by Selena Kitt
“Ah…” She bit her lip to hide her internal disquiet and glanced down at the smooth, expressionless face of the practice dummy beneath her. “Grapple Man isn’t very good for practicing submissions.”
“Maybe not, but I am.”
Marcy’s heart thudded in her chest. “I’ve already practiced with a partner tonight. I don’t think—”
“On your back. Legs apart. I’ll mount and take the dominant position.”
She startled at his abrupt command, and heat flooded her veins, pooling between her thighs. Flustered at her body’s unexpected response to words she heard every day in practice, she stiffened. “Maybe another—”
Firm hands grasped her around the waist, lifting her off the grapple dummy and into the air. Although strong, she was a UFC flyweight at best, and he handled her as if she weighed nothing. Instinctively, she twisted to face him and kicked blindly, making contact, but instead of releasing her, Jax carried her down to the mat, then rolled until he had her on her back.
His hard, heavy body pinned her to the padded vinyl surface, his hips pressed tight against the juncture of her thighs. Shock stole her breath away. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t just a consultant. She’d only seen moves like that in the pros.
“Breathe.” His bourbon-smooth voice wound through her like a silken ribbon, loosening the tension that had frozen her lungs and releasing a wave of anger more intense than anything she had ever felt in the practice ring.
Who was he to manhandle her into submission? Who gave him the right to waltz in here and tell her she wasn’t fighting her best fight? And why the hell was she trembling?
“Get off me.” She pressed her hands against his rock-solid chest and pushed.
Jax grasped her wrists and leaned forward, pinning her hands to the mat above her head. “Make me.”
She twisted and writhed beneath him, but despite her skill, he was simply too big, too strong, and too experienced to be thrown, countering her moves seamlessly with only the slightest adjustments to his hold. Marcy had never been so absolutely and overwhelmingly pinned. Even when she trained with the male fighters in the gym, they held back, giving her enough room to move, fight, and breathe. But Jax held nothing back. Whenever she found an inch of wiggle room—a lift of her shoulder, a turn of her thigh—he simply dropped his weight and tightened his hold.
She drew in a ragged breath and caught the scent of his cologne, sharp and fresh. Her mouth watered. So inappropriate. She should be angry and afraid. And yet it wasn’t fear that sent adrenaline coursing through her veins, making her heart pound, but the profoundly erotic sensation of being trapped under his hot, heavy body, totally under his control.
Long-dormant arousal sent a pulse of desire down her spine, so intense she trembled, so deeply buried she almost didn’t recognize it for what it was. But with it came the memory. Preston. Her heart squeezed, and she drew in a sharp, shuddering breath.
“You okay?” His brow wrinkled in consternation.
She gritted her teeth and shook off the memory, the self-loathing and disgust on Preston’s face when he’d walked away, and her absolute sense of despair at having revealed her deepest, most secret desires only to be reviled by the one person she had thought would accept her for who she was.
“As okay as someone can be with two hundred pounds of muscle lying on top of them.”
Jax laughed. “Let’s even the odds.” He slid his hand around her waist and rolled until he was on his back, with Marcy straddling his hips. The ease with which he manipulated her body was at once disconcerting and sublime.
She glanced quickly around the gym. Was anyone watching them? Would they think Jax’s actions inappropriate? But although the gym was packed, all the cardio machines in use, line-ups at the free weights, mats full to capacity with fighters practicing grapple techniques, no one was looking in their direction. Well, except for Two Step.
She caught Two Step’s gaze and shook her head when he took a step forward. Two Step frowned. One of the few superweights in the club, with a heart almost as big as his beautifully dark, barrel chest, Two Step had become her self-appointed guardian on her first day at Club Excelsior when he’d done her weight class assessment and pronounced her “baby size.”
Turning away, she looked down at Jax. He had folded his arms behind his head as if he were lounging on his couch instead of lying on the mats in an MMA gym with Marcy astride his hips.
Despite the intensity of his gaze and the probing questions he asked about her favorite moves and techniques, Marcy managed to hold up her end of the conversation while soaking in the feeling of his hard body between her thighs and raking her gaze over the taut lean muscle that rippled beneath his shirt when he shifted position. Once or twice, she made a move to slide off him, but Jax stayed her with the slightest shake of his head, telling her he preferred to have his intake meetings with new fighters in whatever position they felt most comfortable. And she seemed to be more comfortable sitting on him than most.
From there, they moved to basic grapple moves and techniques so Jax could assess her skill. For the first time ever in the ring, she felt clumsy and awkward, her arm bars and triangles almost laughably ineffective. But if Jax noticed, he gave no sign. Instead, he spent the next hour drilling her through the basics until her muscles had heated and relaxed, her breaths were coming in pants, and she had no thoughts beyond the moment he called it quits.
But, damn, he was good. And patient. Reid would have lost it with her by now, and the whole gym would have been privy to his irritation. By contrast, Jax’s voice remained calm and even no matter how many times she had to repeat the moves until she got them right.
Finally satisfied with her basics, Jax lay back on the floor, motioning for Marcy to mount him. With a sigh, she straddled his abdomen and tightened her thighs around his hips.
“Now what?”
“Submission time.” He gave her a breathtaking smile, and in one swift movement, he grabbed her left wrist and tugged her arm across her body, pressing her tricep against her carotid artery. His leg came up over her shoulders, hooking under his opposite shin in a basic triangle submission. He had only to increase the pressure of the hold to cut off her air and make her lose consciousness. A simple submission. But effective.
Marcy froze and glared at his impassive face as her training kicked in. Bastard. This was totally unfair. He was twice her size and twice as strong. She lifted her head to preclude the full force of the submission and struggled to bring her arm away from her neck.
“Yield.” Jax’s lips twitched at the corners.
“Go to hell.” She struggled in his hold, trying to find a way of reversing or escaping the figure-four lock, painfully aware of the proximity of her head to the generous bulge beneath his fight shorts that she prayed was a cup.
He increased the pressure on her throat by pulling her arm away from her body and pressing down with his leg. A warning.
“Yield, little fighter.”
Fury overrode common sense. “No.”
And then a shadow fell across the mat. Marcy glanced up into Reid’s scowling face and groaned.
Six feet three inches of solid muscle with broad shoulders and lean hips, Reid had tattoos covering most of his massive back and chest. Too handsome for his own good, his blond hair was cropped military short, and three hoop earrings glistened in his ear. No one messed with Reid. The once UFC pro heavyweight champ had retired after a severe knockout almost cost him his life, but he still kept up the same rigorous exercise regimen, and he ran the gym like a military boot camp.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t need him.” Marcy struggled in Jax’s hold, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t break his submission without rendering herself unconscious.
Reid squatted down beside her and tilted his head to the side. His lips quirked up in an amused smile. “Looks to me like you do.”
“Get him off me.”
“Tap out. Or have you suddenly forgotten how to fi
ght?”
When Jax raised an eyebrow, she was tempted to refuse, but she didn’t want to annoy Reid. She wouldn’t be where she was without him, much less have a job at his family’s sporting goods store, and although he would do anything for his fighters, he had a low threshold for disobedience in his club.
With an irritated sigh, she thumped the mat twice with her hand. Jax released her and swung his leg off her shoulders.
“Looks like you have some fight in submission after all.” Jax winked, and Marcy pushed herself up, backing away until she was standing in the comfort of Reid’s shadow.
Reid glanced from Marcy to Jax and back to Marcy. “Jax is the best fight consultant in the business. He’s here for four weeks to help our team train for the state championships. Give him a chance. His methods are unorthodox, but he gets results. I won’t let you throw away a promising career just because you don’t like his techniques.”
Marcy glanced over at Jax, leaning against the ropes, thick arms folded. Could she train with him? He had to be about six or seven years older than her, making him about thirty-one or thirty-two, and so damned handsome it was almost a sin. Why couldn’t Reid have found a plain coach? Maybe an old, retired fighter, soft and slightly balding, with a bit of a paunch. Someone without a strong, toned body and lean, powerful legs. Someone she wouldn’t want lying on top of her … dominating her.
Her breasts tingled with the memory of his hard chest pressed tight against her nipples and the ripple of smooth, warm skin over rock-hard muscle as she struggled to get free. But it was the raw power vibrating beneath the surface that set her blood on fire. Everything about him awakened feelings in her she had buried long ago. After Preston.
Jax’s face softened. “You want to be the best, Marcy? You want to win the state championship? You can’t be afraid of submission. You need to embrace it. Fight back. I know you’re on the card to fight at TriStar’s event next week. I promise I can make a difference in one week. Let me help you.”
She held his gaze for a moment too long, a moment that made her heart pound and her mouth go dry. She didn’t need the distraction, nor did she need his help. With a shrug, she turned away. “No, thanks.”
No.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. After what he’d just seen in the ring, he should have realized Marcy wouldn’t easily accept help. Reid would have known that about her. So why hadn’t he warned Jax? He would have taken an entirely different approach. Not come on so strong.
Or maybe he should have come on stronger.
Jax stood beside Reid and watched Marcy cross the floor toward the exit, her beautiful ass perfectly outlined in her fight shorts. Damn, she was sexy. He’d trained lots of female fighters, but something about Marcy pushed all the right buttons. Like most serious female fighters, she was lean and toned, but she’d kept her curves in the places that mattered most. His groin tightened at the memory of her breasts pressed up against his chest, the swell of her hips as she sat astride him, her creamy thighs parting as she settled in full mount. Thank god he’d worn a cup, although if she’d remained on top of him even one second longer, the cup wouldn’t have been much use in hiding his body’s response.
“Marcy.” Reid called her name, and she turned. Her gaze rested on Jax for the briefest second before flicking to Reid, but for that moment, he was lost again in that sparkling green sea. Such beauty. With her perfectly heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and long, dark lashes, she’d almost totally distracted him from his task of assessing her response to submission.
His mind still reeled from their brief grappling session. Not so much from her skill in the ring but from the way she’d responded to his touch. For a brief few moments, she had submitted in an entirely different way—an unspoken plea that had triggered his dominant instincts.
Totally inappropriate. He was here as a coach and a teacher. Reid had brought him in to help Excelsior’s fighters overcome the psychological barriers that were holding them back. With his background as a fighter and his experience as a psychologist, he had carved out a niche in the MMA coaching world that put his services in high demand. Reid had booked him over a year ago, and Jax’s waiting list had doubled since then.
“You toe the party line or you walk,” Reid called out to her, his voice carrying over the drum roll of speed bags, the slam of bodies on the mats, and the clank of weights. “I paid a lot of money to bring Jax to Seattle. The least you can do is to give him a chance.”
Seemingly unembarrassed by Reid’s indiscreet rebuke, Marcy shrugged. Then she turned and walked away.
Jax’s lips quivered with a repressed smile. Marcy wasn’t going to be pushed into doing anything she didn’t want to do. Maybe she needed time to cool off. Reid clearly hadn’t been forthcoming about his arrival. Still, in the brief time he’d spent with her, she’d come across as ambitious and determined. Why wouldn’t she be interested in overcoming her issue with submission?
“You think she’ll be back?” He looked over at a frowning Reid.
“I have no fucking idea.” Reid scrubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t know what just happened there. Maybe she didn’t take on board the extent of your involvement when I mentioned to the team you were coming. You’re the psychologist. What do you think?”
From her guarded reaction and the speed with which she’d turned down his offer of assistance, he thought she was afraid of something, but he wasn’t about to tell Reid. “Hard to say. I’ve only just met her. But maybe the ultimatum wasn’t a good idea.”
Reid bristled. “My club. My team. My rules. She knows how I run things. Never been a problem before.”
“You know her best.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Reid pulled open the ropes and stepped out of the ring. “It took me a long time to convince her she has what it takes to be a fighter and even longer to convince her to train seriously. But she’s good. Damn good. If she can just get over this one issue, I think she has what it takes to go pro.”
From the fights he’d watched on DVD, Jax agreed. And he could help her achieve that goal. He’d just have to lock away the feelings she roused in him, the emotion that had surfaced when she’d responded to his touch. He was a professional, and he would keep it professional, no matter how beguiling she might be. And then he’d move on, as he always did. The psychologist in him acknowledged he was deep into avoidance and still running away. But in the end, he was just a man with a broken heart, trying to make it through each day.
Chapter Two
“How’s my favorite fighter and soon-to-be state champ?” Val Rosario, the assistant manager of Callaghan & Sons Sporting Goods, waved from the till as Marcy entered the store, ready for her afternoon shift. The Callaghan brothers had recently relocated the store to South Lake Union, only a few blocks away from Club Excelsior, and Marcy planned to follow as soon as she could save up enough money to rent an apartment in the area.
“Wishing you weren’t on holiday the other day when I needed someone to talk to.” Marcy mocked a frown as she shrugged off her coat. Val had been the Callaghan brothers’ first hire. She knew everything about every piece of sporting equipment the store stocked. She also made it her business to know everything about the three Callaghan brothers who owned the store and the gym where they trained. Not that Val had ever been to the gym, but she was a fight fan and always stayed on top of the gossip.
“You should have come with me.” Val stretched out her long arms to show off her tan. Tall and slim, with dark hair and warm, brown eyes, she already looked exotic, but the tan made her already-golden skin radiant. Marcy felt a twinge of regret at her decision not to join Val and their friends on an impromptu spring holiday to get away from the Seattle rain, but vacations were no fun when she couldn’t drink and her menu choices were limited to protein and steamed veg so she could make weight at the upcoming event.
“I know.”
“Nothing beats the Mexican Riviera for a low-cost, high-sun, hot-guy holiday.”
Marcy�
�s eyes widened. “You met some hot guys? Hotter than Brad?” Marcy and Val had become fast friends her first day on the job after they’d spent an afternoon drooling over the three Callaghan brothers as they put up new shelving. Val had given her a lecture about how to keep the Callaghan brothers in their place and then asked Marcy to choose which of the three bachelors she would take to bed (or two, if she was that way inclined).
Marcy had picked Reid, although Brad, the youngest brother, was more to her taste, with his mop of blond hair and a glint in his eye that suggested he’d been the hell-raiser of the family. But she’d seen the way Val watched him, and she hadn’t wanted to upset her new friend. The oldest brother, Zack, the store manager, was out of the running. Tall and heavily built with a shaved head, a gruff voice, and a fierce scowl, he was intimidating even for a woman not easily cowed.
Val’s shoulders sagged. “No one is hotter than Brad. And one day he’ll dump that nasty piece of work he’s been dating and realize what he’s been looking for has been under his nose for years. But I did find a twosome who live in Oakland, Phil and Jack. I’ve set us up for Saturday night.” She licked her lips and smiled. “Of course, I sampled the goods first. I hope you don’t mind.”
Laughter bubbled in Marcy’s chest. Val was still on a mission to find her a man. Especially after Marcy had revealed she dated only casually and hadn’t had a serious relationship for years. As a result, every few weeks, Marcy would be ambushed by yet another of Val’s prospects as she stocked the shelves, and an awkward conversation would ensue with a man who was clearly not interested in camping gear, fight equipment, or baseball gloves.
“Tempting as it is to share your sloppy seconds times two, I’ll have to pass,” Marcy said. “Reid kicked me out of Excelsior, and I need to find a new place to train. I’ve got an event coming up—”