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.”
Reid nodded, appeased by Jax’s flattery. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll tell everyone she didn’t need your help. Save face.” He pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his hands together. “Looks like our work here is done. How ’bout we go out for a coupla drinks? Marcy’s pissed at us, and she can’t drink anyway, so sticking around here will be as much fun as watching paint dry.”
Jax’s stomach clenched. God, how had an evening of such promise turned out so badly? Spending an evening with Reid was about the last thing he wanted to do.
“Let me talk to Marcy first.” He crossed the room and stepped into a bright, modern kitchen with dark wood cupboards, stainless steel appliances, and granite counters. Marcy was at the island chopping vegetables, each slice of her knife hitting the cutting board in firm rebuke.
“You okay?”
She looked up and scowled. “You tell me. You’re the psychologist. Am I crazy for wanting to be a fighter? Do I have what it takes, or I am mentally fucked up?”
“That’s not fair.” He crossed the tile floor and put his hands on the counter in front of her. “Psychologists help people confront or deal with issues that may be too challenging for them to handle themselves. You aren’t sick or crazy, and to be honest, I dislike when people react that way.”
Immediately contrite, her face softened. “I’m sorry. It’s just … a bit of a shock.”
“Totally understandable.” He reached for her hand in sympathy, and she jerked away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Why?”
She leaned against the opposite counter, arms folded, the chopping knife still in her hand. “I don�
��t want to be touched.”
His heart squeezed in his chest. One step forward and two steps back. Well, Reid was right about one thing. Marcy didn’t want company. “I’m going to take Reid home. He’s in no shape to travel by himself, and I don’t trust him in a taxi. He would probably pay the driver to take him to the nearest open bar.”
Marcy resumed her chopping. “He doesn’t drink very often, but when he does, watch out.” She looked up and gave him a weak smile. “Thanks for looking after him.”
“He’s going to let you come back to the club. You don’t have to train with me.”
Marcy put down the knife and drew in a ragged breath, as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thanks for that, too.”
“Pleasure.” He turned away, pausing at the door to look back over his shoulder at the woman who, only hours before, had tried to entice him into her bed. “Guess I’ll see you at the event on Saturday.”
Her eyes glistened, and she dipped her head. “Guess so.”
* * *
Marcy adjusted her padded helmet and leaned against the ropes in her corner as Reid adjusted her gloves. The crowd seated in bleachers and chairs around the ring in the Cirque Events Center was scant, at best. Her fault for agreeing to a showcase fight for a debut MMA organization in the Bay area. In an attempt to attract a wider audience, the new organization, TriStar, had pitted her against a Muay Thai specialist, Jenny Li, for a bout showcasing the different fighting styles in a five-rope ring.
Marcy preferred the ring to the cage for its openness and the illusion of freedom that came with it, but cage fighting was all the rage, and if she wanted a serious career, she had to up her cage fighting game. Still, she wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity for some competitive practice, especially when her opponent was a striker, which meant Marcy wouldn’t have to worry about the submission issue that arose primarily when fighters hit the mats and tried to keep each other down.
Reid put in her mouth guard and ran his hands down her body, checking to make sure there were no loose threads or tags on her silky red fight shorts. His hands slid lower, checking her shin pads and the wraps under her instep. Some fighters preferred to go without the padding, but Marcy had learned her lesson after a bout that had left her with bruises so bad she couldn’t train for a week.
At the sound of the whistle, she stepped into the center of the ring and touched gloves with her opponent to start the fight. Li opened orthodox with an outside leg kick, which Marcy easily deflected. She returned with a jab when Li moved in, but her next punch went wide. Already breathing heavily, Marcy tried a front kick but wasn’t fast enough to avoid Li’s double underhooks. She doubled over as Li’s fists slammed into her. Damn. Double score for Li.
Stomach aching, Marcy used the ropes to pull herself up, but Li was behind her. Li turned into her again and took her down. Marcy heaved herself up and connected two lefts, but Li picked her up for a slam and thumped her down on the mat. She flipped to her front, but Li was already down and on Marcy’s back, her elbow around Marcy’s throat as she attempted a rear naked choke. So much for strikers not being big into submission.
Marcy struggled, but Li only sank in deeper. She could hear the deep timbre of Jax’s voice from the ropes, and Reid’s loud shouts. What were they saying? Did they want her to tap out? Were they telling her not to freeze? Well, they were wasting their time. There wasn’t anything wrong with her, and once she got out of this damn submission hold, she’d prove it.
A tightening in her chest was the only warning she got that maybe Reid was right, after all. And then the world faded to black.
* * *
“Back in bed.”
Bare legs dangling over the side of the hospital bed, gown bunched up around her thighs, Marcy froze mid escape when Two Step’s voice boomed through her tiny hospital room.
He frowned when she caught his gaze. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to sit still once you woke, so I told Reid and Jax I’d stand guard. Looks like I was right. Climb back into bed, baby girl. You aren’t going anywhere. This is your punishment for not tapping out of that rear naked chokehold and losing consciousness.”
Marcy gave him a weak smile, but with her head still fuzzy and her lips dry, she couldn’t engage in their usual banter about the irritating nickname he had given her that had spread like wildfire through the club.
Two Step’s smile faded in the silence, and his corded neck tightened as he swallowed. “You’re supposed to tell me off for callin’ you a baby girl. And then I’d tell you that you looked like a baby girl to me, all tucked up in that hospital bed for the last few hours.”
Catching her gaze drifting to the water jug, he poured a glass of water and held the straw while she sipped. The cool water soothed her parched throat, and she slid back on the bed and leaned against the pillow with a sigh.
“You’d make a terrible jailer. You’re far too nice.”
He brushed a stray curl off her forehead, his gentle touch belying his massive frame. “More like relieved. You went down pretty hard.”
The memory came back to her in a rush. Jenny Li’s arm around her neck, slowly tightening. Reid and Jax shouting from the ropes. The moment when she froze instead of fighting back. And then blackness.
“It was nice of you to come,” she said. “And it would be even nicer if you could break me out.”
Two Step gave her a crooked grin as he paced back and forth in front of her bed, clearly restless in the stark, confined space. “You think anything would have kept me away? You’ve been in my corner for every fight. Least I can do is give you a pretty face to wake up to. Reid said you weren’t close with your family.”
Marcy shifted in the bed to face him, wincing as the IV tugged at her wrist. “As close as a black sheep can be. Sometimes I wonder if I was switched at birth. They’re all academically inclined. High achievers. My brother and sister preferred schoolwork to sports and killed themselves to make it onto Wall Street like my parents. But all I ever wanted was to be outside kicking a ball around or climbing trees or jogging down by the Bay. They were pretty disappointed with my pot-smoking, class-skipping, party-until-you-drop death metal phase in high school and devastated when I went into retail and bought a dog instead of a cat. Total disappointment. I can’t imagine what they’d think if I told them I was a fighter.”
“You got a rebellious streak in you.” Two Step patted her hand. “That’s why the kids at the youth club love your fight classes. They sense you’re one of them.”
A smile tugged at Marcy’s lips. She loved her Saturday mornings at the youth club with Two Step, teaching self-defense to kids who had to defend themselves every day on the street. “More like a sporting streak. My love of sports made me the family freak.”
His face softened. “At Excelsior, we’re all freaks one way or another.”
She snorted a laugh and looked around for her clothes. “So how about letting a fellow freak escape? Now that the fight is over and I don’t have to worry about making weight, I’m desperate for a hot dog and a chocolate fudge sundae.”
“No can do.” Two Step shook his head. “You aren’t allowed to leave until you get the doc’s all clear, and then you gotta deal with Reid.”
“What do you mean, ‘deal with him’?” Marcy frowned.
His jaw tightened. “He took it hard when you went down. Real hard. Like I thought he was gonna bust a vein. Says it’s his fault for not picking up on that weakness a long time ago. Now he’s banging the drum about you training with Jax.” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath. “You might have been hurt worse if Jax hadn’t been watching so closely. He was in the ring before you hit the floor…”
“I’ll think about it.”
Two Step frowned. “Is that a yes? It better be a yes. I don’t think I could watch something like that again, baby girl. I know it happens to fighters all the time, but I can’t watch it happen to you. And neither can Reid.” He swallowed hard. “He cares about you, Marcy. A lot.”
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Marcy nodded. Reid had never hidden his interest in taking their friendship further. But although she liked him and was indebted to him for both her job and her fight career, he was too straight for her. She suspected Reid had never skipped classes, smoked pot on the school roof, or sneaked out of the house for an all-night rave when he was a teenager. And although she trained with him on a daily basis, she’d never once felt her body tingle the way it had when Jax had put her in submission.
A choice that was no choice. She didn’t want to leave her friends and train at another club. Even the few days thinking she would have to leave had been torture. If she wanted to stay with the team, she would have to train with Jax, which meant locking away her silly fantasies and maintaining the same professional distance she had with her other coaches. And that was the key. He was a coach. Nothing more.
Chapter Four
Professional. Keep it professional.
Jax leaned against the ropes in the practice ring as he watched Marcy cross the floor toward him, stopping along the way to talk with her friends. She’d agreed to train with him, but in an awkward conversation in the hospital, she’d laid down the line. Nothing personal. What had happened between them was all that was going to happen.
Just as well. He was already losing his professional detachment. His stomach had twisted when he’d seen her go limp in Jenny Li’s hold, and although he wasn’t authorized to be in the ring, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from running to her aid the moment the referee blew the whistle. Reid had been only a step behind him.
Given that knockouts happened all the time in the MMA world, he had overreacted, but then so had Reid, which said a lot about his feelings for Marcy. Well, Jax wouldn’t get in his way. He had already set up his next contract in Miami, starting in a few weeks. He’d get the job done and say his good-byes—as he always did. He touched his hand to his chest, an almost unconscious gesture of remembrance for his mother and sister and the good-byes that had broken his heart.
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