by Sasha Gold
OMG are you okay?....D says R won’t hurt you. Yes? No?...Ur rlly pissing me off… Where are you?...Damn he’s hawt!... This is all over FB!... Where are you?...Sort of romantic...Snort! Mrnda going to lose her sht!...Woot! U go Leah!!! XXX…Lol… People mashing your names. U know? Like Jelena and Benifer? Ppl on FB calling you two Rileah. Rileah! OMG! Hahahaha!
I toss my phone to the bed, too tired to come up with a response. What would I say? I’m certain I need to keep up some sort of façade, but Riley hasn’t deigned to tell me.
Exhaustion weighs me down and I get ready for bed. After I shower and brush teeth, I find a stack of nightgowns on a shelf in the closet. The gowns aren’t sex kitten but they’re not exactly granny gowns either and I wonder who picked them out.
I switch off the light and sink into the bed, asleep before my head hits the pillow.
Chapter Six
Riley
My trainer, Ivan, might be the vainest man I know. He spent five freaking minutes combing his hair so that it falls just right and conceals his bald spot. Are all Russians obsessed with good hair? He’s in the gym bathroom, tilting his head this way, then that way, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. I’m jumping rope and damn near lose my cadence when he pulls a tiny aerosol bottle out of his pocket and spritzes his hair. Hairspray? The man brought fucking hairspray into my gym?
Ivan used to be the man, the most sought after trainer around, and people still respect him. He’s known as the Wolf of Moscow, but I know a few things about him that he might not want the world to know. The man is whipped. Last year he met a dental hygienist, fifteen years his junior. Sofia, the daughter of Russian immigrants. He married her a month after their first date.
She’s half his size and bosses him around all day long. Ever since they met he’s been dressing differently, worrying about his thinning hair and in general acting like a love-sick puppy. He’s the perfect example of how women can make a man weak. Often he stares off into the distance with a stupid smile on his face. His precious Sofia is expecting a baby, and Ivan, at forty-eight, is going to be a father for the first time.
“You look beautiful. Now come and give me my workout.”
He tilts his head from side to side and grimaces as he comes to the mat. I haven’t told him anything about having a woman in the house. Leah. My woman. He’d be royally pissed because he thinks a fighter shouldn’t even look at a woman in the weeks leading up to a fight. If he’s heard anything about the media storm, he doesn’t say anything. When a story makes the rounds, he usually ignores it. He’s probably way too absorbed with his own woman.
Leah’s been here two days already. Yesterday morning we met with the judge and said our vows. She wore jeans and a t-shirt and stood beside me barefoot in my study. The ceremony was business-like, sterile and cold with no you-may-kiss-the-bride at the end. I didn’t want to kiss her. Let me rephrase that. I wanted to kiss her more than anything, but I have to keep away from her. Maintain some distance.
My bride was calm and composed throughout. The only thing that made her self-assurance waver was when she asked about a prenuptial. I told her there wouldn’t be one and her look of disbelief was pretty amusing. It didn’t occur to me to go into this marriage with an exit strategy in mind. Marriage to Leah is my exit strategy. I just need to convince her that we’re good together.
When I first thought about bringing her here I thought she was an itch. That idea vanished almost immediately. I’ve seen her both mornings, half awake, wrapped in a bathrobe with her hair mussed. She’s not a morning person. I was on my way to work out and she was on her way to get coffee. I wished her good morning and both times she flipped me the bird.
Everything she does makes me more crazy for her.
The secret wedding was leaked to the press and will add to the pre-fight buzz. I’m taking Leah to a photo-shoot in a few days and I might let them snap a picture of us together. Maybe. Part of me wants to shield her from any more of the publicity frenzy.
After the fight, I’ll offer her the wedding of her dreams if she agrees to stay. Then I’ll carry her off to bed and keep her there. My cock responds to the thought and I try to think of something other than having Leah in my bed. I think of Ivan and what a mean son of a bitch he is and how he’s going to try to pound me into the mat today.
That helps.
We circle each other while I land punches on his mitts. The combinations I’m throwing are fast and they’re good enough to get a grunt of approval from Ivan. That’s saying something.
I’ve already done weights and worked the speed bag so I’m drenched with sweat, but I feel strong. Energized. I slept better last night than I have in a long damn time. I fucking love having Leah in my home. Last night I heard her in the shower. I fell asleep thinking about her there and I thought about her standing naked under a stream of water for my entire morning run.
“You’re taking the vitamins I tell you about?” Ivan asks.
“Yeah. Of course.” I feel like telling him it’s the Vitamin Leah making me so strong.
A breeze blows through the gym. I built it on a hillside so I would be able to open the garage doors and have a cross breeze. My foster dad helped me build it and design it too. Pops and I worked together to make it the perfect training space. My foster Mom, Emily, doesn’t want to know anything about my fighting. She likes to pretend I make all my money from investments.
We take a break and I get a bottle of water from the fridge and take a few sips. I’m about to head back into the ring but I hear someone coming. There are footstep on the path and it sounds like the person is running.
Leah appears in the doorway dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She’s flushed. Her hair is loose and hangs down her back and I’m struck by how beautiful she is.
I glance at Ivan and the expression on his face is pretty damn amusing. He’s furious and probably thinks she’s trespassing.
“Miranda sent police. I wasn’t sure what to say. I told them I’m fine, but they think you’re threatening me. Miranda told them there’s a grudge between you and Dane. She told them all that.”
Leah nods at Ivan. “Hey. I’m Leah.”
Ivan stares, thunderstruck, and when he doesn’t respond, Leah shrugs and turns back to me. “So, they said they want to talk to you. I was surprised they didn’t come right away, but I guess they had to find you first. Miranda’s probably having small kittens. Or not. She might not care. I’m not sure of anything, really.”
She waits, staring at me and letting her gaze wander over my sweaty body. She’s never seen me work out. I’m staring too because I love seeing her standing in my gym. Her face is free of makeup and she looks innocent and sweet and for an instant, I feel like a bastard for stealing her from everything she knows. A breeze blows and lifts a lock of her copper hair and holds it aloft for a moment. I should be worried about police and the drama and whatever the hell Leah might have told them, but I just want to look at her. I want to capture this moment in time.
“So…what should I tell them?” She frowns and looks back and forth between Ivan and me.
“I’ll come talk to them,” I say.
Ivan looks aghast. Training hard is like religion and the gym is hallowed ground. Leaving early is like leaving church services early and the scowl on his face tells it all.
“Put the rest of the workout on the white board for me and I’ll do it later, Ivan.”
I chunk my gloves in the corner and walk out of the gym with her by my side.
“I didn’t know what to say to them, Riley. I’m sorry to interrupt your workout.”
“S’all right.”
“I started to get nervous. I’ve never really had a conversation with a police officer before.”
I almost laugh at that. The first time I had a conversation with a police officer was when I got caught stealing. I was nine and I convinced him to let me go. I chatted with the same dumbass a month later and convinced him I had nothing to do with the fire set in the garbage bins.
How many times have I had conversations with the police over the years? I’m not sure, but talking my way out of stuff is even easier now that I’m famous for something other than theft and arson.
But Miranda has plenty of connections, with the police and elsewhere, and I’m not sure what she’s told them. On top of that Leah might have said something unhelpful.
“What did you tell them?” I ask.
“That we’re married and that I came here of my own free will.”
“Perfect.”
“I was worried I’d get you into trouble.”
Sweet girl. I set her up and stole her and she’s worried about getting me into trouble. Leah doesn’t know the first thing about getting mad and staying mad.
“But they still want to talk to you. They started asking me about Mikhail Vronsky. I don’t even know who that is but they told me that’s who you’re fighting and they said that he’s been accused of taking performance-enhancing drugs and they said he killed a sparring partner and that’s when I excused myself because I started to feel sick and I wanted you to talk to them since this is sort of, well, actually entirely, your fault.”
“His sparring partner is on life support. He didn’t kill him.”
“He died a half hour ago.”
“Huh.”
Her eyes widen and she tries to smack my shoulder but I swat her hand away. It’s instinct.
“What do you mean by huh?” she demands.
We walk up to the side entrance and I open the door for her. It’s a service entrance and leads us into the kitchen. The cook is making lunch and she hands me a shake as I pass through. I take a swallow of the concoction Ivan makes me drink three times a day. The fucker. That’s one part of training I won’t miss.
Leah is still looking at me in horror for being so indifferent to someone’s death.
I shrug. “He took every drug he could get his hands on. He was blacking out. But he kept at it. The guy was told to quit fighting by his neurologist.”
“Pfft. Neurologists. Don’t get me started. I think all of you fighters should quit. It’s bad for your brain to get smacked around. Haven’t you heard the reports?”
“I have. But I don’t ever get smacked around. My longest match was forty-five seconds and he landed one hit to my arm.” I stroke my jaw. “I have a pretty face and I need to keep it that way. That’s what gets me the endorsement deals.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Whatever.”
We round the corner to the den. The two policemen stand in the middle of the room and their eyes get big when they see me. Their smiles go wide. Just as I imagined. They want to talk to me about the fight. They could give a shit about the innocent woman I abducted.
“Gentlemen, thank you for looking in on my bride. Nothing is more important to me than her well-being.”
They’re both young and fresh-faced like they got out of the police academy two minutes ago. They act like I’m a rock star or something.
One just stares and the other grins like a fool. “Oh wow. This is so cool.”
Leah starts rambling again. She really needs to learn a few things about keeping her cool.
“He was just training,” she blurts out and adds an inelegant hiccup. “But I wanted to bring him up here to talk to you, so he could explain things. And tell you things.”
I smile at her and marvel at how completely clueless she is. Her expression is one hundred percent guilt ridden. To make it worse, right in the middle of her babbling, she hiccups a second time.
I chat with them for a few moments, trying to ignore her nervous antics which is about as simple as ignoring a fucking elephant strolling through the room. I talk about the fight and send them on their way with a promise of four front row tickets.
After they’re gone, Leah settles her heated gaze on me. “They were way easier on you than me, but I didn’t have any tickets to wave under their nose.”
“Front row tickets,” I say. Fuck she’s adorable when she’s riled.
“Ah, yes. Front row tickets.” She gives me a cute little up-yours look. “That is so corrupt. Like wrong. Those policemen were all up-in-arms, but the minute they see you, they’re like little fan-girls asking for the movie star’s autograph.”
“And the problem is…?”
“You freaking kidnapped me! They should have interrogated you!”
I stalk across the room and she scrambles backward, bumping into the baby grand piano. She bites her lip and gazes up at me, but she’s distracted and her eyes dart to my shoulders. I’m wearing a sleeveless shirt and I can tell she likes what she sees.
“I thought you didn’t want to get me into trouble, Leah.”
Her gaze drifts down the front of my chest. “A little bit of trouble never hurt anyone. Probably do you some good.”
“You don’t want to tangle with me.”
Her eyes snap back to mine and I see a flicker of worry in their depths, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. I want to remind her how she was shaking like a leaf when we were in the back of the limo. She was scared I was about to jump her but I can tell she wants me to make a move.
I hugged her when she got to the restaurant and I grabbed her when we left, practically carrying her to the limo. I had no choice, but now I do and I wonder what would happen if I touch her before the fight.
She crosses her arms, an attempt to be serious and tough, but I see the sparkle in her eye. This is what I wanted. Her, here with me. In my home. The verbal sparring. The banter. All this time I’ve had to content myself with occasional text messages and the real, live, back-and-forth is so much better that I can hardly keep from smiling.
“How do you know what I want and what I don’t want?” she asks.
With that question, I realize I don’t really know what she wants. It’s because I’ve never asked. I’m a selfish fuck and I know that but I want to give Leah something. Everything actually.
“Why don’t you tell me? Tell me exactly what you want, Leah.”
“I want you to quit fighting.”
“I already agreed to that. After this fight.”
“I want you to stop being mad at Dane.”
“Dane’s an asshole.”
“I know, but I still what you to stop feuding with each other.”
“Did he ever tell you what happened?”
“No.”
“He challenged me to a fight. He was drunk and I told him I didn’t want to, so he came after me with a broken beer bottle.”
Her jaw goes slack. “I didn’t know that.”
“You believe me?”
She purses her lips. Dane and Miranda treat her like a secretary or errand girl. Especially Miranda, and it never fails to amaze me that she can’t bring herself to say anything bad about either of them.
“Dane used to drink a lot and he wasn’t always the nicest person when he drank. He’s changed since he met Charlotte.”
I try not to say something shitty about him changing. “Okay, I’ll think about it. What else do you want?”
My gaze drops to her mouth and I imagine gathering her close for a kiss. She’d probably hate being pressed against me when I’m hot and sweaty but that sweet pouty mouth tempts me.
“I want…I don’t know. Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
She ponders the question and I let my attention wander from her lips to her sweet curves. When I took her to college I know she didn’t have this delicious little body. She’s wearing just jeans and a t-shirt, nothing fancy, but everything clings and hugs in all the right places. My need to touch her is making me antsy, like I want to go fight right now, get it over with so I can enjoy my prize.
“What do you want?” she asks.
“I’ll tell you soon enough. This is your chance to tell me what you want.”
“Can I think about it and get back to you?”
“You’ve got four weeks.”
She arches her brow and darts away from me. Strolling out of the room she looks over her shou
lder. “So do you.”
Chapter Seven
Leah
What do I want?
Riley asks me this question two more times over the course of the next five days. I want him to kiss me that’s what I want but I’m not going to tell him that. He seems to have a no-touch rule. I imagine it’s because he still associates me with the family that he despises.
We attend evening events together, both of us dressed formally, and while I stay close to his side to give the impression we’re a loving couple, I never touch him.
This morning we have a photo shoot for some Italian cologne. Riley wants me in the picture. This will be the first time he’s shared the frame with anyone for any of his endorsements. I have no idea what that means or signifies but since no one seems to be noticing me, I’m hoping they’ve forgotten about that part. I wander around the set and snag a few things from the craft services table. Riley sits in a chair, slouched casually while people adjust lighting or props or fiddle with his shirt collar. Half the people on the set are Italian, including the director, Paulo something.
The man is very fussy, barking orders at people. Riley has already told his assistant that Paulo better settle down. Apparently the two have worked together before. An assistant scurries across the set, weaving through the equipment, balancing a tiny cup of espresso on a saucer. He offers it to his boss and the man sniffs it several times before taking a sip.
There’s a big commotion outside the set and I hear someone talking loudly. It’s a woman and she’s talking about me. Riley looks at me and lifts an eyebrow. He’s joked a few times that he needs to be careful taking me out in public. He doesn’t want Miranda to steal me back. I crane my neck to see who it is. Surely Miranda wouldn’t crash a photo shoot to make a scene.
A woman’s voice rises above the din. “I happen to be Miss Mathew’s personal secretary and I have to speak to her.”