Sweet Victory (Fighting for Love)

by Gina L. Maxwell

  She may have won that round, but her celebration was premature. Xander’s new preference was a spirited woman with jade-green hair, and if she showed him the least bit of interest, then he’d happily play the trainer to her jungle cat.

  Bloody hell, but the thought of taming Sophie nearly did him in.

  It’d been literally years since he’d had anyone steady. Girlfriends messed with his focus, always needing more of his time and attention than he could afford. Since coming to the States, he’d relegated himself to no-strings sex now and again, and from the day he made it, he’d never been tempted to break that cardinal rule. Until recently.

  He couldn’t get Sophie Caldwell out of his head, and it damn sure wasn’t for lack of trying. But no matter who he brought to his bed, it was her face he saw; her body he ravaged. It made him think the extra effort to stay focused while being with her would be well worth it.

  And now more than ever, he was determined to find out.

  Chapter Five

  True to her word, Sophie never once complained about the walk to his gym wearing those torture devices she called shoes. He was more than a little impressed and strangely turned on. Then again, what the hell didn’t turn him on about this woman?

  Although his body stayed aware of his unflagging attraction to hers, he’d also paid close attention to her demeanor as they walked. Their trip had started out fun and flirty—partially by design to distract her from her situation and partially because he couldn’t bloody control his libido around her—but the mood had turned pensive rather quickly.

  He suspected her thoughts had reverted back to the meeting with her uncle, and Xander let her be. A person couldn’t ignore things indefinitely. They needed to work through them to move past them. Which is why he brought her to the one place he’d never brought another woman; the one place that was his alone, where he could drop all of life’s bullshit at the door and lose himself in the body-punishing hard work of the thing he loved most: mixed martial arts. If she wanted a target to use as a punching bag, this was where she needed to be.

  “Here we are,” he said, pulling a silver ring with two keys on it from a hidden pocket on the inside band of his shorts. “TLP2, my home away from home.”

  Sophie peered up at the large sign featuring the gym’s name and a shamrock behind a pineapple wearing sunglasses next to it. “That logo is um…interesting. What does TLP2 stand for?”

  He chuckled with a slight shake of his head. “The Lucky Pineapple number two.”

  “No, seriously.”

  Nodding to the ridiculous logo, he said, “I am serious. It’s a satellite location of TLP, the gym my two best mates own in Oahu. One’s Boston Irish, and the other is Hawaiian Smart-ass. I’ll give you one guess as to who came up with the cheeky name and design, and who insisted it go by TLP.”

  She gave him a light laugh. “I bet they have an interesting friendship.”

  He pulled the glass door open for her. “It’s definitely entertaining.”

  “So your friends live in Hawaii?”

  The door closed behind them and he punched the security code into the keypad so the alarm wouldn’t go off. “That’s where Jackson and his wife, Vanessa, live most of the time, along with Irish and his fiancée, Kat. Jax and V split their time between the island and here. Then there’s our other best mate, Reid, who lives here with his wife, Lucie. He coaches me at this location.”

  Sophie stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “Three couples, huh? Does that make you the seventh wheel?”

  Xander barked out a laugh. “I suppose it does at that. They’re all spectacular people. We’re a family of friends who love and look out for one another. You’d like them.”

  “Well, if they put up with you they can’t be all that bad,” she replied smartly as she walked past the front desk.

  He was used to a lot of different sounds indigenous to a training center—human grunts and shouts, weights clanging together, bodies smacking against the mats or bags—but the clicking of high heels on the painted concrete of the entryway was not one of them.

  Mesmerized as he was, it took him a few seconds to register she meant to walk around and almost got to her too late. Stopping her just before she reached the black mats, he said, “You can’t go in there with those on. No shoes allowed.”

  Without missing a beat, she placed a hand on his chest to keep her balance and pulled each shoe off by the thin-as-a-stick heel, revealing bright purple toenails. She gave him an impish grin and pressed both shoes to his chest before pulling away so that he had to grab them or let them drop. Something told him he’d end up with a pointy heel shoved up his arse if he let her precious babies get scuffed.

  He set them on the counter as he watched her make her way around the floor, taking in the different equipment and machines.

  “You know,” she said, glancing over at him coyly from under her lashes, “it seems like the only time you’re not in the gym is when you’re sleeping or fucking. That true?”

  Leaning back, he placed a foot against the wall and laced his hands behind his head. “O’course not, you know better than that.” She raised a dubious eyebrow and he smiled. “I also go for long runs.”

  Though she was on the opposite side of the cavernous room, it was obvious she rolled her big brown eyes at his answer. “What?” he said with a chuckle. “It’s true enough.”

  She trailed her fingers over the tops of the free weights as she moved. “Okay, then tell me why. I know you’re a fighter, but what does that mean? What do you do here from morning to night, six or more days a week?”

  Xander brought his arms down to cross them over his chest and studied her as she grabbed onto one of the thick climbing ropes hanging from one of the metal crossbeams. Stepping on the long tail, she leaned into the tension of the rope and stared at him, waiting for his answer. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was asking as someone curious about fighters in general, or as a woman interested in a specific fighter and how he spends his time.

  “I train in blocks of time with one or two hour breaks between. Reid changes it up from day to day, but generally I’ll spend a few hours conditioning; a couple working on jiu-jitsu—”

  “What’s that?”

  “Brazilian jiu-jitsu is a martial art where a fighter grapples on the mat with an opponent to catch him in a submission that ideally will make him either tap out or black out. BJJ and wrestling are used in the ground game of MMA. The stand-up game is a mix of different techniques of strikes and kicks. That has its own training block working with the heavy bags, sparring with other fighters, shadow boxing, stuff like that. And the hours I’m not doing any of that, I give personal training sessions or do paperwork.”

  Sophie scrunched her nose in the cutest way. “Sounds like all work and no play.”

  He pushed off the wall with his shoulders and made his way to where she swayed slightly with the rope. Sophie Caldwell possessed a gravitational pull he couldn’t resist, nor did he want to, even if it meant going up in flames in the end. Something told him it would be bloody worth it.

  “Ah, gorgeous, that’s where you’re wrong.” Xan grasped the rope high up with one hand and stole into her personal space, wanting to see if she’d retreat or stand her ground. Barely any space separated them, and without her heels, she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze, which she did with a steady confidence he wanted to shake. “The kind of hard work that makes your pulse race and your body slick with sweat is also the best kind of play.”

  He stared down at her in challenge, knowing full well she understood his double meaning, if not from his words then from the husky sound of his voice as he said them. She was careful to keep her expression plain, as though unamused and unaffected. But the rapid flutter of her heartbeat in her throat told the truth.

  “I really think that’s more of a case-by-case sort of thing, but to each his own, I suppose.” Releasing her hold on the rope, she padded over to the giant tractor tire lying on its side. Like a kid at
a playground trying out the new equipment, she hopped on top and began walking around the edge. “What on earth is this for?”

  He smiled as he watched her place one foot directly in front of the other, like she was taking a circular version of the sobriety test. “Sometimes we swing a sledgehammer at it. Other times we flip it end over end until we spew.”

  Sophie squeaked like a mouse and jumped off, staring at the tire like it suddenly sprouted claws. Xan laughed. “Generally we make it to a bin, but even if we didn’t, we always sanitize the equipment.”

  “Now you tell me,” she said wryly as she moved on to where the heavy bags hung from support beams and sent one spinning and another swinging as she passed.

  “So now you know where I spend all my time. What do you think?”

  “It’s impressive,” she said. “At least I’m assuming it is. I don’t know anything about the sport beyond what you’ve told me.”

  “Then today is your lucky day.”

  Shadows passed over her face and she crossed her arms as if to hold herself together. “Yeah, lucky day. My asshole of an uncle just informed me that I’m losing the thing that means most to me in this world. Good times.”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie, that was a daft thing to say.”

  She shrugged. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. I’m just on edge.”

  Stepping into her, he pulled her arms down and held them at her sides. “And I don’t blame you one bit. I know you’d like to take all your aggression out on him, but since it’d be a damn shame putting something as fit as you behind bars, I figured I’d give you the next best thing.”

  “One of those swinging bag things?”

  “No,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Me.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Dead serious. Come on.” He winked and walked away, heading to the other side of the room where different equipment hung on the wall.

  “You’re awfully bossy, you know that?”

  “I’ve been told a time or two, yeah.” Xander took down a pair of the smaller boxing gloves hanging on the wall. “But right now, seeing as I’m the teacher, I get to be as bossy as I want. Now, if ever there comes a time when you’re teaching me how to bake sugary treats for the masses, I’ll let you be the bossy one.”

  “I can’t help but think that would be the only acceptable situation for me to be in charge in your eyes.”

  Xander picked up her right hand and indicated she needed to shove it into the glove he held in front of her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if you had your way,” she said, stuffing her other hand in a glove, “you’d always be in charge. You’re too arrogant not to be bossy.”

  “You’re right about that.” He smiled as he pressed the Velcro cuffs down tight on her gloves. “You and I wouldn’t last a week before we were at each other’s throats.”

  With his face only inches from hers, he said, “I rather like the sound of us being at each other’s throats. But only if you promise to bite hard.”

  Sophie’s face transformed, flushed to that of a wicked temptress as she slid her right arm over his shoulder and stepped into him. Somewhere in his head, alarms sounded with spinning red lights, but seeing her teeth drag over her bottom lip had him utterly spellbound.

  As her sultry voice seduced him, she dragged her left glove slowly down his body. “Oh, I’m happy to bite you as hard as you want, baby.” His pulse raced and he felt the glove slide over his shorts and down his right thigh. “But if a guy bites me”—Xander grunted as her wandering hand suddenly pressed up on his junk—“he’d better like his balls permanently wedged inside his body. Have I made myself clear?” she asked sweetly.

  Damn, but he liked this woman. He smiled at her and held his hands up. “As crystal.”

  Seemingly satisfied, she nodded and backed up a step, sparing his boys in the process.

  Xan grabbed two square punching pads, slipped them over the backs of his hands, and tightened the straps with his teeth. Moving to the middle of the octagon, he slapped the pads together, the loud smack making her jump.

  “Come on, Soph,” he said with a wink. “Get the lead out.”

  …

  Sophie felt ridiculous standing in the middle of a gigantic cage in her bare feet, work clothes, and white boxing gloves on her hands. She wasn’t the least bit athletic, and though that never bothered her before, she didn’t relish the idea of embarrassing herself in front of Xander.

  “Come on, then,” he said, clapping the pads together a few times before holding them out to face her. “Throw some punches. Pretend these are your uncle’s face.”

  Athletic or not, she wasn’t about to back down from the challenge. Staring at his left hand, Sophie balled her fist as tight as she could, drew back, and…tap…hit the pad with all the power of a turtle head-butting a tree trunk.

  She screwed her brows together and glanced from her hand to his, then up at Xander when he started coughing to unsuccessfully hide his laughter. An arch of her brow had him clearing his throat. “That’s the idea,” he said. “Now put a little more weight behind it.”

  “Interesting choice of words. You don’t coach girls very often, do you?”

  “Don’t change the subject. Try it again. You’ll get better each time you strike the pads.”

  Great, now if she didn’t get better, she’d be failing at some ancient rule of boxing. Setting her teeth, Sophie repeated the move as hard as she could. Smack. The sound and the impact felt good. He was right. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to hit a lot of somethings.

  “Nice,” he said. “You’re a south paw.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Means you’re a lefty, or at the very least, more comfortable with your left side when you box.”

  “I am a lefty. South paw, huh? I like the sound of that.”

  “All right, then let’s teach you how to use that paw. Shift your feet so they’re shoulder width apart and your right is slightly more forward. Good. Now this time when you punch, I want you to drive your left hip forward and pretend like you’re trying to go through the pad, not to it, yeah?”

  She nodded and held her hands up. Imagining her uncle’s face on the other side of the red pad, she repeated Xander’s instructions in her mind, drew her arm back, and fired it across her body with every ounce of molten anger burning in her belly.

  SMACK!

  “Brilliant, Soph, keep going.”

  And she did. Xander was right. This was exactly what she needed. Something to help her release the myriad of emotions locked inside her. He taught her the different types of punches—jab, cross, hook, and uppercut—and then called out combinations for her using corresponding numbers.

  As she began to sweat, Sophie imagined her body releasing the poisonous rage through her pores. Her punches were strong, and every time she connected with the pads, she felt as though she got a little piece of her control back.

  She had no idea how long they circled each other in that cage. Time ceased to matter as her focus narrowed to Xander’s voice and his instructions. Then he took off the pads and encouraged her to throw more punches. At him.

  “What?” She stared, her chest heaving from the exertion and adrenaline coursing through her veins. “I’m not going to hit you.”

  “You’ve got a decent jab, gorgeous, but it’s nothing compared to what I get thrown at me in practice, never mind an actual fight.”

  “I’m not hitting you. Put the pads back on.”

  “I don’t think I will,” he said, bobbing from side to side on the balls of his feet. “Come on. Hit me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No, you’re acting ridiculous.”

  “What’s ridiculous are your bloody punches. You hit like a fucking girl.”

  Sophie gasped, her mouth open in shock a split second before her female pride rallied and threw a left hook that connected with his jaw. His face snapped to the side and when he brought i
t back to center, the blood on the corner of his lower lip didn’t even diminish his big-ass grin.

  He touched the cut with his thumb and he sucked off the blood with a wink. The man had to be a masochist. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. How’d that feel?”

  She took a moment to think about it while he waited expectantly—and was that a hint of pride on his face?—then a smile curled her lips. “Pretty fucking good, actually.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, beaming.

  Heat swirled from her chest to her sex at his casual claim on her. An endearment her feminist side should abhor, and yet it remained oddly silent. How perplexing.

  “All right, then,” he prompted, “what else you got?”

  Again, she got swept up in the exercise. Wisps of hair that had fallen free of her ponytail stuck to her face and neck, and she could feel the damp circle of sweat in the back of her shirt. But her focus wasn’t on her appearance or wardrobe, or blessedly, losing the bakery. It was homed in on Xander and trying to get inside his blocks to connect with the body shots he kept encouraging her to throw.

  Eventually, Sophie had to call an end to the session when her arms were too exhausted to lift. He praised her while helping her out of the gloves, then told her to have a seat while he grabbed them a couple of waters.

  Sitting on the mat, her back against the cage, she closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. Being a yoga and meditation girl left her seriously lacking in the conditioning department.

  “Here you are.” He handed her a cold bottle and sat next to her.

  Sophie couldn’t get it open and up to her lips fast enough. She couldn’t remember ever being so desperate for water and guzzled half of the bottle in seconds flat.

  “Hey, easy there, Rocky. You don’t want to make it through all that just to end up choking.” Xander used his thumb to dry the water that had escaped her lips and trailed down her chin.

  Nice, Soph. Because dribbling like a toddler isn’t at all embarrassing. Quick, subject change.

  “I can’t believe fighters have to do that kind of stuff all day. You must all have a screw loose.”