Raw Deal

by Cherrie Lynn

  He saw it as the round began and Meyers stayed away from him, his mouth wide open, showing his dark mouth guard. He was sucking air. His cuts oozed blood. But Mike wasn’t going to start celebrating quite yet, despite Jon’s pep talk. In his long fighting career, he’d underestimated opponents before to dire results.

  Meyers was hurt, but he’d won the belt covered in blood too.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Meyers is fading,” Damien said, watching the two fighters circle each other as round three began.

  “You think so?” Savannah asked hopefully. It looked that way to her too—Mike was far less bloody and looked far more alert, but she knew a dirty bastard might still have some dirty tricks. “Come on, Mike,” she muttered to no one in particular and, not for the first time, wished he could know she was there.

  There came a time in every fight when he thought it would never end. Time seemed to stop and it was as if he’d always been here and always would be, and the rational part of him that knew that wasn’t the case faded into the background. It was when his killer instinct emerged—a phrase he didn’t like anymore, not since Tommy. But that moment came in round four with Meyers’s arm locked around his throat.

  Mike’s opponent had made it through the third by running from him. It had frustrated the fuck out of him, even if it was smart strategy to take a rest while making Mike chase him. It had ended with them hurling insults at each other, the ref keeping them apart as their teams ran in to pull them back to their corners, firing up the crowd again after a lackluster round. Problem was, the exchange had fired up Meyers too.

  Both of them were equally bloody now, neither having been able to get the upper hand for long. The light blue mat was liberally smeared with the crimson evidence of their battle. When Mike was on all fours, he could watch it drip thickly from his head all the way down and splatter as if in slow motion. Jon had begun to look worried again.

  Now, though, Meyers had him on the mat in a chokehold, and though he was able to defend enough to breathe, Mike knew at any moment, with one wrong move, he could be choked unconscious. He breathed as best he could around Meyers’s restraining forearm, taking the opportunity to rest and still remain on guard while anticipating any and every move Meyers might make next.

  The crowd was irrelevant; they’d faded into nothing a long time ago. Same as when he was a kid; he’d never given a fuck who was watching and shouting, who was rooting for whom. He’d eaten his share of dirt, grass, or asphalt while the other guy’s friends cheered—it didn’t bother him any. Now it was simply on a far bigger scope.

  Slowly, he began to fight his way out. A series of elbow jabs, shifting his hips, pushing the mat with his feet, and suddenly Meyers’s arm loosened and Mike sprang to his feet. Thanks for the rest, asswipe. Now eat this. He greeted Meyers’s vagus nerve with a swift kick, all his accumulated power behind it, staggering his opponent. Then he speared him right back to the ground. Meyers, disoriented, threw a left from underneath. Thank you. Mike caught it, pinning the arm between his left shoulder and Meyers’s head. As soon as he had the triangle set up, he scrambled off to his right, putting pressure on the carotid artery, cutting off air.

  Good night, motherfucker.

  Frank wasn’t letting that belt go so easily, though. Mike didn’t get the satisfaction of Meyers tapping. The ref jumped in and ended it just as Frank’s body began to slacken as unconsciousness set in.

  He’d won.

  Savannah almost couldn’t comprehend what was happening until Damien was on his feet yelling and pulling her up with him.

  What? It was over?

  Mike rolled off Meyers, who moved about in a daze. Mike came to his knees in the middle of the blood-smeared floor while a roar went up from the crowd, then fell over to his hands, his back heaving with his panting breath. Blood still dripped from his cut. He was the only thing Savannah could see as Damien grabbed her arm and they tore their way through the jostling bodies to the cage, where Zane met them and propelled Savannah forward.

  Mike’s team was already in there, hoisting him up to his feet again, pure jubilation on all their faces. An older man, presumably his coach, grabbed both sides of his head and then yanked him into a fierce hug. With Zane and Damien hustling her along, she climbed the steps at a run and dashed toward him.

  Over his coach’s shoulder, his eyes met hers.

  Please want me, please . . .

  “Savannah?” She couldn’t hear the sound of her name from his lips in the tumult around them, but she saw it. He slipped past his coach, walking toward her, no one else in the entire building, in the entire world, but the two of them. Going to his knees in front of her, he wrapped both arms around her waist and rested his weary head against her stomach, where she cradled him gently and dropped kisses and tears on his short hair. “Oh God, baby,” he groaned, and somehow she heard him. “Oh my God. You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I saw the eagle again!” she exclaimed. “Tommy’s eagle. I knew he was telling me to get my ass here, Michael, I just knew it, and—That was amazing!”

  He cut her off by surging up and, with a bone-crushing hug, lifted her feet off the floor, his mingled sweat and blood smearing across her clothes, but she gave not one single damn. It could mingle with her tears too. Whether it was adrenaline still pumping or exhaustion or emotion, he was shaking against her.

  Damien slapped him on the back, though, and she only reluctantly let him turn to look at his brother. “You realize you came into this as the underdog, right?” Damien said.

  “So?”

  “So you made me a nice chunk of change tonight, big brother. Thanks.”

  Mike laughed. “Thanks for betting on me, at least.”

  “Always.” With a grin and a wink at Savannah, he left them to their celebration.

  Frank Meyers had collected himself off the mat and ambled over grim faced for a grudging handshake. Mike lowered Savannah to the floor and graciously accepted. Then the former champion backed away to let his team examine his wounds.

  “We gotta look at that cut, Mike,” Jon said, and though Savannah wanted to pout over being deprived of his arms around her again, she knew he needed to get cleaned up. She only realized then how much she was still shaking herself. She also only realized exactly how massive this crowd was when she looked around at it from the middle. Wow.

  Here she was, surrounded by twenty thousand strangers and millions watching at home. She’d been in the arms of the man the world thought she should hate. But she loved him. Oh, God, how she loved him right then.

  It was his arm that was lifted by the referee when his name was called as the new undisputed heavyweight champion, his waist the belt went around, his face that was a reflection of the victory, emotion, and absolute rapture he must have felt right then. Frank even brought him in for a hug afterward, shaking hands with Jon as well. Savannah tried to stay back and let Mike have his moment of glory, but when he was approached for the postfight interview, he reached an arm out to her. She went timidly to his side. The question was coming; they both knew it. That he wanted her by his side when he had to answer it brought a fresh wash of tears down her cheeks. But first he was asked about his expectations, his training, his strategy. Then it was time.

  “Mike, there were a lot of words exchanged between you and Frank about Tommy Dugas. How did that affect you coming into the fight?”

  Mike turned his head to look down into Savannah’s eyes before answering. “Dan, this is Tommy’s sister, Savannah, standing by my side. I didn’t do this for me,” he said, pulling the belt from his waist. “This is for Tommy, who loved this sport, who would have fought on if the tables had been turned. He was a great competitor. I don’t doubt that he would have been standing here one day, because he wouldn’t have quit. It’s not myself, but Tommy’s memory that I care about honoring here tonight.”

  With an encouraging grin, Mike handed Savannah the belt, while she stood slack-jawed, gazing down at its golden
inscriptions uncomprehendingly. Her tears dripped on it. Oh, God, how her brother would have loved this!

  When Mike’s arm looped around her upper thighs and he lifted her easily in the air to thunderous cheers, she seized the belt with both hands and hoisted it into the air over her head. This is a dream. There were so many people, so many cameras, so many reporters. For once, she didn’t care; she only hoped Rowan could see this. Mike slowly turned, showing her off to everyone, his free hand in the air waving to the fans. He smiled up at her.

  For you, Tommy, she thought, laughing through her tears. I love you.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Here. I think this served its purpose. You can have it back now.” Mike held out his closed fist to her and Savannah looked down at it, puzzled.

  “What is it?” When she opened her hand to accept the contents of his, she gasped as he dropped her lost earring onto her palm. “Oh my God! You found it!”

  It was dark inside the SUV taking them back to his hotel, but she saw his grin easily enough. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing it.”

  “You kept it with you all this time?”

  He nodded, staring into her eyes. She didn’t know what to say. “My good-luck charm,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “I didn’t know if you still felt the same, I . . . I was so scared you didn’t.”

  “I do. I always will.”

  She grinned at him and, not knowing where the impulse came from, suddenly frowned down as she inspected the tiny piece of jewelry as she said loudly, “Hey, wait a minute. This is not my earring, Michael Larson.”

  He didn’t miss a beat, shoving his hand into his pocket. “Oh, damn, my bad. Not that one. Here, let me see . . .”

  She burst out laughing, unable to keep up the ruse in her giddiness to be near him again. Even their driver, privy to their conversation, chuckled. Mike laughed along with her until she fell against his side, exhausted and practically sore from the tension that had thrummed through her body all night. It was all gone now. But she could only imagine how he felt, his antics in the cage being the cause of all her tension. “You can keep it, you know,” she told him at last. “Or you can borrow it whenever you need luck. We can pierce your ear, then you can wear it.”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’ve got my luck right here.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead—soft, probably, to not disturb his cut lip too much.

  “I’ve instituted a new rule since we’ve been apart,” she told him later as they plowed through the door into the bedroom of his suite, his hands on her hips, his mouth at her neck heedless of the cut.

  It had taken ten forevers to get here. Postfight press conference. Photos. They’d rubbed him down, iced him, and patched him up. Now, finally, he and Savannah were free, but only because they’d practically shut the door on his still celebratory team. They had some celebrating of their own to do.

  “Oh yeah?” he asked, nuzzling against her ear and sending shivers through her as he spoke. “What’s that?”

  “I only fuck heavyweight champions.”

  “Then you’re in the right place, baby.”

  “Mmm, indeed I am.”

  “Thank God Meyers didn’t win.”

  She recoiled in horror. “That wouldn’t have happened, I can assure you.” They paused by the bed and she gently caught his cheeks in her hands, pulling him back to observe all of his hurts. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “Darlin’, there is nothing better after a fight to work out the rest of the aggression.”

  “I guess you speak from experience,” she said wryly, getting a laugh from him.

  “A little. Sorry.”

  Still she worried, keeping her kisses and touches gentle as she stripped off his shirt and he rid her of her pesky jeans and T-shirt. “You must be in pain,” she murmured, distressed as they fell back on the bed and he winced a bit.

  “There’s only one pain I’m feeling right now.” He drew her hand down to where she could feel his fierce rigid length through his shorts. God, it had seemed like forever. “You’ve got the remedy for that.”

  “Mmm.” Loving the silky slide of the fabric between their heated skin, she delighted herself for a moment in rubbing him through his shorts while his eyes closed and his head sank deeper into his pillow. When she slipped her hand into his waistband, he groaned in torment, his hand encircling her wrist though he exerted no force to stop her. Her wrist felt so delicate in his sizable grip; another flush of pleasure washed through her. His cock pulsed in the circle of her fingers.

  “God, I won’t last long,” he ground out as she continued to stroke. “I haven’t touched it in a month.”

  She giggled. “You buy into that whole abstinence before a fight thing? ‘Women weaken legs’?” Another Rocky quote.

  “You weaken me, that much I know.”

  “You feel pretty strong here,” she quipped, nibbling at his neck as she extended her reach to cup his balls, drawn up so tight. “Aw, so neglected.” He hissed in a breath as she played.

  “Savannah, I haven’t come in my shorts since I was a teenager and I damn sure don’t mean to do it now.”

  Suddenly, he surged up and over her, pinning her beneath the weight of his body as she gasped and spread her thighs to accommodate his hips. “Weak my ass.”

  His only reply was a dark laugh. He sat up, reaching into his waistband to pull his cock out, giving it an unhurried stroke as her greedy gaze ate up the sight. His other hand reached for the cotton panel of her panties between her legs, wrenching it aside in his fist. Oh, God. Savannah tilted her hips up, waiting, waiting.

  But he didn’t fill that aching emptiness yet. He bent down and gave her one long, languid lick, from the flat of his tongue at her entrance to the tip on her clit, tearing a cry from her throat. And another. And another. “Fuck, you’re sweet,” he murmured then in a desperate rush of breath, easing down and settling on his stomach. Yes.

  And he took his time, making up for that month of misery by unabashedly worshiping between her legs. It was the only way she could describe what he did to her, how he looked at her up the length of her body, how he moaned into her hot, needful flesh as he watched her body come alive and throb for him.

  “Michael, Michael, Michael,” she chanted, her hands going to his head. His tongue flickered across her like damp fire, or maybe it was her body that was burning while he merely stoked it higher and higher. His hands went to her breasts, her nipples peeking between his fingers. “Please . . .”

  “Tell me what you want,” he said, the words sending maddening vibrations through her.

  She wanted everything. This. Him. Inside her. Outside her. All around, everywhere, all the time, from now on. “You!” she cried with a little sobbing hitch in her voice.

  “You have me.”

  “Forever?”

  “As long as there’s breath in my body, darlin’. And beyond.”

  Savannah reached for him then, drawing him up her body with the gentlest of touches, and he kissed her all the way until their mouths joined in tender fusion; she was careful not to exert too much pressure on his cut lip. She allowed her hands to roam over his chest and around to his back, testing the firmness of his muscles with her nails. Before this was over, she thought, she might have ripped him to shreds. He felt good over her, at once possessive and protective. Big. Everywhere. Especially that rock-hard weight resting on her thigh right now, mere inches away from where she needed it. His hand slipped between their bodies to bring him to her.

  “Slow,” he whispered, drawing the word out as he entered . . . but slow was too weak a word. He moved like ice cream melting on a hot summer day. Like the approach of Christmas morning when it was only New Year’s—because it seemed to take a year before he was nestled all the way inside, deep, throbbing, and they were both breathless and shuddering and slicked with sweat. He filled her, body, heart, and soul, his forehead resting against hers, the shaking breaths they shared each other’s.

&nbs
p; And maybe he wasn’t the first to be here, but she damn sure wanted him to be the last.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Her heart burst with joy and her hands went to his cherished face. “I love you. Oh, God, Michael, I love you, and I won’t leave you again.” Because that was what she had done; he might’ve been the one to walk out of her apartment, but she’d left him when he needed her most, and she would carry the guilt to her grave.

  “I’ll give it up for you,” he said, starting to move, starting to make her die a little with every push.

  “I won’t make you. Just be safe for me.”

  “I will.” It was the most important promise he could make to her right now. She closed her eyes, prayed she wasn’t dreaming, and let him love her until tears leaked from her eyes from the beauty of it.

  Afterward, when they lay staring at each other in sweet exhaustion, he drew her left hand up to look at her heart tattoo. “I think you must have hidden it from me at first. Held your fingers together, or something.”

  Her lips curled in a drowsy smile. “Maybe you just didn’t see it until it was the right time.”

  “Did you really see the eagle again?”

  “I did. Maybe it wasn’t the eagle, but one was there. And I know it’s silly, but I took it as a sign.”

  “Why is that silly?”

  She let her gaze caress his beloved face. “Because I realize now that I didn’t need it. I knew coming to you was the right thing all along.”

  “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it.”

  “That’s a long time,” she said, giving him a teasing pinch.

  He looked at her for a long time, his blue eyes warmer than she’d ever seen them. “Not long enough.”

  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t have been written without the trust and encouragement of my editor, Rose Hilliard. Thank you for believing in me. To my agent, Louise Fury, who was there for me even at ten o’clock on a Friday night when I thought the world was ending: you are amazing!