“Bellamy. And other than you, it doesn’t look like it. I did give one of them one hell of a fat lip the other night. They might still be recovering from the humiliation.”
“You punched my cousin?”
“So protective.” He sent Seamus a speaking look. “You haven’t even met them yet. Trust me, that little rascal deserved it. And I’m up. Wish me luck, gorgeous.”
Gorgeous? Why the fuck did Bellamy keep calling him that?
And why do you like it?
As soon as Bellamy walked away, Jeremy poked Seamus in the back. “Hey, I need to get Owen some fresh air. Our All-American is turning a shade of Irish green that isn’t pretty. We won’t go far, okay?”
Seamus gave Owen a once-over. He did look like shit. “Do you need—”
“No, no, we’re good,” Jeremy assured him. “Watch the fight, please. You need to know what you’re up against for Gill’s affections. Here’s hoping his perfect jaw is made of glass, because that body is ridiculous.”
“Wha—?” Owen moaned.
“Nothing, babe. Come on.”
A bell rang and the shirtless Bellamy winked a greeting at his opponent, raising his fists. Seamus was dimly aware of the shouts and all the people shoving wads of money into the air, but the man he’d come with held all of his attention.
As he watched the fighters begin to take shots at each other, Seamus came to a realization. At the fancy spa-like hotel and the wholesome bar Gillian and her family owned and operated, Bellamy stood out like a sore, handsome thumb. Someone that didn’t belong. Didn’t fit.
But this...this seemed to be his natural element. There were no dress codes or rules and no crowds to impress. It was dirty and dark, heavy with raw aggression and primal impulses. They were just men proving themselves in the most elemental way.
That’s what Bellamy was—a force of nature. He was thoroughly masculine and clearly dominant as he played with his opponent, moving with a light grace that belied his size. Without his shirt, there was no question he was all muscle. Not the regular muscles people got at the gym by doing shoulders on Wednesdays and abs and back on Fridays. Not the body beautiful expensive personal trainers always delivered. Bellamy had a pulling a sled full of boulders in the snow kind of body. Jeremy was right—it was ridiculous. This wasn’t a guy you’d bump into at the grocery store. Not in this century.
This wasn’t a guy you turned down if he wanted to fuck you.
Bellamy licked his lips and said something clearly off-color that made his opponent roar and lunge, his anger and impatience earning him a hard jab to the ribs when he missed.
God, he’s too cocky for his own good. And too sexy for mine.
Seamus wasn’t sure how long the dance, taunt and jab routine lasted, but it was enough time for both men to develop a sheen of sweat on their skin. Long enough for Seamus to take another swig or three from the flask, because it was hot and he didn’t want to look away long enough to get water.
Or risk moving the shirt away from the tent his jeans were making.
Something inside him was responding to Bellamy’s energy. His body was practically vibrating with the need to take a turn. He wanted to fight. He wanted to push his way into that circle, strip off his hot shirt and take a turn.
With Bellamy. After days of denying his desire and forcing himself to hate the man responsible for igniting it, he wanted to look into those beautiful green eyes and prove he could give as good as he got. Maybe some physical activity would get rid of this edgy sensation buzzing underneath his skin. A good workout had always done the trick before. He was sure Demir could give him that and more.
I knew I wanted to fuck you.
Before Seamus realized what he was doing, his shirt was off and joining Bellamy’s in his arms. He moved closer to the fight, taking another deep swig from the flask. At that moment Bellamy met his gaze over the crowd and froze, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the challenging smile stretching Seamus’s lips.
A fist caught Bellamy in the temple and rang him like a bell.
“Shit,” Seamus muttered as Bellamy stumbled. He pushed a few men out of the way until he was right at the edge of the makeshift ring, but before he’d taken more than two steps, Bellamy was shaking it off, bouncing on his toes and laughing. Laughing.
“Lunatic,” Seamus said out loud. That had been a hard hit.
A narrow trickle of blood ran down the side of Bellamy’s face, but he came back stronger, no longer pulling his punches and making short work of his sparring partner. Seamus couldn’t help but admire how quickly Bellamy had bounced back. Neither could the crowd around him, if the approving shouts were anything to go by.