by Lori Foster
“Still got a knife on you?” he asked Gene.
It was Mohawk who answered. “Yeah, he does.” The hand he offered showed tats on his knuckles, a few scars. “I’m Carver Nelson.”
Denver ignored his extended hand.
“Gene always carries his knife. It doesn’t mean anything.” Pulling his hand back, Carver said, “These are my brothers. Mitty and Gene.”
Mitty, the biggest, continued to glare. Gene, the knife carrier, spit yet again.
“That’s a nasty-ass habit you have.”
Gene bunched up.
“So,” Carver said. “Are you with Cherry?”
“And if I am?”
“We’re trying to find her, that’s all.”
No way could Denver reconcile the idea of Cherry with any of these men, but especially not the guy now talking to him. In the fight world, he saw every style there was; tattoos and crazy haircuts didn’t faze him.
But he knew a thug when he saw one. Carver was that—and more.
“Why?”
Mitty said, “She’s our little sis.”
No fucking way. Knowing his disdain and disbelief showed, Denver again looked them over.
Cherry was bubbly, all smiles, sweet and stacked, soft and sexy.
These men looked like low-life goons. “Seems to me you’d have her number and know a better way to contact her than skulking around hotels.”
The big guy fisted his hands. “Wasn’t skulking.”
“We got estranged a while back,” Carver said, speaking over his brother. “Had a family disagreement and lost touch. That’s all.”
“But now we wanna reunite,” Gene added with a tobacco-stained leer.
Hoping to get the truth, Denver fought to moderate his tone. “How did you know she’d be here, at the fights?”
Carver shrugged. “Knew she was a fight fan, knew she lived in these parts.” He folded his arms over his chest, putting muscular arms on display. “Just figured.”
He didn’t want to, but to be fair, Denver made an offer. “Give me a number where she can reach you, and I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“No good,” Gene told him. “She won’t call.”
More so than the others, Denver wanted to knock Gene on his ass, make him choke on his chew.
It seemed Carver attempted diplomacy, and Mitty was too stupid to do more than mutter incomplete sentences. He figured Carver for the leader, Mitty for the muscle when necessary.
But Gene had no problem inciting his rage. Denver would love to unleash it on him and a blade wouldn’t make any difference at all.
Instead, knowing it’d bug the man, he directed his answer to Carver. “Then I guess you’re out of luck, aren’t you?”
After giving both of his brothers a quelling scowl, Carver stepped in front of them. “There’s been a death in the family.”
“Who?”
“Our pops.”
If they were related, would Cherry be devastated? It wasn’t something he could keep from her. “Sorry to hear it. I’ll let her know.” Anxious to get back to her, he said, “So you want to give me a number or not?”
“Yeah, sure.” Carver patted his pockets with theatric flair. “Damn. Ain’t got a pen or paper on me.”
“I guess a business card is out?”
“Left mine at home,” Carver joked.
“Go into the hotel and tell the front desk that you want to leave me a message. Ask them to hold it for Denver Lewis. I’ll pick it up before checking out.”
“Yeah? When is that exactly?”
Denver laughed, but he didn’t feel even a smidge of humor. Carver tried to be slick and failed miserably. “I don’t know yet, but you’d be smart not to be there when I do.” He was just about to walk away when he felt the approach of someone behind him. He didn’t take his attention off the brothers, but he did go more alert.
Until he heard, “Need a hand?”
Relaxing again, he turned to see Dean Connor, better known as Havoc, standing a few feet away, arms folded, expression amused.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
“I’ll just wait, then.”
Because he wanted to discuss Armie. Shit, shit, shit. Denver didn’t have time for this. He wanted to get back to Cherry.
Damn Armie for being so stubborn.
No way would he disrespect Dean, so he said, “Suit yourself.”
“Always do.”
Facing the brothers again, Denver pointed at Carver. “Don’t bother her. That’s the only warning you’ll get. Do we understand each other?”
In no way intimidated, Carver gave a slight nod. “Yeah, I think we do.”
That Carver tried to say it like a warning didn’t bother Denver at all. He walked toward Dean and the three yahoos went in the other direction. If they weren’t as dumb as they looked, they’d keep walking.
“Friends of yours?” Dean asked when he joined him.
Shaking his head, Denver said, “They’re nobody.”
“Funny. That’s the same thing Armie told me last night.”
“Maybe because it’s true.”
“Or more likely, you consider it none of my business.” When Denver would have backtracked, Dean held up a hand. “Whoever they are, I think you put the fear of God in them. Glad we already have you signed with the SBC.”
“Like dealing with street punks would prove anything?”
Dean shrugged. “You handled yourself well and you kept your cool.” And then, with an amused smile, “At least better than Armie did last night.”
He’d met Dean a few times, but he wouldn’t say they were friends. More like acquaintances. Being newer to the SBC, Denver always appreciated the time Dean, who was a legend, gave to him.
Except for now.
“Armie has plenty of control when he needs it.” Because Armie didn’t always show that control, Denver added, “Like when he fights.”
“Agreed.” Dean fell into step beside him. “You’re in a hurry?”
“I don’t mean to be rude—”
“No problem. I’ll walk with you.”
With no way around it, Denver said, “Sure.”
They stepped through the hotel doors. “Actually, I wanted to talk about Armie.”
Already shaking his head, Denver said, “Not my business.”
“I get that. No pressure. Just pass along a message for me, will you?”
The two women were still there, anxiously watching for Denver. “Hang on.” He went over to them, apologizing as he approached. “Sorry. That took longer than I thought it would.”
The blonde beamed at him. “It’s okay.”
He picked up his bags of food and drinks. “Where’re you both headed? The airport?”
The brunette nodded, but her gaze had moved beyond Denver to Dean and she looked ready to faint.
Pasting on his patented “fan smile,” Dean stepped forward and offered his hand.
Things got smoothed over when Dean took a picture with the ladies and Denver paid for their cab.
With that resolved, Dean followed Denver to the elevator.
“Sorry about that,” Denver told him. “What did you want me to tell Armie?”
“To quit running from me. Tell him I said to man up and give me an opportunity to talk to him.”
Denver whistled. “That won’t win him over.”
“No, but it will force him out.” He surprised Denver by stepping into the elevator with him.
“Was there something else?”
“Yeah, but I’ll make it quick. I want to know how Cannon runs his rec center. It’s unique, the combo of a top-notch training center, the opp to spar with and learn from him, while also helping the neighborhood. How’s that work exactly? I’d ask Cannon, but he’s too humble about it.”
Now this was a topic Denver could sink his teeth into. He and Cannon had been friends forever, and he respected him more than any man he knew. “Cannon has it set up so that everyone takes turns pitching in, some once a w
eek, some an hour every day. Now that Cannon’s made it big, Armie carries the lion’s share of the load. He sets the schedule and lines up the volunteers. Whenever Cannon is out of town, Armie runs things.”
“He’s an employee, or a partner?”
“Both, I guess.” Denver had never really gotten into the details with Armie, but knowing Cannon, he assumed Armie was well compensated for all the time he contributed. “Armie has a high energy level and refuses to have idle time.”
Grinning, Dean said, “I thought he spent all his free time with the ladies.”
“He fits that in, believe me.” There were times when it seemed Armie wouldn’t sleep for days on end—and yet he never dragged.
Laughing, Dean pulled a card from his pocket. “Give Armie my message. And hey, next time you’re in Harmony, let’s grab dinner.”
“Sure.” Since Harmony wasn’t that far, just a little south in Kentucky, he got down that way often. Denver pocketed the card. “I’d like that.”
When the elevator stopped, Dean stayed inside, but held the door open after Denver had stepped out. “You know,” Dean said, “I wouldn’t have let that motley crew around my lady, either.” After that parting shot he allowed the doors to close.
Huh. So Dean had understood more than he’d let on.
Denver had a lot to think about—later.
Right now, he only wanted to see Cherry.
To his surprise, when he opened the hotel room door, he found the bed empty. As he slowly let the door shut, he heard the shower running. Heat expanded and his body grew taut as he set down his packages...and headed for the bathroom.
* * *
SHE’D STRUGGLED TO pin up her hair, to start the shower, to stand under the spray and wash from head to toe. Now slumped against the tiled wall, Cherry realized her mistake. Never in her entire life had she been so drained. Even staying upright seemed to take an incredible amount of energy—energy that had quickly faded away.
Home, alone, she wouldn’t have bothered.
But it was bad enough to be so pathetically sick with Denver. She wouldn’t be grungy, too. Besides, she honestly believed she’d feel better once she was clean.
Instead, she wasn’t sure she could muster up the strength to turn off the taps, much less get dry, dressed and back in the bed.
She literally wanted to sink down to the tub and go back to sleep, even with the water raining down on her. If she knew for certain she wouldn’t run out of warm water or drown herself, she might’ve done just that.
In fact, it was still a toss-up.
That thought had barely cleared her brain before the shower curtain opened and Denver stood there, his smoldering gaze going all over her. He appeared stern, and a little turned on.
A unique combo.
“Damn, girl, what do you think you’re doing out of bed?”
A lump of misery caught in her throat. “I was... I can’t...” She braced a hand on the shower wall and said simply, “Big mistake.”
He reached in and turned off the water. Grabbing up a big white towel, he wrapped it around her and, uncaring if he got wet, lifted her out against him. One-handed, he flipped down the toilet lid and lowered her to sit.
“Denver...”
“Hush. I’ll take care of it.” Going to one knee, he dried her calves, up her legs, over her belly.
She held herself as upright as possible, completely mortified, all too aware of where and how he touched her. For him it seemed so impersonal; for her it was as personal as it could get.
When his gaze met hers, he said, “Breathe, girl. Slow and easy.”
The husky timbre of his voice made her want to melt. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“You should have waited for me.” More gently, he dried her breasts, and as the soft terry towel moved over her nipples, she swallowed hard. The cooler air after her shower made her shiver—and made her nipples draw tight.
“Almost done,” he told her, and he sounded as strained as she felt. Finally giving up on her breasts, he briskly dried her shoulders and gently patted the towel to her face. “Up you go.” He drew her to her feet and supported her against his body.
So warm. Closing her eyes, Cherry honestly thought she could doze off just like that, with him holding her so carefully.
After he dried her shoulders and the small of her back, he spent an inordinate amount of time on her bottom, looking over her shoulder until she said sleepily, “Denver.”
He kissed her neck, wrapped the towel around her and scooped her up. She knew he was strong; anyone could look at him and see that. But he held her with such ease it still impressed her and made her feel like the quintessential “little lady.”
As he strode to the bed, he said, “I’m glad you didn’t try washing your hair.”
Resting her cheek against his hard shoulder, one hand over his heartbeat, she admitted, “I couldn’t.”
He paused by the bed with her still comfortably in his arms. “Are you feeling any better at all?” His mouth brushed her temple. “You don’t feel as feverish.”
Around a yawn, she whispered, “That’s why I thought I could shower.” But halfway through she’d known it was a very bad idea.
“I’m sorry I took so long.” He tilted her back a little to look at her. “Do you have anything to wear?”
With the way he held her, the towel barely kept her concealed. Then she noticed Denver glancing at the dresser mirror beyond and when she looked... Oh God. She squirmed to get free.
He only tightened his hold. “Settle down.”
“Stop looking at me!”
He gave one more long perusal at the mirror. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen.”
The image in the mirror showed her legs tucked up over his arm, the loose towel hanging well beneath her backside, and a whole lot of nakedness in between. He could literally see from back of the thighs to the middle of her back.
Her heart hurt in her chest and red-hot humiliation scalded her. “Denver...”
He hugged her—and turned so that her behind was no longer aimed at the mirror, but still didn’t put her down. “You have no reason to be embarrassed. I like looking at you.”
“Not like that!”
“Especially like that.” He nuzzled against her. “I want to see every part of you.”
Tucking her burning face against his throat, she groaned, “This is so awful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said, low and rough near her ear.
That was not a beautiful shot, but she didn’t have the will to debate it with him right now. “My shirt...” She glanced at the same shirt she’d removed before getting in the shower. It was now badly rumpled, but anything would be better than staying so vulnerable.
Denver continued to study her face. “One day soon, you’ll show me everything I want to see.”
Ready to die of embarrassment and half afraid he was right, she said nothing.
He took in her expression, then turned his head to eye her discarded shirt on the dresser. “I brought a few extras if you want one of mine instead.” His smile went crooked. “Much as I enjoy seeing you, it’ll probably be better for my sanity if you don’t stay naked.”
“I wouldn’t!”
He grunted. “Left on your own, we both know you wouldn’t have had the grit to worry about it.”
True enough. “Somehow,” she muttered, “I’d have figured it out.”
“Maybe.” After lowering her to the bed, he pulled away the towel and his attention moved over her in minute detail again. “Now you don’t have to.” He kissed her forehead, her shoulder, and the top of one breast before going to his bag and removing a black SBC T-shirt.
Hating her own weakness, Cherry managed to sit back up before he got to her, but she let him drop the shirt over her head and even tug her arms through the short sleeves.
Wearing an indulgent, very male smile, he said, “Poor baby. You’re really shot, aren’t you?” He pulled the sheet over her lap and propped the
bed pillows behind her.
“I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” He pulled the band from her hair and ran his fingers through it to smooth it out. “I told you there’s something going around. I’ve seen a few fighters go down for the count.”
And she wasn’t a big, muscled, extremely fit fighter. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. You just need to take it easy a few days.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Think you can stay awake long enough to take some medicine and get down some fluids?”
“Yes.” Honestly, now that she was back in the bed, she knew she did feel better for being clean. “What time do we have to check out?”
He opened an orange juice and handed her pills to take, then liquid cough medicine, before answering. “I extended your stay another day.”
Something must have shown on her face, because he said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”
Cherry shook her head. It was enough that he’d taken on caring for her. She did not want him financially taxed, too. “I’ll pay you back.”
“No, you won’t.” Ignoring her indignation, he said, “I’m staying here, too, so don’t sweat it. Now stay put while I go get some ice. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait a min—”
He bent and kissed her forehead. “You’re not up for arguing with me, girl, so just relax, okay?” Another kiss and then he strode to the door.
The shower had cleared the fog of lethargy enough for reality to intrude. The timing was a problem in more ways than the obvious.
The second Denver returned with the ice bucket filled, she said, “I have to work tomorrow.”
“Around kids?” His brows climbed high. “That’s not happening.”
“I’m feeling better.” Better, but still on the dark side of rotten. And since she worked in a day care, she probably shouldn’t be around little kids. Still...
“Hate to tell you, honey, but you’re going to need at least two more days. Maybe three.” He looked her over. “Or more.”
Unacceptable, but knowing he might be right got her head to pounding.
The ice clinked in a glass as Denver dropped it in, then poured juice over it. “You want a straw?”
Her shoulders slumped. “No.”