Page 15 of Ignited

He murmured in her ear, “What the hell are you doing in my neighborhood, Kittycat?”

“I’ve got business in the area.” She tried to flip him to the mat, but he wasn’t falling for her tricks twice.

“Not going that well so far, is it?” he said, grinning.

“Other business. This is just a hobby.” She dropped to the floor, slithering out of his grasp, and almost got him in the balls.

He turned away just in time to block the blow. “Bad kitty,” he said. “That’s against the rules.”

She laughed. “You thought there were rules? That’s cute.”

They got in close, feinting and trying shots, feeling each other out. He wasn’t really serious about fighting her; he didn’t care if he won or lost.

But she was serious. She was even faster in person, and wicked strong. Boomer was used to fighting other wolves, trained soldiers, but she could put any of them on the mat.

Even so, he was holding his own. After he got her on the ropes and landed a series of jabs, she panted, “Nice moves, Kid. You looking for work?”

That was completely unexpected. What the hell was she up to?

He blocked an uppercut. “What kind?”

She took a minute to answer, on account of almost dislocating his fucking jaw with a follow-up jab.

“Local info,” she said, when he recovered. “And maybe muscle. Assuming you have any muscles?”

Smartass. There was only one appropriate response to that. Boomer took her down to the mat, kneeling behind her with his right arm across her windpipe, cutting off her air, his left arm twisting hers up behind her back.

“Any more questions?” he murmured.

Her answer defied physics. She ducked down and flipped him over her head. She had to have torn her damn rotator cuff in the process, but she just rolled her shoulder and grinned back at him, circling.

“We’ll talk after,” she said. “Loser buys drinks.”

The crowd was screaming now; they wanted blood. Karisma gave him that challenging grin once more, wild and reckless, and all Boomer’s wild recklessness rose up to meet it.

“Fine by me,” he said. “Let’s give them a show.”

And the fight was on. First martial arts: kicks and blocks, punches and throws, evenly matched, both working to outmaneuver the other. He felt a smile creeping onto his face. She was damn good.

Better than him, probably. But not today.

He was in the zone, feeling her energy, anticipating her moves like there was some kind of electrical current between them. It was hot and sexy and something more, like dancing with the perfect partner.

Boomer had never put a lot of effort into winning fights—not unless the other person was really trying to kill him. He was the weapons and explosives guy. He didn’t get up close and personal.

But now he suddenly felt like getting serious. He didn’t care if he beat her, but he did want her respect.

Karisma clearly felt the change, and something lit up between them. He didn’t even know how long the fight went on; he was barely conscious of the crowd screaming, the announcer’s voice blaring, the betting boards changing as the odds went back and forth.

It was all about her. Blood and heat and instinct, sweat and torn muscles, and this crazy dance they were doing. He got her against the ropes, her fists pounding into his ribs. He crowded her, close, close, body to body.

The timer buzzed, and the fight was over.

The crowd was on their feet, screaming. Boomer and Karisma leaned against the ropes, panting. They clasped their hands and raised them over their heads, together.

He grinned at her, muscles burning, bruises aching, sweat pouring down his face. He’d never felt better in his life.

Impulsively, Karisma reached up and kissed him.