Beneath the Surface by M.A. Stacie Read Free Book Online Page A

the one teasing her, and Kyran was devastatingly beautiful when he did that.
    “Meh, I’ve seen better.” Dale grinned, teasing him back.
    Kyran chuckled and sagged onto the couch, resting his head back, and closing his eyes. Dale studied him, and her fingers itched to smooth the worry lines from his brow. He looked exhausted. A small amount of fresh blood looked like it was oozing from the cut to his eyebrow. “Your cut has reopened. I’ll need to clean you up again. You have anything around here?”
    Leaving him alone for a moment, she strolled across to the kitchen.
    She rummaged through his cabinets until she found a bowl and filled it with water. A trip to the bathroom provided some gauze and butterfly bandages—everything she needed to clean his cuts. The hunt wasn’t difficult as his kitchen and bathroom were pretty bare.
    He’d probably protest that she wanted to clean his wounds—she’d be shocked if he didn’t. Again, she’d stay strong and hide behind her attitude.
    It had worked so far.
    She half expected to find him sleeping when she returned. He wasn’t, though he had moved his head. Taking a seat next to him, she tapped him on the shoulder, cocking her head as she said, “You ready?”
    Kyran peeked through the corner of his eye and scowled. “I’m not six, Dale.”
    Her heart pounded at the use of her first name. She was screwed, so utterly screwed. This man was no good for her, and getting involved would lead her Nowheresville. Population: one.
    “I’m aware of that fact, but thanks for reiterating it. I still need to clean it up, though. Sam would kill me if I didn’t.”
    “You know Sam well?” he asked, giving in and tilting his face toward her. He opened his eyes and watched her.
    She soaked some gauze in the bowl of warm water and raised it up to his eyebrow. Dabbing the skin, she answered his question. “Trace has been working at Metro for years. Sam was the one to show him the ropes of fight night and what he had to do. Whenever I went to meet Trace, Sam would be around.”
    Kyran nodded, wincing a little when she pressed the gauze against his jaw. “I’d rather you didn’t mention this to Taylor.”
    “What? You being knocked out? Sure. He won’t hear it from me.”
    “I don’t mean that. I mean it all. The club, the fight, everything.”
    “He doesn’t know you fight?”
    Kyran shook his head, relaxing his body and closing his eyes again.
    His knee rested against hers, and she tried not to feel enamored by how long his eyelashes were or how full his lips were when he wasn’t snarling.
    “But how do you explain the bruises? You have to be at work tomorrow, right?”

    “Got a shitload of meetings. I’m going to have to cancel, which pisses me off to no end. As for the bruises, either I avoid Taylor for a couple of days or avoid the club and don’t get them in the first place.”
    “Why do you do it?” Dale asked, setting the bowl onto the glass coffee table. “The whole bare-knuckle boxer image doesn’t fit with your corporate one.”
    “Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice soft. It seemed like he was too tired to argue with her. He rested back again, placing his hand flat on the couch between them. She could hear him breathing, deep and slow. His chest rose and fell with a steady pace. While Kyran relaxed, Dale scanned the apartment, noticing it lacked personality. There were no framed photos, no little knickknacks from journeys, or gifts from family. The place was basically one huge studio with a bookcase separating the living space from the bedroom. Even the kitchen was open to the rest of the apartment, and the bathroom was the only room that had a door. It was all rather austere.
    Much like Mr. Reese. But it was very different from Kyran. They were two sides of the one man. Two very confusing sides.
    “I thought you were making me coffee,” he muttered, barely audible.
    “Truth is I don’t think you need the caffeine. You should sleep.”
    “Hmm,”