by Rhona Davis
“How much did you spend on all this?” I call out to him, my voice rattling around the large open space.
He cranes his head around the changing room door. “You said something, angel?”
“I said how much did you spen—?” My nose crinkles. “What are you doing back there?”
“Second surprise. Get in the ring.”
“No.”
“I won’t take no for an answer. Now get.”
I blow out and remove his jacket from my shoulders, before slowly rolling under the bottom rope of the ring and pushing to my feet on the canvas. I shrug. “So what am I supposed to be doing now?”
“Just one sec—”
“Connor!”
“Trust me.”
“Hmm . . . now where have I heard that before?”
He shoots me a sexy grin and recedes back into the changing room.
After considerably longer that a second, he swans back out dressed in his boxing shorts and boots. Nothing else. “Right, it’s time to see what you’re made of.”
I cross my arms. “Oh no, buster. No way have I come out here in the middle of the night to train.”
“Do I really have to force you to comply?”
“That depends.”
His eyes narrow. “On what?”
“Maybe if you take me back to your city hideaway, I can surrender.”
His lips curl up into a devilish smile. “The gym’s closed. We’re all alone.”
I frown. “What, here? On the canvas?”
He nods.
“Isn’t that a little unsanitary considering you’re opening the place next week?”
He chucks a beach sized towel my way. “You can lie on that.” Walking over to the timer, he sets the clock to three minutes.
I raise both brows. “Wow. Three whole minutes. Sure you have the stamina, Mr. World Heavyweight champ?”
“Har-har. Very funny. Anyway, I’ve resisted you for too long. I was on my best behavior in Mexico.”
“Ooh, such a gentleman in front of my family.”
He takes a bow.
As he stalks toward the ring, my mind falls straight into the gutter. I want him so badly that I begin to unbutton my jeans. “You’ve never been beat in the ring, have you, champ?”
“Never.”
“Maybe I’ll give you your first loss.”
He smirks. “I doubt it.”
I loosen a few more buttons. “But you’ve never taken on an opponent like me, have you?”
“I’ve sparred a few times.”
The electric timer beeps. He runs into the ring and lunges for me. “Round one, baby.”
I bite on my bottom lip. “Ooh, you are so dead.”
A knock on the door. “Hello.”
We both freeze like waxworks. From the foot of the door, a child of around ten years old, who’s holding onto a battered old sports bag, approaches.
“Hey, we’re closed,” Connor tells him.
The boy stops and looks down at the floor.
“The place opens next week,” I add. “What’s your name?”
“Michael.”
“Well, Michael, if you come back next Monday you can join up then.” I turn my attention to Connor and whisper, “What do you charge?”
He doesn’t answer.
The kid speaks up. “I don’t have much money, Miss. Just my pocket money.”
Connor pulls at his jaw, lost in thought, and then slips out of the ring. He slowly approaches the keen young amateur. “How long have you been boxing?”
“This will be my first time, sir.”
“Really? Does your mom know your hanging around the streets at this time of night?”
“She’s waiting in the car outside. She’s not too happy with me coming here. She wants to know how much it is first.”
Connor looks over to me and winks.
“I get two dollars pocket money,” the kid tells him.
“Two dollars?”
He nods.
“Well, Michael, do you earn your pocket money?”
The expression on the kid’s face looks lost.
“Chores,” Connor continues, “do you help your mom out around the house?”
“Yes, sir. I wash her car and take the trash out.”
Hearing the kid talk so passionately makes me smile. He’s so adorable.
“Don’t you buy videogames with your pocket money?” Connor presses.
The kid shakes his head. “I like sports, sir.”
“I’m sorry, son. Two dollars isn’t enough.”
“Connor?” I call out.
Connor holds his arm out behind him, motioning for me to stop as he keeps his focus on the kid. “Michael, we’re closed. Like the lady said, we’re not open until next week. And two dollars just doesn’t cut it. Why do you want to train here anyway?”
The kid looks off into the distance. “There’s this boy, at school, he—”
“Bullies you?” Connor finishes.
The kid wipes at his eyes.
“You know training is hard, right?”
The boy slowly nods.
“And you also have to concentrate on school work, right?”
He nods again.
Connor kneels down, his eye line level with the boy’s. “Okay, I want you to run along and tell your mom you start next Monday.”
The way the boy’s face lights up melts my heart.
“Really, sir?”
“Yep.”
“And it’s two dollars?”
Connor shakes his head. “It’s free. Free for anyone who wants to train and shows as much passion as you. I only ask one thing . . .”
“Yes?”
“You tell all your buddies.”
“Oh, thank you, Mister, thank you.”
“Go on home now, you’re mom’s waiting. Next Monday, okay?”
“Thank you, champ.” The boy goes in for a hug and then runs off.
“Hey, son,” Connor calls out.
The kid skids to a stop and turns. “Yes, sir?”
“Bring that bully with you.”
“Are you gonna beat him up?”
Connor laughs. “No. But if he comes along he may be able to better himself, too. And you never know . . . you two could end up being friends.”
“Thanks, champ.”
When the kid finally runs out, Connor locks the door from the inside and turns on his heel.
I smile at him. “That was a beautiful thing to do. So, will all children train for free?”
“Everyone will.”
“But . . . I thought this was your business?”
He shakes his head. “I want to give something back to the community. Anyway, I’ve no time to run a business.”
“How come?”
“My focus is on you. Besides, we’ve plenty of money to last us. Maybe I could be a stay at home husband.”
“Connor, I think—wait a minute . . . what did you just say?”
“I’ve plenty of money to last us.”
“No. Not that. The part after.”
“I never told you?”
“Told me what?”
He stretches his arm out. “Look inside that boxing glove, the one on the edge of the ring over there.”
Reeling from what I think he means, and more than a little nervous to find out if my suspicion is correct, I scoot over and pick up the glove. “What does this have to do with what you just said?”
He rolls his eyes. “Just look inside.”
Keeping my gaze fixed on him, I reach into the glove. What I pull out has me almost fainting with shock.
“Well,” he says. “Do you like it?”
“Connor, it’s beautiful . . . it’s—”
“Speechless I see. That’s a first.” He walks toward the ring and looks up at me. “I think it’s your size. We can always get it altered if not.”
As I examine the ridiculously big diamond between my fingers, I try to catch my breath. “It’s stunning.”
&nbs
p; “Marry me, Sophie.”
I hold in tears. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for you.”
“You’re cheesy. too.”
“Guilty as charged.”
I frown, closely inspecting every edge of the diamond ring. “But . . . why?”
“Because I fucking love you, that’s why. Do I need to write it down?” He rushes over to one of the windows and pulls it open. Leaning outside, he shouts, “I love Sofia Chavez! Everybody . . . I. LOVE. SOFIA. CHAVEZ!”
“Connor!”
He pulls back from the window and smiles at me. “Fuck it. I want the entire world to know you’re my girl.”
I pause, words snagging in my throat.
“So,” Connor says in a hushed tone, “you’ll marry me, right?”
“Yes,” I murmur, lost in the madness of this perfect moment.
With that simple little word, he storms into the ring and hoists me up into his arms.
We kiss; a kiss that is now free from worry, and drama, and pain. A kiss that is pure and sealed with indescribable happiness.
Pulling away from me, he frowns.
“What? I dab at my wet eyes with the boxing glove. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“We haven’t started the round yet.”
“What do you mean?”
He runs out of the ring and resets the timer. “Three minutes. One earth shattering orgasm. I want to pop that fiancé cherry!”
“I can’t promise I’ll play nice.”
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh. I have a habit of breaking rules.”
His jaw sets. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
The beeper goes.
The round starts.
And we begin a life where the odds are in our favour . . . together as one.
Nothing can beat us now. Of that, I am certain.
About the Author
Rhona Davis is a contemporary romance author. From bad boys to billionaires, from ménage to second chances, the heroes are always alpha and the heroines are always smart and independent. HEA guaranteed.
When she isn’t busy writing steamy love stories, she enjoys reading, binging on TV box sets, travel, and the occasional drink for good behavior.
She lives in Nottingham UK, with her partner of eight years, and has a stuffed toy cat named Jackson.
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www.rhonadavis.com
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