Strike to the Heart
Page 1
STRIKE TO THE HEART
Champion Hearts Book 1
by Malia Mallory
Tonight wasn’t about love, it was about greedy desire.
When tennis star Jo Parker-Barrow meets Zane Ryan at a US Open party, she has no idea who he is. She just knows he’s handsome and sexy. Throwing her usual caution to the wind, Jo allows herself one hot night with a stranger.
But Zane doesn’t want to remain a stranger. He pursues Jo until she can’t say no, but neither can she say yes. She’s had her fill of men who take risks for a living, and Zane is a mixed martial arts fighter at the top of his sport. Can Jo love not only the man but the fighter as well?
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Copyright 2014 by Malia Mallory
LICENSE NOTES
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Even if you received this book free for promotional purposes, it does not grant a right of redistribution. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
DISCLAIMER
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
MATURE CONTENT
This story contains sexually explicit material, and is intended only for persons over the age of 18. By downloading and opening this document, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction. All of the characters involved in the sexual situations in this story are intended to be 18 years of age or older, whether they are explicitly described as such or not.
SAFE SEXUAL PRACTICES
This story is a work of fiction and depicts fantasy situations. Safe sex practices are not always referenced. Please always be sure to educate yourself about safe sex before engaging in physical intimacy. Please do not try any sexual practice without proper knowledge and guidance.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Excerpt from Something True
Complete List of Titles by Malia Mallory
About the Author
Connect with Malia Mallory
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Strike to the Heart
Chapter 1
Jo
As we stepped off the elevator, the pounding bass beat pulsed through the floor. The door at the end of the hall opened and music spilled out.
Darcy put a little skip in her step. “Looks like a rocking party.”
I grimaced. “Darcy, I don’t think this is a good idea. It’s only days before the tournament. We need our rest.”
Darcy patted me on the shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t be silly. You haven’t been knocked out of the opening round of a grand slam in how long? You don’t even have a match until Tuesday.”
I stopped. “I need to work on my volley. I’m not used to the new rackets yet.”
Darcy grabbed my arm and pulled me along. “That’s just an excuse and you know it.”
“The music is so loud it’s damaging my hearing. I need to be able to hear the linesman call the ball out.”
Darcy laughed. “What you need is a drink.” She sashayed toward the bar, her hips moving in time with the beat.
I rolled my eyes and hurried after her. Darcy was my closest friend. She had been for years. She was great at forcing me to be more sociable, and this was one of those times. Though I was reluctant now, I knew if I relaxed, I’d probably have a good time.
Darcy bent over a plastic cooler, and more than one male gaze examined her wiggling ass. When she straightened, she had two bottles. She twisted off the caps and tossed them on the table. She handed one bottle to me and tapped hers to mine. “Cheers!” she shouted.
There was a loud roar of noise from the corner and I turned my head. I couldn’t see what the commotion was.
Darcy took my hand. “Let’s dance.” She dragged me to a tiny open spot within a mass of moving bodies.
I took a swig from my bottle and allowed the music to roll over me. My body swayed and all thoughts of the US Open, tennis rackets, and line calls emptied from my mind.
A song I liked boomed out from the speakers, and I threw myself into dancing. Arms over my head, I turned around in a circle, swinging my hips to the beat. When I got back to my original position, Darcy was gone. I stopped moving and my eyes searched the crowd. It didn’t take long to find her dancing energetically with someone tall, dark, and handsome. Tall, dark, and handsome was exactly Darcy’s type.
I stopped dancing and squeezed between the undulating bodies, heading for the edge of the room. If I was going to be a wallflower, I should be standing along the wall. I lifted my bottle and took two big gulps. As the drink left my lips, my eyes fluttered across the room and landed on a specimen of male beauty I rarely saw. Tennis players are in good shape. I’m around them all the time and there are many attractive men on the tour. However, tennis players tend toward lean—muscled, but lean.
This man was anything but lean. He was Mr. Muscle personified. He glowed as if he were under a spotlight instead of just a pendant light. His muscles strained against his shirt, and I could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under his cuff. His hair was short, shaved close to his head. It wasn’t a style I usually found attractive, but on him, it looked sexy.
He was handsome, but not in a male model sort of way.
I knew I was staring, outright staring, but I couldn’t help myself. He lifted his head and his gaze zeroed in on me. He straightened and made his way across the room, looking neither left nor right, but heading directly towards me.
A shiver zipped down my spine. I froze in place.
When he reached me, he stared at me for a moment. “I’m Zane.”
Years of good manners had me lifting my hand. “Jo.”
Zane took my hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he rubbed his thumb over my palm. His hand was warm, hot even, and I had the urge to yank mine back, but I didn’t.
Zane took my bottle from me and placed it on the floor. Guiding my arms to his shoulders, he pulled me close. My breasts brushed against his chest and his hands roamed my back, settling on my hips.
Our moves didn’t fit the music at all, but I didn’t care. His shoulders were hard under my palms and I moved my hands to his neck, my fingertips drifting over his skin.
He ducked his head toward me and I lifted my face. His mouth covered mine, warm and mobile, and I parted my lips. His tongue slid inside, causing quivering shocks of pleasure to settle in my belly. A warning bell clanged in my brain.
His hands smoothed up my shirt and settled under my breasts. I ached for him to touch me. His breath hit my ear, sending tingles up and down my neck. “Let’s get out of here. Do you want to?”
I did. But this was so not m
e. I was Miss By-the-Book, except when I wasn’t. And when I wasn’t, bad things tended to happen.
I worked out every day. I watched my carbs. I did everything my tennis coach told me to do. But I had a terrible weakness for reckless bad boys, and Zane might as well have BAD BOY tattooed right on his forehead.
I’d been down that road before and now I’ve put up roadblocks. No test pilots. No more race car drivers—especially race car drivers. I was looking for settled, mature, responsible, and Zane was clearly none of those things.
Sensing my reluctance, he said, “We’ll just get coffee. Talk. No pressure.”
His voice made me tremble, and my resolve weakened. Just coffee, right? There was no harm in going to a public place with a hot guy. I didn’t have to sleep with him or start doing his laundry.
I nodded my head. “I need to tell my friend I’m leaving or she’ll worry.”
He released me. “I’ll meet you at the elevator.”
It took a few minutes for me to find Darcy in the crowd. I sidled up to her casually and whispered, “I’m going for coffee.”
Darcy jerked her attention from tall, dark, and handsome. “What? Now?”
“Um, yeah.”
With a regretful look at her flirting partner, Darcy said, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Nooo,” I drew out the “o” in such a way that Darcy knew that something was up.
Her eyebrow arched. “Are you leaving with someone?”
I made a face and said, “Yeah.”
“Who?” Darcy craned her head around, looking. “Who is it?”
“Zane.”
“Zane? Zane who?”
“Zane. Tall, well-built guy. Tattoo on his arm. Short hair.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “Oh! I saw him.” She leaned toward me and whispered under her breath, “I don’t blame you. My panties melted off when I spotted him.” She flashed a smile at her admirer, who was still patiently waiting.
I slipped back through the crowd and out the door. Zane was right there at the elevator, looking more hot and dangerous under the fluorescent lights in the hallway than he had inside the darkened apartment.
He held out his hand. “Want to change your mind?”
I clasped his hand. “No, I don’t want to change my mind.”
~ * ~ * ~
Zane
The party was noisy and I didn’t feel up to it, but I owed the host. His company had a box at the US Open, a suite really. He’d arranged for my invitation to view the matches. Though tennis wasn’t my sport, I admired the skill. The players at the highest level made it look easy, but I knew it wasn’t.
“Dude, people aren’t bothering you, are they?”
I shook my head. “Nope. It’s dark and I doubt there’s much crossover between fans of tennis and MMA.”
My acquaintance smiled. “You’re so wrong, man. I had most of these people over for your last fight. We made a party of it. I think people are just afraid to approach you. Maybe they think you’ll take ‘em down.” He laughed.
I didn’t laugh. I took a swig of my beer, but it was the tiniest of sips. I’d been watching my intake and ramping up my workouts for months. I didn’t expect to have a problem making weight. In a couple weeks, I’d be focusing on specialized training. “All these people are going to the tournament?”
“Most of them. Course, they’re not all in the company suite. They have their own tickets. Some people take time off work. Some go for the weekend. Most everyone’s a fan, but I’ll admit I invited everyone, fan or not. I said it was a US Open kickoff thing, but it’s just an excuse to party.”
I nodded. He was probably right about people approaching me. I knew I didn’t exactly look friendly at first glance. I tended to be reserved and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. More than one guy had gotten it in his head to throw a punch after one too many beers. Liquor sure brings out the stupid in people.
“There should be a few players here even. It’s the last night they can really get out.”
“Cool.”
“Ah, well, my girlfriend is giving me the beady eye. Let me know if you need anything.” He hurried off.
“Sure. Thanks.” I scanned the crowd. A lot of corporate types. Then a flash of blonde hair caught my eye. A stunner. Was she a model? She could be. She was tall enough. Then I noticed the muscles in her arms. Okay, a player then. She stood by herself, looking none too comfortable.
I moved toward her and I recognized her. Jo ... something. Something snooty sounding. She was a tennis player all right—one of the top-ranked players on the women’s tour. I didn’t follow tennis that closely, but even I knew who she was.
Someone stepped in front of me, blocking my view. I scowled and he moved past. She had one of those thin noses that rich women paid good money for, but it looked good on her. She probably came by it naturally. Cool and classy.
She looked up, catching my stare, but she didn’t look away. Her chin lifted with a hint of challenge. I loved a woman with attitude—maybe because I had so much of my own.
I walked up to her. “I’m Zane.”
“Jo.”
I usually preferred brunettes, but I’d make an exception for this blonde. I grasped her hand and she trembled. I rubbed my thumb over her palm. There was interest in her eyes, and it wasn’t just my male ego wanting to see it there.
I took the bottle from her hand and put it on the floor. I gave the slightest tug and she came into my arms, her body molding to mine. My hands slid to her hips and ass—round and perfect.
Jo looked up at me with a question in her eyes and I answered it. I kissed her. She tasted sweet and sexy. I wanted more—so much more. I knew it right then. I also knew if I continued, she was going to balk. I was essentially a stranger, so I couldn’t blame her.
“Let’s get out of here. Do you want to?” I saw her reluctance. “We’ll just get coffee. Talk. No pressure.”
Jo nodded. “I need to tell my friend I’m leaving or she’ll worry.”
I smiled as happy satisfaction broke the sensual spell. “I’ll meet you at the elevator.”
Weaving my way through the crowd, I stepped out into the hall. I needed to pull back and I knew it. I was coming on too strong. I wanted to know this woman. I wanted to know what she was thinking as much as I wanted to know the weight of her breasts.
I waited. As I began to wonder if Jo would stand me up, she was there. “Want to change your mind?” I held out my hand and she took it.
“No, I don’t want to change my mind.”
Chapter 2
Jo
The waitress topped off our cups, all the time eyeing Zane without subtlety.
“How do you know the host?” Zane sipped his coffee without adding cream or sugar.
“The host?” I wanted cream and sugar. And a danish and maybe a latte with caramel swirled on top. But I couldn’t have any of those things.
“Of the party.”
“Oh, I don’t. My friend found out from a friend that a bunch of players were going.”
“I recognized you at the party. I wanted to let you know that.”
Zane’s confession made me tense, but it was honest. At least I didn’t have to wonder. It’s hard—no, make that impossible—for a top-ranked player to roam around unnoticed all the time. I don’t exactly wear a t-shirt emblazoned with Jo Parker-Barrow on the front, but I get recognized anyway and asked for autographs.
If I’m someplace where people don’t follow tennis or I wear a cap and sunglasses, I could actually get pretty far. But in the middle of New York City during the US Open? There was a billboard for athletic shoes in Times Square with my face on it. Going unnoticed was impossible at the moment.
I decided to appreciate his honesty. “Ah, okay.”
“I’m surprised to see you out partying so close to the tournament.”
I stiffened as his statement tapped into the little voice that had been whispering the same thing into my ear. “I don’t play until Tues
day.”
“Still, when I—” He shook his head. “Never mind. Forget what I said. That was rude. You know your job.”
My job. That’s what tennis was. It wasn’t simply a passion or a hobby. It was a job. A full-time, all-consuming job. A never-ending round of traveling, workouts, practice, and promotions. Don’t get me wrong, I love tennis. I love playing. I love the sensation when my racket connects with the ball perfectly and I knew I’d made a great shot. It would unfold right in front of me in slow motion—the action of a split second stretching out over time as the ball traversed the net and headed toward the ground. The crowd would hold their collective breath as my opponent scrambled.
“You’re not saying anything I haven’t already thought,” I admitted, surprising myself. I was usually reserved with my inner thoughts—the real ones, anyway. I’d learned that was best.
Zane grasped my hand. “Give yourself a break. You probably deserve it.”
“If I don’t win my match, I’m going to think of this evening and wonder.”
A mischievous smile split his face. “Then perhaps we need to make it memorable.”
I wasn’t naive. I knew what he meant. Zane wanted to get me somewhere, strip off all my clothes, and make me forget all about the spin on my serve. I was halfway to wanting the same thing. Maybe three-quarters.
The waitress brought the check and struck a pose as she asked if we needed anything else. Her attention was directed completely at Zane, as if I weren’t sitting right there at his table. To his credit, his eyes skipped over the ample bosom on display with no reaction and she flounced off, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
Zane laid down several bills on top of the ticket and took my hand, pulling me out of my seat.
We exited the restaurant, but it wasn’t dark. New York City was never truly dark, even in the earliest hours of the morning. There were always flashing signs and headlights. A glow sat over the city, giving slight illumination to everything.
Zane stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and kissed my hand. “I have a room. A suite. Come with me.”
I wanted to. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to. But that niggling sense of caution was clanging in the back of my head. I didn’t even know this guy and, though he seemed normal so far, I didn’t want to be stupid.