Holding Strong

by Lori Foster

  Ignoring the question since he didn’t have an answer, he glanced around the neighborhood. In this neck of the woods, drunks sleeping on doorsteps weren’t a totally uncommon thing.

  That he’d fallen into that category shamed him.

  The little redhead, who up ’til now had warily kept her distance, drew closer. She scrunched up her blue eyes and her nose, making her freckles more pronounced. “You’re bleedin’.”

  He touched where she pointed and found dried blood near his ear. “I must’ve fallen.” Glad for an excuse to escape their innocent curiosity—and doubly thrilled to still have his keys—he turned for the door. “I’ll go get cleaned up right now.” He half stumbled, realized his legs were shaky, and gripped the entry-door handle. Fuck him for living on the third floor.

  At the last second, he turned back to the kids. “You stay right in front here, where your mama can see you.”

  All wide-eyed and watchful, Mayla nodded. “Mama says there could be bad people around.”

  “That’s right.” And last night he’d become one of them.

  * * *

  DENVER WALKED INTO Rowdy’s bar, hoping to meet with the guys before he headed over to see Cherry. He figured if they put their collective brains together, they could come up with a way to draw out Carver and his brothers without upsetting Cherry in the bargain. She’d been as clear as she could be that she wanted to handle things on her own.

  It was going to bother her enough that he wouldn’t let her. If he cut her out completely, as he wanted to, she’d be majorly pissed. He didn’t want that.

  He wanted to get her under him again.

  And he wanted to claim her in some way. Longer term than just here and now. The thought of any other man getting near her heated his blood with possessive rage. Again he popped his neck, but the tension had crawled in with a vengeance and sunk its claws deep, and short of a good fuck or a real fight, he didn’t know how to shake it off.

  He was making his way through the bar when he drew up short.

  There, sitting at the bar and chatting up Vanity Baker, was none other than Leese Phelps. Was he here for Cherry? Working with Carver? The impulse to drag the bastard outside and get some answers the old-fashioned way got his feet moving forward.

  Rowdy intercepted him. “Is there a reason you’re looking bent on murder?”

  As the owner of the bar and a certified hardass, Rowdy never missed a thing—especially not trouble.Because Cannon used to work with him, and many of the fighters considered the bar a favorite neighborhood hangout, they all knew him well.

  And vice versa.

  If he thought it necessary, Rowdy would go toe to toe with a heavyweight champion. Thing was, everyone respected him too much for that to ever be necessary.

  With a nod of his head, Denver indicated Phelps. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Hitting on Vanity from what I can tell. That bothers you?”

  “That he’s here?” Looking beyond Rowdy, Denver stared daggers into Phelps’s back. “Yes.”

  “Not because of Vanity?”

  “What?” That sidetracked his attention. “No. Her life is her own.”

  “I ask,” Rowdy said, still blocking his way, “because Stack has been bristling since he got here, too.”

  Denver searched the crowd and sure enough, Stack sat at a table with a couple of women, but his gaze continually went to Phelps. “He knows the douche.” Maybe he had his own reason for wanting to take him apart.

  He’d damn well have to get in line.

  “Knows him how?”

  Impatient, not that Rowdy gave a shit, Denver rolled a shoulder. “He was around at the after-party when Armie fought.” Unsure of how much to tell him, Denver added, “He hit on Cherry a little too hard until Stack warned him off.” By using Denver as a threat. But hey, whatever worked.

  “Well, Vanity doesn’t seem to mind his chitchat.” Rowdy moved into Denver’s line of vision to ensure he had his attention. “If there’s going to be trouble, take it elsewhere.”

  Holding up his hands, Denver indicated compliance. “Got it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Denver didn’t move. “You really think I’d—”

  “Stir up trouble? No. But I’ve seen that look before, worn it a few times myself.”

  Denver snorted. Rowdy used to wear it more often than not. Since marrying, though, he’d mellowed. A little.

  “You’re itching for a fight or a fuck.”

  Damn, hadn’t he just thought the same thing? “The first won’t happen in here, you have my word.”

  Rowdy must’ve believed him because his frown eased and his mouth went into an amused smile. “And the second?”

  “Since the right lady isn’t around, that’s not happening, either.”

  “Ah.” The smile turned into a grin. “Hopefully later, then.” Rowdy went about his business, collecting empties off tables, but Denver knew he’d see every little thing that went down.

  Instead of heading to the bar, Denver headed for Stack.

  When he reached the table, he hooked a chair with his foot, pulled it out and sat, then braced his forearms on the small round tabletop. With speculative smiles and suggestive body scans, the women welcomed him.

  Stack barely acknowledged him. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts. Dark thoughts, given the expression on his face.

  Watching his friend drink from a longneck, Denver said, “Got a favor to ask.”

  One of the women practically sat in Stack’s lap, her hand on his chest, his free arm around her. Absently, as if he did it out of habit, Stack stroked her narrow hip, then down so that his hand encountered her thigh beneath the hem of a denim miniskirt. “Sure, what is it?”

  Model-thin chicks never did it for Denver. Apparently Stack felt differently.

  “Need you to lend me a hand with something.” Or more like someone.

  Still playing with the chick one-handed, Stack finished off his beer and set the empty aside. “Let’s hear it.”

  Giving an apologetic glance to the ladies, Denver said, “Sorry, but it’s best explained in private.”

  Nodding, Stack turned and planted a long wet one on the girl, gave her hip a pat and levered her away from him. “If you’ll excuse me?”

  She crossed her arms and struck a pissed-off pose.

  The other chick sent a hopeful glance at Denver, but he held up his hands. “Sorry. I’m taken.”

  “Yeah?” Ignoring his angry lady, Stack grinned. “Cherry?”

  Denver nodded.

  It took some convincing, but Stack finally got the two pouting ladies to depart.

  Never, not once, had Cherry been that tenacious. Whenever Denver had been less than inviting, which sadly had been most of the time, she’d accepted it and moved on.

  Had to admit to himself, he respected that about her.

  He was also damned grateful that she’d been persistent enough to try that one last time.

  “So.” Stack slouched back in the hard chair, the bottle held loosely against his abs. “What’s up? And it better be important given you just chased off my entertainment for the night.”

  “Both of them?”

  He shook his head. “That’d be one more piece of trouble than I wanted. I leave that headache to Armie.” He glanced at his watch. “Miles is supposed to join me in an hour. The second was hanging around for him.”

  “Gotcha. Well, do this for me and then you can call them back.”

  “All right.” He sipped at his beer. “Let’s hear what it is.”

  “I need you to hit on Vanity.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  UNSURE IF HE’D heard that right or, if he had, whether Denver’s suggestion was serious, Stack took his gaze from his friend to the killer lady at the bar.

  Damn, but her ass looked sweet on that bar stool. Megasweet.

  Maybe too sweet.

  He’d never seen a woman so drop-dead gorgeous from head to toe, and God knew he’d known plenty of
sexy women. To make it even more confusing, Vanity Baker was nice. And funny.

  And while she had to know she was hot¸ she didn’t seem to care that much about it.

  “So I have your attention?” Denver asked with a low laugh.

  “Yeah.” Still looking at Vanity, he said to Denver, “I’m listening.”

  “You remember the creep she’s talking to?”

  “Dude from Kentucky.” Stack scratched his jaw. “Leese Phelps. He was pestering Cherry before I pointed out that you were keeping watch. That seemed to discourage him.”

  As if the reminder bothered him, Denver worked his jaw. “I need to have a word with him.”

  Ho, what was this? “I know for a fact Leese struck out, the poor schmuck.” That made Denver frown—which had Stack laughing. “Why are you thinking about dismembering him, given that Cherry wasn’t interested, much less involved?”

  “The others already know, and Cannon was going to tell you tomorrow, but since you’re here...”

  “Damn, man. Now you’ve got me curious.”

  The story Denver shared took care of any humor Stack felt at his predicament. Cherry was a sweet girl. Funny, lively and completely hung up on Denver. Since Denver hadn’t seemed to reciprocate, had instead chosen to wallow in misery, it had been a little sad to watch. That was the major reason he and Miles had tried so hard to cheer her up, while also doing their part to needle Denver.

  Stack slanted his gaze back to Leese. “Funny that he’d show up here after all that going down.”

  “If you think that’s funny, you must have a twisted sense of humor.”

  “Nah, Leese is okay. You’ll see.” Cutting off Denver’s curse, Stack said, “Did you notice he’s beat all to hell and back? I saw him walk in, and let me tell you, he’s moving like a man who went five rounds in the cage and lost them all.”

  Brows shooting up, Denver twisted in his seat to view Leese with new awareness.

  From the back left angle they had, only a few war wounds showed: a big, purple bruise above his ear, with less colorful shading under his eye and across his nose.

  “Hell of a coincidence, right?”

  “Huh.” Denver didn’t show any sympathy. If anything he looked a little more volatile.

  “So I’m to interrupt and lead Vanity away.” Stack said that as if there was no question of her following, but for once in his life, he wasn’t sure of his success. “Then you’re going to...what? Add more bruises to Leese’s black-and-blue camouflage, or just talk?”

  “That’ll depend on him, now, won’t it? But Rowdy already read me the riot act about anything going down in here.”

  “As if.” Denver wasn’t a barroom brawler. It wasn’t his MO. Then again, he’d never been this strung out on a chick before. The fact that it had taken him and Cherry so long to work out whatever it was keeping them apart only made Denver tetchier when discussing her.

  “If necessary, I’ll lead him outside.”

  Lead, as in drag, given the way Denver said it.

  If that happened, Stack would follow, because Denver would only end up feeling bad for pulverizing a lesser fighter. That, too, was his MO. He had the greatest sense of fair play Stack had ever run across.

  Pushing back his chair, aware of profound anticipation zinging through his bloodstream, Stack affected the cockiness necessary to convince his friend and said, “Give me two minutes.”

  Vanity Baker had only recently moved to the area and joined their group. Hailing from California, she had the surfer-girl look with crazy long, pale blond hair, a light tan, sexy toned legs that went on forever and curves that’d showcase any bikini. The day she’d walked into the rec center every guy had immediately gotten snagged by her big blue eyes and easy smile. In a nanosecond, they’d all had carnal ideas on their brains. But because she was Yvette’s best friend, and Yvette was engaged to Cannon, no one went after her hot and heavy.

  As they all surely wanted to do.

  Then again, maybe Vanity intimidated the others. Wasn’t every day a guy saw a classy, confident, happy, spellbindingly gorgeous woman—who was still single.

  Stack slid onto the stool beside her, gaining her notice. Probably thinking a stranger had joined her, she cast a quick glance his way, then realized it was him and turned back for a longer, more familiar look.

  Big blue eyes started by locking with his before, with a slow smile, she dipped them down and over his dark T-shirt, his worn jeans, all the way down to his cowboy boots and back up again. Smiling as if amused, she lifted one slim brow. “Hello, Stack.”

  “Vanity.”

  Frowning, Leese leaned around her to see him. “Hey.”

  “Wassup, Leese?” He nodded at him. “Got run over, I see.”

  “Feels like,” Leese grumbled.

  “You were in a tourney?”

  He shook his head. “No.” Running his fingertips along a cut on his chin, he said, “Long story.”

  They stared at each other, Stack willing him to take a hike, Leese refusing to budge.

  Vanity grinned. “Wow, don’t I feel popular.”

  Her teasing made Stack want to kiss her until neither one of them could breathe, but he held it in check. Trying to look serious, he said to Leese, “Mind if I borrow her a minute?”

  Wearing a black scowl, Leese spun on the stool to face him. “Matter of fact—”

  Vanity made a loud “ahem” sound before speaking to Stack. “That’s up to me, not him, and no, I don’t mind.” She turned back to Leese. “Thank you for the drink.”

  Stack resisted the urge to whistle in sympathy. Talk about a dismissal...

  Glowering, Leese lowered himself carefully off the stool, his limbs unbending and awkward, testament to some nasty body shots that must still hurt.

  He took one step away, glanced beyond Stack to where Denver stood staring a hole in him, and huffed out a breath. “Now I see. Okay, then.” He managed to straighten. “It’s why I’m here, so I might as well get this over with.”

  Hobbling in a broke-ass gait, he headed toward Denver.

  That’d gone easier than Stack had expected.

  After taking it all in, Vanity angled her body around to face his. “So you were the sacrificial lamb, huh?”

  “Actually, I’m known as the wolf, not the lamb.”

  “Your fight name, yes? Something about the way you stalk your opponents like prey in the cage.”

  “That’s ri–”

  “And in the bedroom you make the ladies howl.”

  His mouth snapped shut. First time he’d heard that one. And damn, she looked serious—like she believed it.

  He tugged at his ear. “Who told you that?”

  “About the cage? Yvette and Rissy.”

  He shook his head. “No, the part about the ladies.” About them howling. It was almost laughable.

  Idly, Vanity traced one tapered finger over the polished bar top. “Apparently it’s common conversation for the ladies’ room.” Her lashes swept up and she met his gaze. “I’ve heard it twice now.”

  “Here?”

  By small degrees her mouth slipped into a smile. “Well, it wasn’t at Rissy’s or Yvette’s.”

  He pulled back over that appalling thought. “Yeah, I haven’t ever—”

  “Been intimate with them? I know.” She put her elbow on the edge of the bar and propped up her chin with a palm. “So let me see if I get this right. You were sent here to draw away my attention so those two, Denver and Leese, could get some private chat time in?”

  “I volunteered,” Stack lied. Her drink was empty so he made the offer. “Can I get you another?”

  She turned her head, sending that long fair hair cascading down to her thigh. “I can entertain myself, you know. No reason for you to give up your earlier pursuits.”

  Still thinking about her hair, about how he’d like to wrap it around his hands and hold her steady for some hard sex play, he murmured absently, “How’s that?”

  “The two hopefuls fawn
ing over you earlier?” Feigning sympathy, she asked, “Did Denver’s storm-cloud impression chase off your prospects?”

  “They were done deals, not prospects. But that’s over.” She’d noticed him with the other women? Wondering what that meant, if anything, Stack gave her a once-over. “What about you? Meeting someone tonight?”

  Pretending a forlorn sigh, she pouted. “No. I’m all alone.”

  On her, the pout tempted far more so than on the two ladies he’d sent from his table. With her sky-blue eyes, straight, narrow nose, smooth cheekbones and that full, soft mouth... Yeah, she could make him lose his thoughts. “Same here.”

  “Now we both know that’s not true.”

  “Is since I sent them off.” Even better than her face was her body—all sweet, supple, curvy perfection. He needed to get his head on straight, and fast. “So how about we keep each other company?”

  She seemed to think about it for far too long, making his left eye twitch. Not since high school had he been rejected, mostly because he knew how to hedge his bets. If it hadn’t been for Denver, he might not have ever approached her like this—

  “I would love the company.” Lifting her glass, she said, “And another drink.”

  Score. Stack ordered them each a drink, considered asking her to move to a table with him, but decided it’d probably be safer to stay at the bar.

  He’d just tipped up a fresh beer when she said, “Do you have a date for the wedding?”

  He choked, damn it. Grabbing for a napkin and trying to ignore the way she rubbed-pat-rubbed between his shoulder blades, he concentrated on getting his breath back. Not easy when her hand stroked down, then paused at the small of his back.

  Even after he caught his wind, she stayed too close, her hand still touching him, the warmth of it sinking right through his T-shirt.

  If he thought much about her small, soft hand on him, he’d get a boner for sure.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe.”

  “I was talking about Cannon and Yvette’s wedding.” She tipped her head. “Not asking for your hand in marriage.”