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A spotlight appears, aimed at the center of the rabbit-hutch wrestling ring. A man in a dark suit stands there, holding a microphone that appears to be dangling from the ceiling.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Ultimate Fight Night !” he cries to the cheering crowd, the emphasis ringing in his voice.

I listen to him intently, hoping he’ll explain the rules, but it seems everyone around me already knows the drill. I have no idea what to expect. Just some kind of fight.

Mixed martial arts. The name suggests that it’s not just boxing. So, maybe there’s also kicking? Biting and pulling hair? Is that why Roan has such short hair? Although, it’s longer on top. I wonder if that’s a fight tactic.

I’m glad no one can hear my thoughts. They’d probably laugh at me, the newbie who doesn’t know anything. Or worse yet, they’d be offended.

The last thing I want to do is offend someone who could knock me out with a punch. So it’s better if I keep my thoughts to myself.

The announcer calls out the beginning of the first fight.

Roan is in the tenth, if he’s really the boxer named the “Irishman”.

The first two fighters get into the ring.

Just like Boris said, it’s brutal.

Not only do they punch and kick but they throw one another, wrestle on the ground, and launch each other into the flimsy sides of the cage.

To my relief, there seems to be no biting. But it’s still a take-no-prisoners battle from beginning to end.

From the front row, I have a good view of everything. The fact that no blood is spurting toward me is everything. But we still have eleven fights to go.

I eventually learn that a fight lasts three rounds, and each round is five minutes. The first fight, though, is over in the second round. That’s because one of the fighters chokes the other so hard that his eyes almost pop out of his head. Finally, he taps out, and it’s over.

Hmmm .

This doesn’t fit at all with the sexy, sweaty image from my mind. Sure, there’s sweat, there’s fighting; but it isn’t sexy.

It makes my stomach churn. I have no idea how I’m going to put up with eleven more fights.

“That was rather a boring match. I hope the next one is better,” I hear a man behind me remarking.

Boring? I’m pretty sure I saw a guy lose a tooth, I think to myself.

Suddenly, a hand rests on my arm. I look over to see a strange woman. “This is so exciting, don’t you think?” She looks at me with sparkling sapphire eyes.

I nod automatically. “Very exciting.”

“Tonight is my first time!” she exclaims, her blue eyes wide with enthusiasm.

The guy behind us chuckles. “And she can’t say that about much anymore.”

I hear the two spectators congratulating each other on their supposed masculinity.

So then why aren’t they in that cage with Roan, I wonder.

“Oh yes, mine too,” I say warmly to the strange woman, who has lovely honey-blond hair.

“Who are you with?” she asks. “Mine’s in fight five. Leroy.”

“I’m with the Irishman,” I say, even though I’m not sure I’m actually with him.

Which is fine with me. Not because there is something wrong with Roan, per se, but because I don’t want a relationship at the moment.

I had a boyfriend in high school. We dated from when I was fifteen until just before graduation, and he tended to be a bit of a stick in the mud. The kind of guy who was already planning for retirement at age sixteen.

So, I hardly did anything that normal teenagers do. I didn’t go to parties or sneak out of the house after dark, I didn’t drink or smoke pot, I didn’t make out with random guys.

My entire experience had revolved around this one guy, who had already made big plans for our future. He wanted to get married right after high school, buy a house, and start having kids. But I wanted to go to college; I couldn’t imagine having children at the age of eighteen.

It eventually ended our relationship.

Then, when I went to college, I met a guy in my first semester. I thought he was so great. He was exciting; a bit of a bad boy. But after three dates, I found out that he was only a bad boy on the outside. On the inside, he was a couch potato who lived with his parents.

Unfortunately, it took me four years to break up with him when I finally realized that he had no intention of changing his lazy lifestyle.

And I hadn’t wanted that.

So you see, I’d already missed out on a lot. I’d been twenty-two by that time, and I hadn’t experienced anything that typical women my age had gone through.

I’d never experienced a hangover after a night of too much partying. I’d never danced on the beach. I’d never spontaneously kissed a cute guy in a bar just because I wanted to. I’d never pulled an all-nighter, just to see the sunrise. Never had a one-night stand, never kissed a girl.

My bucket list had been all filled up with things I’d never done.

And I hadn’t wanted that anymore. I didn’t want to be tied down by a man before I even knew who I was. Who was Jenna? What did she want?

My job as an associate professor at the university wasn’t necessarily the most exciting either, so my private life had to be all the more exciting.

Which had led to a few major rules over the last years.

Rule number one: No more boyfriends.

Because obviously, I was not able to have a healthy relationship. All or nothing seems to be the motto for me.

Rule number two: Do everything I want to do, whenever I want to do it.

Within the framework of not losing my job, which I enjoyed doing and provided the finances for this exciting life.

Rule number three: Always say yes when it comes to new experiences.

That’s what I’ve been doing ever since.

It’s good and it’s fun, Maybe it’s a little over the top, but I love it. Just not right now on the second worst day of my life. But usually, it’s great. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fun, yes. Relationship, no. That’s been my motto, even as I approached the cusp of my thirtieth birthday.

Roan doesn’t look like he wants a relationship, either. And I’m always ready for some non-committal fun. If he’s still up for it after his fight, of course.

I refocus my attention on the merciless battle going on in front of me.

Every now and then, I have to cover my eyes because it’s really brutal. Especially because I’m so close to the ring, and I can see how the fighter’s faces contort when they get hit.

I’m glad I can’t see it in slow motion.

All around me, people are shouting and cheering, moaning and laughing. I wonder if I’m seeing something completely different from everyone around me.

What is up with their bloodlust? Why do people think it’s cool when two guys beat each other up until blood spatters the ring like a Rorschach test?

Since this is my first time, I can’t say whether it’s more or less violent than usual, but it’s definitely enough for me. I don’t like seeing people get hurt, even when they do it voluntarily.

“Hello, Professor Scott,” someone says, sitting down next to me during a break between fights.

I look up and recognize Cillian Walsh, one of my students at the university.

Oh my God. How embarrassing.

I realize that I am basically naked. Why didn’t I wear something more concealing? A pantsuit, maybe. Jeans and a sweatshirt would also work. Or the snowsuit I mentioned earlier.

“Oh, um…hi, Mr. Walsh,” I stutter, my cheeks going pink.

He grins wolfishly at me, his eyes unerringly drawn to my exposed cleavage.

Crap.

“I didn’t know you were an MMA fan,” he says, his eyes still on my breasts.

“It’s my first time,” I explain. I stand up so that at least he can no longer look down my neckline from above. But now he can see how short my glittery dress really is. Please, the ground needs to open, so I can hide. I promise to never drive too fast again. And pay my taxes on time. Okay, I take back that last one.

He licks his lips. “So, how do you like it?”

“It’s a bit violent for me, honestly. I don’t think I’ll be back. What about you? Do you come regularly?”

A hungry look flashes in his eyes, making me realize what I’ve just said. About that hole in the ground…

I wish this conversation was over already. I really do.

“Of course I come regularly.” He grins at me in a way that is entirely impertinent, but there’s nothing I can do in this situation. “My cousin competes sometimes. We’re here to support him.”

I nod, desperate for small talk. “Oh, interesting. Has he fought yet?”

He shakes his head. “No, he’s in the tenth fight.”

I have a bad feeling. Cillian is an Irish name. “Is Roan your cousin?”

He grins in surprise. “Yes, that’s right. Do you know him?”

I flush again. “Not really.” What else should I say? That I plan to share his bed tonight?

His grin becomes even more knowing. I realize that my reputation as a serious professor is officially at an end.

Word will get around that I was at an MMA fight, dressed like a hooker, about to go home with one of the fighters.

This night is like a train wreck that can’t be stopped. Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps you’d like to join us?” He points to a couple of seats a little further away. His grin is so wide that I want to slap it off his face. Or, I would if I were in favor of violence. Which I’m not.

“I’m just fine here,” I say.

“Oh, come on. Roan’s brother is here too,” Cillian insists.

“I don’t want to intrude,” I say, keeping my eyes on the ring.

He shrugs. “All right. I’ll see you in class on Monday, Professor Scott.”

Why does this feel like a threat? But I won’t let him intimidate me. If he wants to tarnish my reputation, let him, but I won’t dance to his tune. Never.

“See you Monday,” I say, meeting his eyes and the look I give him is hard. I hope he understands it. Unfortunately, some men are particularly thickheaded.

Cillian shrugs again, letting his gaze slide over me suggestively one more time. I try again to imagine I’m wearing that snowsuit. Then he turns and walks over to his cousins.

As soon as he gets there, they seem to pester him with questions, all of them looking over at me. I persistently look away, only seeing them out of the corner of my eye. I try to seem completely relaxed, looking at the empty cage as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

And then I see one of the men get up. He shoves Cilian, then walks toward me.

Crap. I should have moved out of their line of sight. Or better yet, just left. But I can’t now because this guy is coming toward me, looking like a model coming off the catwalk.

Roan is hot, of course, but this guy needs his own damn category.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m Cian Walsh. Roan’s brother.” The guy extends his hand to me with a smile.

Because I have no other choice, I shake it. “Hi. I’m Jenna Scott.”

Unlike his cousin, Cian looks straight into my eyes rather than at my breasts, which I find more appealing. “Cillian told us you’re his professor at college. He’s a total idiot, so I apologize.”

The most I can manage is a weak chuckle.

“He won’t cause you any trouble. I just wanted to tell you that,” Cian continues.

“Um, okay,” I say.

“Whatever you do in your free time is your business. I’ve made that clear to him.”

How do I react to that?

“Um, thanks?”

He smiles, his guard clearly still up. “No need to thank me.”

He nods at me before he leaves.

What kind of crazy family is this?

And do I even want to have anything to do with them? Part of me wonders if I haven’t seen enough already.

But then the fighting continues and somehow, I forget everything around me.

Finally, it’s time for the tenth fight. Roan climbs into the cage. He looks around. Is he looking for me?

I get my answer when his eyes land on me, and he grins. He looks so sexy and masculine that I can’t help but smile back.

He’s ridiculously muscular. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a rippling six-pack. Biceps that would certainly feel good wrapped around me. And then there are the tattoos.

The ink is covering his arms, his legs, his chest, and back. Only his stomach is bare, but otherwise he has more tattooed skin than clean.

God, he’s sexy. I can’t identify everything, but I’m hoping I’ll get the chance to see them up close later.

When Roan looks at me like that, I also feel more eyes on me. I look to my left, where Cian and another man I don’t know are both glancing at me. Meanwhile, Cillian has pointedly crossed his arms in front of his chest and is looking in a different direction.

I guess I’ve pissed him off. Oh well, I’ll have to live with it.

My gaze finds Roan’s again, and then I can’t look away. There’s a fire in his eyes that I can’t quite describe, but it makes me squeeze my thighs together.

Oh God. I want this man. I absolutely do. I hope he doesn’t get too injured in the fight, and still has enough energy for sex.

I don’t believe in telepathy, but I swear that Roan can read my thoughts. His eyes widen a little, his nostrils flare, and he nods briefly. He looks like a man on a mission. I hope on a mission to fuck me. That would suit me very well.

The announcer introduces the fighters, and then the bell rings, and the match starts.

It’s over almost immediately.

Roan strikes his opponent down with a punch, lunges at him, then takes him in a chokehold and pins him until the other man slumps to the ground, already mostly unconscious. Only then does Roan let go. The fight is over in less than two minutes.

A man on a mission, I’m telling you.

Roan grins at me with such masculine pride that I get hot. Way too hot.

After he is declared the winner and gets out of the ring, he comes over to me, grabs my hand, and pulls me after him. I don’t resist, but his stride is once again way too fast for my high heels.

I stumble after him until we’re out of the arena and moving down a corridor. I can’t tell if it’s the same corridor we came in through.

As soon as we are hidden from view of the spectators, he pins me against the wall, pressing his body against me. He’s not as sweaty as the other fighters because he didn’t have as much to do, but I can still feel the cool dampness where his bare skin meets mine.

Roan puts his hands on my chin, lifting it so that I’m looking into his clear gray eyes. They aren’t as fiery as they were a moment ago, but the hunger I see in them makes me swallow hard and wet my lips.

I would have thought that our first kiss would reflect this hungry passion, but instead, it’s quite the opposite.

Roan gently presses his lips to mine, then kisses the corner of my mouth, whisper-soft.

But that’s not enough for me. There is a half-naked man in front of me. A man who has just returned from battle, still full of adrenaline.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close, and intensify our kiss. He smiles against my lips, accepting my offer, dipping his tongue into my mouth. His beard feels scratchy and divine against my skin. I wonder how it’s gonna feel between my legs.

I sigh as his tongue touches mine, and I tighten my grip on him. I feel his hard length pressing against my thigh, and I am eager for him to give me what I want.

That’s when we hear someone, some stranger, clearing their throat behind us in the corridor, and we realize how exposed we are. Slowly, reluctantly, we disentangle from each other, hating that we have to return to reality.

“Let’s go,” Roan declares, once again grabbing my hand and pulling me along behind him. When I’m not fast enough for him, he stops, grabs me around the waist, and throws me over his shoulder, firefighter-style.

“Roan, don’t! My butt is sticking out. The dress is too short!” I screech.

Roan laughs, placing his hand over the spot where my dress is riding up.

He only lets me down again when we are in a kind of changing room. After kicking the door shut, he places me on a bench. He looks down at me thoughtfully, holding my face tenderly before giving me another kiss that leaves me breathless.

Let’s be honest: too many people don’t know how to kiss.

Kissing requires emotional connection, time, and finesse, and at least two of these things are usually missing when it comes to a quickie. Even if it’s longer-term fun, the connection is usually not there. Otherwise, we wouldn’t keep inventing new words for supposedly casual relationships—like fuck buddies, or friends with benefits.

But if the emotional connection isn’t there, then something just isn’t right. Something crucial is lost—everything that makes kissing so special.

That’s why I’m usually not such a fan of making out. But with Roan…

Well, let’s just say that Roan is an above-average kisser.

He takes his time as if kissing is the main course, and not just the appetizer that you are served before the entree.

When his lips leave mine, I’m a little sad.

Roan opens a cupboard, pulls out the clothes he was wearing before the MMA match, and slips them on. In the process, he gives me a glimpse of his chiseled ass.

Ding, ding, ding. Jackpot.

Someone—and by someone I mean me—is going to get super lucky tonight.

When he turns to me and says, “Are we going to your place or mine?”

I’d love to answer, but I can’t. I’m completely tongue-tied.

He raises an eyebrow. “Jenna?”

I shake my head, still lost in a daze. “Um, whatever you say. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Laughing, he grabs my hand. “All right. Let’s head to your place. Do you have roommates?”

“No. I had one but she recently moved out,” I murmur.

His grin becomes even more devilish. “Perfect.”