by Selena Kitt
“Whoa.” Val frowned. “Reid kicked you out? Reid, who can’t take his eyes off you and tells everyone you’re the next Ronda Rousey?”
Marcy’s cheeks heated, and she grabbed her apron and joined Val behind the counter. “Yeah, well, he hired a hot new fight coach to get the team ready for the state championships, and the guy, Jax, he’s just…”
“Hot?” Val tied Marcy’s red apron around her waist and finished it off with a giant bow.
“Very.”
“And that’s a problem?” She spun Marcy around and handed her a pricing gun, then gestured toward the stock room, where Zack would, no doubt, be waiting for her with his usual scowl.
“He made me uncomfortable.” Marcy sucked in her lips and took a quick look around to make sure Zack wasn’t within earshot. “I couldn’t focus on the training. He handled me like a doll, lifting me, turning me, putting me on top of him. I had no control, and I’m not weak by any means. I could move only when he let me move. Even when I’m practicing with the fighters, they hold back. Jax didn’t. I’ve never been in that position before.” But she’d dreamt about it. Fantasized about a man who could totally and utterly take control. Shared her desires with Preston only to have them thrown in her face.
The front door opened, and Marcy smiled when two fighters from Club Excelsior walked into the store. Although Callaghan’s sold a wide variety of sporting equipment, Excelsior’s fighters were their biggest customers.
Marcy waved them toward the back of the store. “Fight equipment. Aisle six.”
Val waited until the fighters had disappeared down the aisle, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “So, what happened?”
“Reid said I had to train with Jax or leave. So I left.” She feigned nonchalance although inside she was still reeling. Reid had called her in the morning, and when she hadn’t been able to give him a good explanation why she didn’t want to train with Jax, he had exploded and reiterated the ultimatum. She couldn’t understand why he was being so difficult. In the end, it was her career. Sure, it helped to be part of a team, but when she stepped into the ring, it was her fight. Her win. Her loss.
Val shook her head. “You’re both stubborn as mules. No wonder you two never got together. You can’t leave the club. That club is your life. Your friends are there. Your fledgling fight career is there. And I can guarantee Reid doesn’t really want you to leave. You know what he’s like when he’s backed into a corner.”
Marcy shook her head. “It’s not just that. There’s something else going on with Reid. He wants me to train with Jax so badly I wonder if there’s something he’s not telling me about my fighting.” Like she wasn’t cut out for it, or that she’d never make it without serious help. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Despite all her hard work, she would still be the failure her family had always thought she was.
“Nah.” Val tied up her long, dark hair in a quick ponytail and then picked up her pricing gun. “Reid’s straight up. He’ll tell you what he’s thinking even if you don’t want to hear it. I’ll bet by tonight he’ll tell you he’s sorry and wants you back in the club.”
“I’ve never heard him say sorry.”
Val’s smile faded, and she turned away, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “I have.”
A steady stream of customers kept them busy until midafternoon. When they finally got a break, Val went to the storeroom to check the new deliveries, and Marcy returned to the mind-numbing task of pricing a shipment of baseball gloves. Five years ago, working at the sporting goods store had seemed a good way to indulge her love of sports and show her parents she wasn’t interested in a Wall Street career. But now that the novelty had worn off and she was effectively estranged from her family, she often found herself longing for something more.
“Marcy.”
She spun around and then froze when she recognized Jax in the doorway. Swallowing hard, she slapped a sticker on a glove and tried to play it cool, as if the sound of his voice didn’t make her body heat in an instant, or as if she hadn’t been up most of the night fantasizing about what would have happened if they’d been alone in the ring.
“Hey, Jax.” Her voice rose in pitch despite her best attempts to keep it level. “You looking for some equipment?”
His eyes roved over her body, and she stiffened and cleared her throat. Jax met her gaze, amusement in his eyes. “Never seen you in regular clothes. Marcy without the armor. Soft and sweet.”
Burn, cheeks. Burn. “Never seen you in regular clothes, either. You look … good.”
Now there was an understatement. With his gray Club Excelsior T-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest and his jeans hugging his narrow hips, he was beyond mouth-watering. Good thing she’d already had lunch.
Flustered, she twisted her ponytail around her finger. “So, what are you looking for?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“I wanted to talk to you about coming back to the club and training with me if I can get Reid to back down on his ultimatum.”
Marcy snorted and slapped a tag on another glove. “Won’t happen.”
“One of you has to back down.” His voice dropped, and he covered her free hand with his own. The pricing gun fell to the counter, and she looked up and lost herself for the briefest moment in the depth of his warm brown eyes.
“Not me.”
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, sending bolts of white lightning zinging to her core.
“Why are you so adverse to training with me?”
His touch, the scent of his cologne, the deep rumble of his voice, and the heat emanating from his perfect body all converged in a rush of sensation that fuzzed her brain and allowed the truth to slip from her lips before she could catch it. “Because of this.”
Jax stilled, his face smoothing into an expressionless mask. “You like my touch?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “I just think it would be difficult to train with you and…” She bit her lip, unused to being so candid about her feelings, especially with someone she barely knew. “Stay focused.”
He squeezed her hand. “I had that problem, too.”
Marcy’s head jerked up. “So you agree. Maybe if you tell Reid you think—”
“No, I don’t agree,” he said, cutting her off. “I think I can help you with your training. But maybe we should talk about finding a way around what seems to be a mutual attraction.”
Oh god. He’d just thrown it out there. Good to know her feelings weren’t one-sided, but she’d never met anyone who just laid it on the line. No coy gestures or subtle glances. No wondering what he thought. He’d laid his hand on the table, and now it was her turn to play.
“I’m at work.” She cringed as soon as the inane words left her lips. He knew she was at work. She was pricing gloves behind the counter with a big red Callaghan’s Sporting Goods apron tied around her waist.
Jax’s eyes glittered, amused. “After work then. What time do you get off?”
“Six.”
“I’ll pick you up at six, and we’ll go for dinner.” A statement, not a question, but she liked the way he took control. Maybe too much.
“Okay.”
“I also need to pick up some equipment.” He smiled, and his face softened. “I had more than one reason to come here today.”
Marcy’s tension eased. “What are you looking for?”
“Tape, a mouth guard, practice gloves, and a cup.”
For a long moment, she forgot to breathe. Oh god no. No images of cups and where they might go. No thoughts of Jax’s cup digging into her ass when she sat astride him in the ring.
Swallowing hard, she pointed behind him. “Aisle six.”
“You want to take this customer, Marcy? I’ll handle the till.” Val appeared out of nowhere, swooping down on them with a smirk that left Marcy in no doubt she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Um…” Marcy looked over at the two fighters behind Jax, waiting to pay. “I have o
ther customers.”
Ignoring Marcy’s pointed glare, Val waved Marcy away from the counter. “I’ll handle them. You go ahead. Take him where he needs to go. Show him the goods.” She winked, and Marcy resolved never to speak to her betraying friend again.
“Aisle six, isn’t it?” Jax gave her a warm smile. “You can talk me through the products, and we can finish our conversation.”
With a defeated sigh and a last irritated glance at Val, she tossed the pricing gun on the counter. “Fine. Follow me.”
Two agonizing minutes of Jax’s eyes boring into her back later, they arrived at aisle six. Marcy led Jax past the grapple dummies and punch bags to the men’s clothing section. Fight shorts hung in neat rows along the wall, and packaged cups filled the shelves.
“Here they are.” She waved her hand over the display and tried not to think of where Jax might place a cup and what might go in it. “In the shorts or out?” Most of the male fighters she knew preferred bike-style compression shorts with a built-in pouch for a cup, but some still preferred the extra protection afforded by a full groin protector.
“I don’t know. How rough are you planning to be with me? Last time, I had a narrow escape.”
She looked at him aghast. “You weren’t … wearing anything?”
Jax captured her with his gaze, and his voice dropped husky and low. “Don’t usually need it when I’m coaching, but with you…”
Her cheeks flushed red. “Um, since I’m not planning on making any … direct contact, I’d recommend the fight-short style.”
“You’re embarrassed.” He raised an eyebrow, and his lips twitched with a smile. “Haven’t you sold cups to your friends before?”
Get a grip. Marcy willed the flush out of her cheeks, breathing in the comforting scent of plastic and latex and a faint whiff of leather. “Sure. All the time.”
He closed the distance between them and stroked a finger over the apple of her burning cheek. “So why are you blushing?”
She met his curious gaze. “They weren’t … you know … my coach.”
“What’s wrong with your coach?”
He was so close now she could feel the heat of his body through her clothes. God, he was sexy. Too sexy. The kind of sexy that usually sent her running out the door.
“Nothing.” Her voice came out in a whisper.
“Wrong.” He cupped her cheek, tracing along the curve of her jaw with his thumb, burning a trail across her skin, his gaze intent, focused. “I came to set things right between you and Reid and convince you to train with me, and yet somehow I wound up asking you out for dinner. But dinner isn’t really what I want.”
“We don’t have to—”
Jax leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear. “I want you, Marcy. Like no one I’ve ever wanted before. It makes no sense since we’ve only spent a few hours together, and I’m mindful of my responsibilities as a coach. But I won’t pretend I didn’t feel something when we were on the mats last night. Something I want to explore with you.”
Marcy’s breath caught in her throat as adrenaline surged through her veins. He just assumed she felt the same, expected she would want to explore their explosive sexual chemistry, too. And he was right. Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.
His lips slid over her cheek, and then his mouth touched hers, light as a feather but with the impact of one of Two Step’s signature punches.
“Later.”
Her breath left her in a rush, and although she knew she should pull away, she leaned up to kiss him back. But she was a second too late.
“Got a bunch of customers up front who need some help.” Val’s voice cut through the stillness as she leaned against the shelf at the end of the aisle. Her gaze flicked to Jax and then back to Marcy. “’Course, I could always handle them myself.”
“No, we’re done here.” Marcy pushed past Jax and headed down the aisle, struggling to steady her senses.
What the hell had she been thinking? She’d just kissed Jax.
Her coach.
Reid would kill her if he ever found out. Talk about not taking her training seriously.
But still…
She touched her fingers to her mouth, still warm and sweet from Jax’s lips, and then glanced at her watch.
Five hours until six o’clock.
Five. Long. Hours.
Chapter Three
It was wrong to want her.
He knew this, even as he watched her cross the street toward him, her body moving with the easy grace of a professional athlete, her hair, now loose, spilling around her shoulders in glorious chestnut waves.
And yet, here he was, leaning against his vehicle, feet planted firmly on the ground, his body thrumming with anticipation. Over the last five hours, he had resolved not to give in to his baser desires. He wanted to get to know her. Talk to her. Find out what lay behind the problem Reid had said was becoming a serious impediment to her career.
“Sushi or steak?” He knew she had an event coming up and, like all fighters, to ensure she made her weight class, she had to watch her diet carefully, which meant protein, vegetables, and protein shakes.
Marcy lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want dinner.”
Jax swallowed hard. How the fuck was he going to maintain his resolve now? But he should have known. Although he suspected she was submissive in the bedroom, there was nothing submissive about the woman standing in front of him dangling a set of keys from her hand. This was fighter Marcy—a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. But for a moment in aisle six, she’d shown him a different side of herself. A softer side. And damned if he didn’t want both.
“Where?”
“My place.” She handed him a piece of paper. “I’ll meet you there.”
Jax watched her leave, her hips swaying with her confident stride. Damn, what a woman. When she turned the corner, he stepped into his rental car and plugged her address into his GPS. Unless she was planning to cook, it seemed dinner was off the agenda.
With no idea how the evening would go and no plan beyond spending some time with Marcy, he arrived at her house uncharacteristically edgy. As a result, he was taken aback and less than gracious when Reid greeted him at the door.
“Reid.”
“Hey, Jax. Marcy said you might stop by.”
Jax gritted his teeth and forced himself to shake Reid’s extended hand, then followed Reid into the house in a semi-state of confusion.
“Looks like we both had the same idea about changing Marcy’s mind.” He offered Jax a beer, but Jax declined and shot a questioning glance at Marcy, leaning against the doorjamb. Did she and Reid live together? How had he so badly misjudged the situation?
Marcy shrugged. “Reid was waiting outside. Two surprise visitors in one day. I’ve never been so popular.”
Jax’s tension eased. Okay. Unexpected visit. Still, it was goddamned disappointing.
Reid stretched out on Marcy’s couch, a plush blue three-seater with an easy chair to match. Her house was neat and uncluttered, the decor simple, elegant, but lacking in the personal touches he expected to see in a home. Jax looked around the open-plan living room and dining room of the modern townhouse, and his gaze fell on the closet. He suspected if he opened that door, the real Marcy would spill out. Or maybe she saved her real self for the bedroom.
“So, let’s get down to business.” Reid took a swig of his beer, and his hand swayed over the table when he went to place it down. Only then did Jax realize Reid had been drinking.
“I paid a hell of a lot of money to bring Jax here, and mostly for you.” Reid pointed at Marcy, and her eyes widened.
“Me? Why didn’t you talk to me about it first? If you thought the problem was serious enough to bring someone in, you should have let me know. I thought it was just a minor issue.”
“Life or death.” Reid leaned forward and steadied himself on the arm of the couch. “It’s a life-or-death problem. I didn’t want to tell you
how serious it was ’cause I didn’t want to make it worse, and for a while, I thought we were working through it. Every second you delay getting out of a submission hold increases your chances of injury exponentially, not to mention costing you the fight. I thought I could help you, but it’s not a physical problem; it’s psychological, and Jax is a psychologist.”
Marcy frowned. Jax knew that frown. He saw it all the time when people thought he was secretly assessing them and finding them wanting, or when he came up against the widely held belief that psychologists only treated sick people.
“You’re a psychologist?”
He nodded. “Used to be a pro fighter but gave it up to make use of my degree and coach.”
Even if Marcy hadn’t sucked in her lips and taken a step back, Jax would have sensed her withdrawal. As if the woman who had dangled her keys on the street, her eyes gently teasing, had gone to ground, and he was left with the public Marcy. Calm, cool, collected, and detached. “I don’t need a psychologist. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“No one thinks there is.”
She bristled and turned to the kitchen. “Apparently you both do or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Fuck.” Reid thumped his feet on the coffee table after the kitchen door banged behind her. “She’s not gonna change her mind.”
“Not when you brought it up like that.” Jax couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. For a club owner, coach, and one-time fighter, Reid seemed unable to understand the particular sensitivities of his fighters. Jax had been at the club only a short time, and already he could see Reid’s heavy hand in almost every fighter’s training. A more nuanced approach would bring out the best in everyone, an understanding of latent issues or psychological blocks. But Reid had trampled over all but the most obvious skill-related concerns, and his fighters were suffering for it.
“If you want my professional opinion,” he said, taking a seat across from Reid, “let her return to the club. Even if she joins another gym, it could take her up to a year to build the level of trust she needs in her training partners, and her career will suffer for it. I’ll be around for the next few weeks if she changes her mind, and if not, she’ll need you. A new coach isn’t going to understand the problem the way you do. He won’t be able to help.”