No Contest

by Harper St. George

  “Of course not. It’s just a business trip. It doesn’t matter what I wear on the plane.” She tossed the blouse down and took the tunic off the hanger to put it on, but changed her mind at the last second and exchanged it for the blouse. She wasn’t wearing it for Leandro. She was wearing it because it made her feel confident and powerful.

  Riiiiiiiiiight.

  Kayla leaned forward and looked out the curtains again. “The driver’s getting out. Black car. Check. Black suit. Check. Black hat. Check. Private jet. Check. Are you sure this is a business trip and he’s not taking you away somewhere?”

  Ashlynn buttoned up her shirt and tucked it in, then zipped up her suitcase. “It’s strictly business. It’ll be Leandro, me, and I’m sure several of the guys he trains with.” With the fight in less than two months, Leandro would need to train when they weren’t working. At the very least, Thiago—oh joy of joys—would be there.

  “Brazilian guys?” Kayla asked. “Brazilian athlete guys?”

  Ashlynn smiled and nodded. “I think so.”

  Kayla leaned forward, hands around her coffee cup, eyes wide and pleading. “Take me with you.”

  Ashlynn laughed, hefting her luggage off the bed just as the doorbell rang. “You have classes, and aren’t you working a shift at the bar every night?”

  “Damn,” Kayla muttered as she followed Ashlynn downstairs. “Okay, but at the very least I need details when you get back.”

  “There won’t be details. It’s a boring business trip.” Only she knew it would be far from boring. Nothing was boring with Leandro around. She pulled Kayla in for a one-armed hug and said, “I’ll be back Friday night. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

  “I always do, Mom.” Kayla grinned, batting her eyes.

  Ashlynn laughed and rolled her eyes. Since their mom had worked a lot when they were growing up, Ashlynn had sometimes taken on that role with Kayla. It was a habit she was trying to break now that they were older, but it was hard. She opened the door, butterflies swirling in her belly as she hoped she’d be able to take her own advice.

  “Have fun,” Kayla called behind her.

  WHEN ASHLYNN ARRIVED at the airport, the driver opened her door for her, gesturing toward where a sleek jet, larger than she’d been expecting, sat waiting on the tarmac. She smiled her thanks, climbing the stairs as the driver dealt with her bag. An impeccably dressed flight attendant in a gray-and-white uniform met her as she boarded. She was blond with a perfect smile and probably around Ashlynn’s age. “Good morning, Ms. Fields. Please have a seat anywhere you like. Could I bring you a drink? Champagne? Mimosa?”

  “Just the orange juice, please.” She was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. She hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast because she’d been too anxious. The last thing she needed was champagne on an empty stomach to give her a buzz and make her blurt out something totally inappropriate. Oh, hiii, Leandro. Can you believe I dreamed we joined the mile-high club last night? No thank you. “Is anyone here yet?”

  The woman smiled and shook her head. “You’re the first to arrive.”

  Disappointment welled within her that Leandro wasn’t there yet. She realized then how impatient she’d been to see him again. It was official. She had a crush on him. A stupid high school crush that would be her downfall if she didn’t figure out how to deal with it. It was wrong, she reminded herself. Dangerous. A horrible idea. And yet instead of convincing her, the words she repeated to herself only seemed to add to his appeal.

  Damn. She’d known that her body was conspiring against her. Apparently her brain had joined Team Sleep with Leandro too.

  The interior of the plane was done in various shades of cream and gray with wood-grain finishes. She walked the spacious aisle down the center of the plane, past a seating area with a television and four comfortable-looking leather chairs facing one another. The next area was a table with two plush chairs on either side. After that was a doorway that led to two leather couches set into the side of the plane, facing each other. She opted for a chair at the table and took the window seat.

  The flight attendant placed a glass of orange juice in front of her as soon as she sat down. “Mr. Oliveira will be here very soon. Our tentative departure is in twenty minutes.”

  Ashlynn smiled her thanks. With Leandro’s history of being late, she held out no hope that they’d be leaving on time. As long as he wasn’t more than an hour late, they should have plenty of time to make it to the hotel before his interview at seven. She pulled her laptop out of the Kate Spade bag she liked to use on plane trips. It was big enough to hold her laptop, tablet, and anything else she might need on a plane and had been a steal because she’d found it at an outlet store. Stowing her bag under her seat, she turned on her laptop and started going over the questions the morning show and magazine had sent over.

  She couldn’t concentrate, though. She kept looking out the window every few minutes for some sign of him. Finally, a large black SUV pulled up. Her heart skipped a beat when Leandro emerged followed by three other guys. He was dressed casually in jeans, a white T-shirt, and sunglasses, but he still managed to look sexy.

  Thiago was the first to board. He stumbled down the aisle, his eyes red as if he’d woken up with a hangover. He didn’t seem to notice her as he sprawled out on one of the couches in the back. Two other guys came in behind him, but she didn’t know them. Leandro was the last to board. He didn’t look her way as he stood talking to the flight attendant while his friends got settled in the seats up front.

  He said something and the flight attendant laughed. Ashlynn couldn’t help but wonder if he’d slept with her. It wasn’t any of her business, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering down to where he casually touched the woman’s arm. The woman nodded and pressed her hand to his shoulder before she turned away from him, busy with takeoff preparations.

  Ashlynn tried to jerk her gaze away, but she wasn’t fast enough and he caught her looking. The corner of his mouth came up and he lifted his hand in a salute as he mouthed, Good morning, and took a seat next to his friends at the front. He didn’t seem hung over like Thiago. She turned her attention back to her laptop. She wasn’t sure why her heart was pounding so hard. Maybe it was because he’d caught her staring at him. Maybe it was because she was frustrated he hadn’t come and sat next to her. Whichever it was, she needed to put a pin in her confusing feelings for him.

  “This is only a business trip,” she whispered to her screen. Maybe if she said it to herself enough she’d start to believe it.

  She managed not to look at him again as they prepared for takeoff. It wasn’t until they’d been in the air for a while that she dared look up from her laptop. He’d taken off his sunglasses and was looking at her, a strangely intent expression on his face as if he was puzzled about something. When she looked away, he stood and made his way back to her. He peeked into the room where Thiago was snoring lightly and pulled the pocket doors closed. Then he flopped down in the chair next to her. His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned back, his long legs stretched out toward the aisle.

  “Do you work all the time?” he asked, looking at her screen to see what she was working on.

  She shrugged. “Some of us have to work for a living.”

  He made a face and looked toward the large television in front. One of the more recent James Bond movies was playing. “You think I’m spoiled.”

  She bit her lip, realizing she’d hit low with that comment when that hadn’t been her intention. “No, not spoiled. You work too. You just have the luxury of setting your own schedule when most of us don’t. That’s all I meant.”

  He nodded. “I was at the WFC offices on Friday afternoon and you weren’t there.”

  She tried to bite back a smile, absurdly pleased that he must have looked for her. “While you are a full-time job, I do have clients other than the WFC.”

  He grinned at that. “I could be your full-time job, minha linda, if you’d only let me.”

&nb
sp; A thrill ran through her as she imagined all the ways he’d keep her busy. His cock was so large that it would take her days of toe-curling practice to learn how to take him. She licked her lips as she imagined them stretching around him, his hand on her hair as he guided her. She’d thought about that part of his sex tape more than she cared to admit, substituting herself for the woman. Her cheeks heated and she cleared her throat, looking back at her screen. She’d looked up minha linda. It meant “my pretty.” It was a stupid endearment, one he probably used on countless women to flatter them into bed—as if he needed the extra help—and yet it turned her to mush inside every time he said it.

  “We should talk about your interviews.”

  “But I’d rather talk about you.” He turned his head to look at her, his eyelids heavy. She realized that his friends were all asleep and the flight attendant had disappeared up front, leaving them virtually alone.

  She shook her head. He was trying to control the conversation in this strange power struggle that always seemed to exist between them. “Your first interview is at seven tonight with MMA Nation Magazine. They want to put you on the cover of the issue that’ll be out the week of your fight. I have the list of questions they sent over, along with questions for the morning show you’re doing tomorrow. We need to talk them through.”

  “I’ve done interviews before. I know what I’m doing.”

  She’d feel better going through his answers anyway, particularly with him having to take questions about the recent scandals. “I know, but practice makes perfect.” She flashed him a smile, and his gaze dipped down to her mouth. Sucking in a breath, she turned her attention back to her screen.

  “Your pupils are . . . swollen,” he said, his voice low.

  She swallowed, stifling the urge to lick her lips. “You mean dilated.”

  “Maybe pupils is the word I got wrong. Hmm?” His low hum reverberated through her, and she could feel her control slipping.

  “Question one,” she said a bit too loudly. Lowering her voice, she continued, “How do you feel about fighting Murphy?”

  He smirked. “He’s a joke, and Craig Darcy is a joke for arranging the fight.”

  “Maybe leave out the part about Craig.” He only raised a brow in reply, so she moved on to the next question. “Question two: Murphy claims to be working with Brazilian jiujitsu master Luiz Santos. You once trained under Santos. How do you feel about him training Murphy?”

  His mouth tightened, but it was the only indication that he didn’t like it. “Murphy needs all the help he can get, but it won’t be enough to help him win.”

  “You didn’t know, did you?”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Luiz has the right to train anyone he wants.”

  If he felt betrayed, he didn’t let on, so she decided to move on.

  “Did you stay up late thinking about what would’ve happened had I come in for that drink?” he whispered.

  She whipped her head around to see that his face was only inches from hers. She should’ve known he’d play dirty. God, why had she invited him in? Stupid, stupid, stupid. “No,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything to say except the complete opposite of the truth. She had stayed up late thinking about him, and she might’ve done more than think, but she wasn’t about to admit that.

  “That’s too bad. I did.” His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth and back again. He wasn’t mocking her. He looked earnest and, if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was actually being honest instead of playing her.

  She managed to scoff. “No you didn’t. You were street racing.” She’d been both relieved and angry when she’d found out about his street racing the next morning. At least his appointment hadn’t been a date like she’d thought.

  “After,” he said, his voice dropping, becoming huskier. “I went to bed and imagined you were there with me. You were so wet, begging me to stop tasting you and f—”

  “Question three.” She scrambled to find her place on the screen. No small feat considering she wanted to know how that scene had played out even though she knew she shouldn’t. Arousal buzzed through her veins, tightening her nipples and causing heat to coil deep in her belly. “How does fighting in the US compare to fighting in Brazil?”

  He smiled ruefully and shook his head, but thankfully stopped flirting with her long enough to get through the rest of the questions. As she pulled up the document from the morning show, she was hyperaware of his presence beside her. When he breathed, she felt it. His scent enveloped them both, fine-tuning her nerves so that the barest brush of his arm against hers sent electricity tingling across her skin.

  Unfortunately, where MMA Nation Magazine had stayed mostly on the topic of his upcoming fight, the morning show was more interested in his personal life. “Question one: How did you get started in mixed martial arts?”

  “I was a . . .” He paused as if searching for the right word. “A wild boy. When my older brother and sister went off to school I had no one to play with, so I tried to wrestle my nanny. She told my father she would quit if he didn’t do something, so he got me a jiujitsu trainer.”

  She smiled at the image of a preschool version of Leandro jumping his nanny and wrestling her. “Is that true?”

  He grinned. “Yes.”

  “I can believe it.” Apparently he’d always been uncontrollable. He laughed and she went on to the next question. “Question two—”

  “It’s my turn to ask a question.” He leaned over again. “You invited me in, Ashlynn. I know you want me. Why do you fight it?”

  The past few minutes had cooled her off a bit, but his question had her squirming in her seat, his lowered voice stoking the fire in her. She wanted to deny what he said but running from her feelings hadn’t served her well so far. “Because you only want me so you can get the upper hand.” She said it as much for her own benefit as his.

  His eyes widened, surprised by her answer.

  “Question two,” she repeated. “How do your parents feel about you fighting for a living?”

  “They’d rather I join the family business, but they’re coming around.”

  She’d never stopped to think about what his family thought of him pursuing this career. She wanted to ask him a follow-up question of her own but decided it was best to not get more involved. When she opened her mouth to move on to the next question, he said, “You’re wrong. I want you because you’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever met. I think about you constantly, Ashlynn.”

  She gasped and couldn’t stop herself from looking over at him. His eyes were fierce, and she had the feeling that if they were alone, he’d kiss her. God, he might kiss her now anyway. His gaze was hot on her skin. Her whole body flushed, and she forced herself to look at her screen again.

  “Question three: Do you often have orgies with models in hotel rooms?”

  He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Is that the morning show asking, or you?”

  It was her; she wanted to know the answer. There were so many reasons they couldn’t happen: He’d only use sex as a way to get leverage; she wanted to work full-time at the WFC, which wouldn’t happen if anyone found out she’d slept with him; he was a client and it would be unprofessional. But with an instant flash of clarity, she knew that deep down, the real reason she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let herself cross that line is that she wanted to be more than just another woman to him, and that terrified her.

  She glanced at him and he seemed to understand that she needed to know the answer for herself. He leaned toward her again and said, “The media exaggerates. I was at the strip club because it was Thiago’s birthday, and the orgy . . .” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You want to know the truth?”

  She nodded, steeling herself against whatever was coming next.

  “I was casually seeing one of the models. We went back to her hotel room, and the other three women were already there. She’d planned it, and . . .” He shrugged. “You
bring me a man who wouldn’t have gone along with that, and I’ll give him a million dollars, followed by a brain scan.” He shook his head slowly. “It was a one-time thing, and one I won’t be repeating. I’m not the . . .” He paused, searching for the right word.

  “Douchebag?” she supplied helpfully with a smile. She was a little relieved that sex with multiple women at the same time wasn’t usual for him, but it still bothered her for some reason.

  He laughed and shook his head.

  “No? Man whore?”

  He made a face. “No. Player is the word I meant.” Then he glanced toward the front of the plane. “But I can see why you’d think that.”

  “So you don’t sleep with strippers?” she asked.

  He licked his lips and looked back at her. She could see the truth on his face. “I sleep with women, Ashlynn, but not as many as you think.”

  She nodded. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad about it. We just want different things. That’s why we can’t happen.”

  The pocket doors rattled as Thiago pushed them open. He yawned, his hair sleep-ruffled as he ran his fingers through it. He gave her a terse once-over and spoke to Leandro in Portuguese. Leandro pointed toward the front, and Thiago headed off in that direction. She thought he might follow his friend, but Leandro kept his place beside her.

  “We could have fun, minha linda.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  He laughed and leaned in close so that his breath brushed her ear as he spoke. “You do want that. You want that so badly you can hardly think of anything else.” His lips brushed her ear, making her shiver and her toes curl in her shoes. “I’m here when you decide to stop denying yourself.” He pushed out of his seat and followed Thiago to the front of the plane.

  She watched him go with a mixture of anger and desire, but underlying it all was need. It was white hot and building inside her the more she was near him. She was afraid that one day soon it would explode and she’d do something she’d regret.