Strike to the Heart

by Malia Mallory

  Zane kissed my cheek and nibbled down to my neck. “We can catch a cab.”

  I pulled back. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was tempted. But I don’t know anything about you. Hell, I don’t even know your name.”

  He looked startled. “You don’t?”

  “What do you mean?” I thought back, but I couldn’t recall him saying his last name.

  Zane laughed. “You really don’t know?”

  “You said your name was Zane.”

  “It is. Zane Ryan. It doesn’t seem familiar?”

  “Uh, no? Should it?”

  “Listen, I don’t want to sound like a jerk and say everyone should know who I am, but I’m somewhat well-known.”

  Confused and uncomfortable, I mumbled, “Okay.”

  “You have your phone? You can Google it.”

  I dug in my purse for my phone. Seconds later, Zane’s picture loaded under the headline Mandalay Bay MMA Fight Takes in Record Pay-Per-View Box Office. “You’re a fighter?”

  “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

  Was it a problem? Yeah, probably. I didn’t know, but I said, “No. I don’t really follow …”

  “Mixed martial arts?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry.” I looked at his face, but my eyes slipped to his broad shoulders and down his arms. A fighter. That explained the muscles.

  “I guess you’re not a fan then.” He sounded genuinely disappointed.

  “Of yours or MMA?”

  “Either.”

  I laughed. “Okay, you got me. I don’t have anything against it. I just haven’t followed the sport.” The lie rolled off my tongue. A guy who made his living fighting wasn’t my idea of safe and stable. It didn’t fit with the promise I’d made to myself to stay away from reckless types, but it totally fit with my pattern of picking guys who were all wrong for me.

  After having my heart crushed by Alex Armenti, I’d promised myself I’d show better judgment when it came to picking men and never watch Formula 1 racing again. Reckless alpha males were strictly off limits.

  “Shall I drop you off at your hotel?”

  I smiled. “No.” We weren’t contemplating love here. It was lust—pure, unadulterated, rolling-around-in-the-sheets lust. I was only in New York a few weeks and then I’d be off to Japan. It wasn’t likely I’d run into Zane again. There was nothing to prevent me from jumping his hot, sexy bones except my own inhibitions.

  “I’m glad.”

  “I want to see the rest of your tattoo.” And I did. The stylized edge of a thick line at his cuff hinted at more. I wanted to trace the design with my tongue and ride him like a cowgirl. That reminded me—no rodeo riders either. But tonight wasn’t about love, it was about greedy desire.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Jo

  Zane’s suite was gorgeous—expansive with a great view. The furnishings were stark—white carpet, white overstuffed furniture, and bright red throw pillows. I walked through the living room and stopped to fiddle with a crooked lampshade.

  “I have wine if you’d like some,” Zane offered.

  I shook my head. “No, I had some alcohol earlier and I probably shouldn’t have.”

  “In training, right?”

  “Yes.” Zane was teasing me, but I knew he understood. He was an athlete himself.

  “Well, when you’re in training, flexibility is important. And cardio. Lots of cardio.” Zane’s voice deepened and turned inviting.

  I closed my eyes and smiled. “Are you offering to help me?”

  “Absolutely. This is your year. Anything I can do to help …” Zane’s lips skimmed up my neck.

  I shivered and turned into his arms. Our lips met and I moaned. He felt so good—so hot against me. I arched into him. It had been too long since I experienced need, want, and passion. It all swirled within me now.

  Zane’s hands made their way to the front of my body and cupped my breasts. My nipples hardened under his fingers, and a bolt of pleasure echoed through my belly.

  Zane swung me up into his arms and I gasped. I was heavier than I looked, but he carried me as if I weighed nothing. We headed for the bedroom.

  The lights were off, but the room wasn’t dark. Light streamed in through the windows from other nearby buildings. Zane tossed me on the bed and followed me down.

  “If you don’t want this, say so now.” His voice was husky with arousal.

  I didn’t have any second thoughts. “I want you. So much.” And I did want him—every sexy inch.

  Zane pulled his shirt off and tossed it on the floor. He straddled my hips and leaned over me. Our mouths met in a deep, intimate kiss. I shivered as his tongue met mine. His hands cupped my breasts, and I writhed beneath him as heat shot from my nipples down between my legs.

  We pressed against each other—touching, kissing, and heating each other to a fevered pitch. Piece by piece, we discarded the clothing separating us and his hot skin pressed into mine. The hard planes of his body were heavy on me, but I didn’t care. I needed it and so much more.

  Zane’s fingers probed between my legs and I jerked against him. His thick finger slid right into me.

  “I can feel that you’re ready for me,” he murmured in my ear.

  Zane’s erection rubbed against my thigh—hot and hard. I wanted him inside me. I wanted him to fill me. My hands grasped his shoulders and slid down to his hips, pulling him to me.

  Zane laughed. “I want you, too, beautiful. So, so beautiful.”

  I shivered when his fingers found my clit. His touch was perfect—firm and confident, like he knew his way around a woman. I pressed up against him, my body begging for more.

  He rolled a condom on his cock and rubbed himself over my wetness. I moaned with delight as he entered me. I reveled in the delicious stretching. My head rolled back. His teeth scraped my neck.

  “You feel so good,” Zane whispered.

  “Oh, yes,” I responded. His hands were everywhere and my body vibrated with desire. My fingertips dug into his ass cheeks, urging him closer.

  Chapter 3

  Zane

  Jo was molten in my arms. “Let me feel you. Grip me hard.” I thrust deeply inside her and stayed there. My hand smoothed the hair off her face.

  When she contracted around me, squeezing my cock, I nearly lost it. She was so tight—her skin so soft. I threaded my fingers through her hair, reached deep for control, and found it. It was the same headspace I got into when I had my opponent on the ground, looking to finish him off. But Jo wasn’t my opponent, she was something completely different. And this wasn’t a fight, it was sex. Raw, amazing sex.

  I eased my cock out of her and thrust back inside, setting a rhythm that kept me on the edge. I wanted to see Jo come. I wanted to see her lose control, spasming around me. The woman under me right now wasn’t the cool, collected blonde I’d seen from across the room. I’d known there was something more, and there was. So much more.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. A hint of sweat glistened on her forehead. Jo had her lip between her teeth, but moans of pleasure erupted out of her. She pushed up against me, as eager as I was for more, and I gave it to her, plunging inside repeatedly. My balls tightened and I knew my explosion was coming. I pressed my thumb against her clit and she came undone, arching beneath me, and I let go.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Jo

  The air was hot—so damn hot. Whose idea was it to hold a tournament in August in New York City? I loved New York, but in the summer, it was miserable. The concrete soaked up the heat and radiated it right back at you. The buildings blocked any hint of a cooling breeze.

  I bounced from foot to foot, ready to receive. Every nerve ending tingled with anticipation. I’d played Mei three times before and beaten her each time. Today would be no different. I was prepared.

  Mei tossed the ball in the air, her body elongating as her eyes followed the ball. Her racket came up and then her serve was rocketing toward me.

  I reacted instinctively with my backh
and. My return was barely more than a block. Where had that come from? I’d heard that Mei had been working with a new coach, but I hadn’t heard anything about this.

  Mei returned easily, a hard ball that landed deep in my court, pulling me to the side. I knew what she was going to do. I’d return the ball and she’d try to pull me cross-court. I wasn’t going to allow it. I tipped my racket and barely swung. The ball arced in the air, falling a few feet over the net.

  Mei scrambled in and caught the ball with the top of her racket, but I was in position and put the ball away with a solid return that landed short of the baseline.

  I moved to the back of the court and soon another one of Mei’s killer serves hurtled toward me. I didn’t even get my racket on it. An ace for Mei.

  Was the whole match going to be like this? I tried to tamp down my shock—put it out of my mind. I needed to focus and not distract myself. I needed to play as if I were in the final already—playing the number one seed. I had to pick up my game immediately.

  My pep talk helped for a while, but the heat was already getting to me. The minutes dragged. I toweled off. We changed sides. I fell into my rhythm and returned her serves consistently, but every point was a long, hard battle. The rallies went on forever. Fatigue slowed my steps, dragging me down.

  If my first match drained everything out of me, what would that mean for the rest of the tournament? My focus cracked and Mei scored a point.

  I scanned the crowd. Spectators waved and a few gave me a thumbs-up sign. My stomach knotted. Then I saw him.

  Zane.

  He was in one of the luxury suites. There was no mistaking him for someone else. He wore sunglasses and a hat, but it was him. I couldn’t turn away. My feet were rooted to the ground.

  To my surprise, he nodded at me and jabbed the air with a clenched fist. He wanted me to fight. He was right. I needed to fight. I needed to end this. Yeah, Mei had caught me off guard, but I couldn’t let this match keep dragging on. I was playing two matches tomorrow, one singles and one doubles, assuming I won today. No. After I won today.

  Mei was good. Whatever she’d done, she’d improved. A lot. But I was better and I knew it. I just needed to do it. I needed to close this up before it sapped all my energy and put me in a rough spot to play well tomorrow.

  A heated tingle lay low in my belly. I tried to shove Zane out of my mind, but he wouldn’t go. Fine, if he wouldn’t go away, then he was going to fuel me.

  I jogged to the baseline. I bounced the tennis ball and tossed it into the air as my arm swung back and my knees bent. I sprung off the hard court and a fierce grunt of effort rumbled up my throat. My body uncoiled, and my racket connected with the ball. It spun toward Mei, and she had no chance to get her racket on it.

  A satisfied smile spread across my face and I glanced toward Zane. He jabbed the air again.

  The magic that Mei started with dissolved. My game began to press her and she made unforced errors—a double fault, a backhand that went wide. The connection between my arm and my racket was electric. It felt like an extension of my hand. The ball was huge and slow, but it wasn’t. It was me, reacting fast and getting into the zone.

  Point after point whizzed by and the match was over. Mei only managed to win one game in the second set.

  I approached the net and shook Mei’s hand. “Good match.”

  Disappointment clouded her face. “I hope you win,” Mei said.

  “I hope so, too.” There was a spring in my step as I waved to the clapping crowd and headed off the court. Would Zane seek me out? He helped me. But that didn’t mean he wanted to see me again. Or maybe it did.

  I didn’t even know if I wanted to see him. We had a moment—a night. It was best to leave it at that. He wasn’t my type and I sure as hell wasn’t his.

  What was my type, anyway? I wasn’t sure I knew anymore. I didn’t want my heart crushed again, and Zane was definitely the heart-crushing type. That wasn’t fair, but it was what it was.

  In the locker room, I stripped off my clothes and headed for a much-needed shower. I stood under the spray, replaying the match in my mind. I was lucky I’d gotten my head together before I found myself out of the tournament in the first round.

  I toweled off and dressed. I stowed everything in my duffel, zipped my racket into place, and hoisted my bag onto my shoulder.

  I needed to get out of here. I needed to get back to my hotel, order room service, and put my feet up for a couple of hours. My plan after that was to hit the gym in the hotel for stretching and a light workout. Then it would be lights out. Tomorrow was going to be rough. I had a singles match in the morning. Darcy and I had our first doubles match in the afternoon. I was meeting my coach at the practice courts early. The tournament would be a whirlwind from here on in.

  Chapter 4

  Jo

  There was a strong knock on the door. Room service. Finally. It took them long enough. I was starving. My mouth watered.

  I swung the door open without looking out the peephole. It wasn’t my food.

  It was Zane.

  My heart jumped and a zing of arousal nipped me as I opened the door. “What are you doing here?” He hadn’t been at the Open to see me specifically. Sitting in a suite, he was probably some corporation’s guest and I happened to be playing on the main court. It was a coincidence. Nothing more.

  “I wanted to see you again.” He stepped into the doorframe, crowding close to my body.

  I stepped back and he entered the room. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” I truly hadn’t. A guy picks up a woman at a party. They have awesome sex. They each go their own way. It happened all the time.

  “Why?” Zane closed the door behind him.

  I turned on my heel and paced toward the window. “Why? It was just a … thing. A night.”

  “It wasn’t only that for me and I don’t think it was for you, either.”

  I threw up my hands. “I can’t believe you’re here. How did you know where I was staying?”

  Zane shrugged. “A few questions in the right ear.”

  I frowned. “This is supposed to be a secure hotel.”

  “It is. I met a few fans by the elevator. I came up with them. You opened the door.”

  “I was expecting room service.” I was irritated that he was right. I never should have opened the door without checking.

  “What did you order?”

  I pursed my lips. “Enough for one.”

  Zane laughed. “So you won’t share?” He faked a pitiful look.

  I smiled. “I’m very hungry.” It sucked that he was so charming because it made it all the more difficult to resist him.

  Zane’s eyes took on a feral quality, but then it was gone. He rubbed his belly. “I’m getting ready for training anyway.”

  My body stiffened with surprise. “You are? When?” Though I knew Zane was a fighter, I didn’t like to think about it. I didn’t want to think about the bruises, cuts, and worse that he must experience. I’d had a few injuries, but none inflicted purposefully by another person.

  “A couple weeks,” he said vaguely. “I’ll be here in New York through the end of the Open. Then I’m going to the beach for a week and after that, the real fun starts.”

  I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to say. So I pushed it back out of my mind again.

  There was a knock at the door and before I could answer it, Zane was there. He opened the door, and this time it was a young man with cart. Zane stepped back. The cart squeaked as the delivery person rolled it through the doorway. He looked up. “Oh man. Oh man! Wait until I tell everyone. I’m such a fan. Seriously, dude.”

  For a split second, I thought the guy was speaking to me, but he wasn’t. Next thing I knew, Zane had posed for a selfie, put some cash in the guy’s hand, and escorted him to the door. I wondered if I could be as generous. I appreciated the fans, but in small amounts under controlled conditions. What that said about me I wasn’t sure.

  “Does that h
appen often?” I asked. The fan had been harmless, just excited. I tended toward the wary side these days.

  “Yes, but I figure if he pays to see my next bout on pay-per-view, he’s entitled.” Zane eyed the covered dishes on the tray.

  “You were good with him. Sometimes the fans make me nervous,” I admitted.

  “I don’t blame you. I don’t feel vulnerable, though sometimes fans can be too pushy. Most though, they’re regular people, looking to be entertained and happy to meet someone they think is famous.”

  “You’re famous.”

  Zane bobbed his head. “Yeah, I guess so. You’re right, but I don’t think about it.” He took the cover off my plate, revealing the grilled salmon and steamed broccoli that I’d ordered. “I think we can do better than this.”

  “I guess it depends on your definition of better. I have two matches tomorrow.”

  “Two?”

  “I’m also playing women’s doubles.”

  Zane picked up a small piece of broccoli and popped it into his mouth. “Is that wise?”

  As he chewed, I watched the play of the muscles in his jaw and neck. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m in good shape, but if the matches go long, I could be in trouble.”

  “You don’t have to do both,” he stated.

  “No, I don’t, but I promised Darcy. It means a lot to her. She doesn’t have a great chance at a singles title.” Darcy was a strong player, but she wasn’t in the top ranks for singles.

  Zane pointed at me. “But you do. That’s what everyone’s saying. Why would you risk that?”

  “You don’t have any friends that you would risk something for?” Darcy and I met at tennis camp as kids and then wound up at the same tennis-focused boarding school. My shyness had been mistaken for snobbiness and some of the girls made it their mission to make my life hell. Sometimes it seemed like Darcy was my only friend, and I would never forget that. She’d been a good friend to me, always, and I wasn’t going to let her down.