free from his trousers. Her nose nuzzled his bellybutton and happy trail. Teeth grasping the waistband of his black boxer briefs, she started to drag them down.

  And then there was a knock at the door.

  “Sara?” Lucy’s voice penetrated the wood. “Are you okay? They security guys just told me there was some kind of altercation!”

  Cursing her sister’s timing, Sara cleared her throat of its huskiness before replying, “I’ll explain everything in a few minutes. I need to finish getting dressed.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Well it’s only ten minutes until the meet ’n’ greet. You need any help?”

  “No.”

  “All right. I’ll be back in a sec to escort you.”

  “Okay.” As Lucy left, Sara rested her forehead against Zel’s rock-hard stomach. She could actually feel the ridges of his muscular abs and wanted nothing more than to get him naked so she cou
ld see and taste and touch all of him. “I’m sorry.”

  He cupped her chin and tipped it gently. His warm smile reassured her. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “Are you sure?” Some part of her expected Zel to get salty about not getting his way.

  “I’m sure.” Like a gentleman, he helped her stand. He bent down, snatched her robe from the floor and draped it around her bare shoulders. Leaning in, he kissed the side of her neck. “What we just did was beyond my wildest expectations. I was really just hoping you’d let me buy you a drink.”

  Meeting his heated gaze, she smiled. “I’d let you buy me a drink.”

  “I’d like to see you again.” He traced her collarbone with his finger. “Maybe we can have dinner?”

  His hopeful tone made her practically giddy. “Tonight?”

  He nodded.

  Sara scurried to her purse on the corner chair and rifled through the contents. She found the spare key to her penthouse suite and raced back to him. “You’ll need this to access the elevator to my floor. I’ll be back in my room by eleven.”

  Zel pocketed the key. “I’ll be there.”

  She trembled with the promise of a night she’d never forget. “So I’ll see you then?”

  He leaned down and kissed her hungrily. “Count on it.”

  Flashing that ever so sexy grin, Zel opened the door and slipped into the hallway. Sara collapsed against the door, barely able to breathe. What did I just do?

  Fear and anxiety drenched her in a cold wave as she thought of Ramsay. That burst of intense pleasure she had shared with Zel seemed like something out of a dream world when she remembered the menacing look on her stepbrother’s face.

  If he had come all this way to harass and intimidate her, he was never going to stop. Not for the first time, she wondered if picking up and moving overseas really was the best option for dealing with him.

  Wanting to escape from the ugly reality awaiting her, she decided to push Ramsay out of her mind. She finished changing into the dress she had chosen tonight, a fun little rockabilly style number to fit with her usual fifties pin-up style, and fixed her hair and makeup. Lucy returned while she was primping and helped her into a pair of candy apple red heels and pearl jewelry.