—
Francesca’s eyes were transfixed on his mouth on her neck and on his arm moving closer to her breast. His feather-light kisses trailed down to her shoulders, and as he slowly lowered the spaghetti straps holding her dress up, her eyes never wavered from the mirror. She couldn’t stop staring. It was as if she’d floated out of her body and was watching from above. He pulled the dress down, lifted his gaze, and stared back at her from the mirror as he cupped her breast. The nude strapless bra clashed against his tanned skin.
His hands lowered, and he brusquely pulled her dress up above her hips. She closed her eyes, knowing that soon he would be touching her everywhere. “Open your eyes,” he commanded in a low voice. “I’ll stop if you want me to. Just say the words.” His fingers played with the edge of her stockings. “I will always think of these stockings and garter belt whenever I look at you. It’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He moved his hand higher until his fingers found her tiny, lacy thong. “And I love that I’m the only one who gets to see it tonight.” He slid his finger up and down the string in her ass and groaned. Finally he reached around her front and breached her panties. He brushed against her clit and her body involuntarily jerked, causing her ass to press harder against his front. He began strumming her clit while his fingers bit into her waist. Every time her eyes threatened to close, he demanded she open them.
He added more pressure and gazed at her intently.
“Tony!” she cried breathlessly.
Just as she was about to come, he stopped, gripped her hips, and brusquely pulled her toward him, bringing her ass up and pushing her forearms down onto the desktop. He stepped away for a second and she heard him groan. “So pretty.” She could see in the mirror that he was looking at her most intimate areas. She wasn’t a virgin, but she’d never felt so exposed in her life. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He made a low guttural noise from deep in his throat. “I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. You’re so sexy.” She heard his zipper as he lowered his pants and without any lead-in pushed into her in one solid motion.
She almost yelped out in pain but bit the inside of her cheek instead. Quickly the pain morphed into pleasure, and when he brought his hand back around to her clit, it didn’t take much for her orgasm to begin to build. “Don’t close your eyes again,” he ordered. She opened her eyes and caught him staring at her with intensity and heat. She watched as he touched her intimately, making her lose all control. Two strokes later she was flying out of her body, crying out so loudly that she hoped there was no one lingering close by. A few seconds later he followed, moaning something in Spanish against her neck.
It took a moment for them to catch their breaths, but once they did the weirdness began. He pulled his pants up. “Shit. I was so caught up, I didn’t grab a condom. You’re on the pill, right?”
Tears threatened to appear in her eyes, but she swallowed hard and kept them at bay. It had been rough, animalistic sex, but it had felt amazing. Unfortunately, the amazing sensation lasted less than a minute, and suddenly regret and a shitload of fear set in. “You didn’t use protection?”
“Never happened before, cariño. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I’m not on the pill, but more important, should I worry about getting some disease?” She was straightening her dress and avoiding his eyes.
“No. Like I said, I’ve never done that before. Ever. I don’t know what got into me.” She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her either. She’d never ever had casual sex before. Ever. And in public! What was she thinking? She needed to go to the bathroom and wash up, she thought, feeling self-conscious at the moisture running down her leg.
She was absentmindedly tidying up the items on the desk that had fallen when he pulled her around. “Should I be concerned?”
“You really are a fucking dick.” She glared at him. “Yeah, you should. You may have just gotten me pregnant. That’s the only thing you should be concerned about.”
“Jesus, Francesca, I’m so sorry. I’m not that guy. But I’ve wanted you for so long and you were finally…I’m sorry. Forgive me?” He placed his hands on the sides of her neck and smiled, as if that alone should appease her. “Please. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then smiled. “Let’s go back to the party and dance. Maybe tonight we could—”
She quickly covered his mouth with her hand. “Do not say it. Just—stop talking.” She let go of his mouth and opened the door. “This was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake. What was I thinking?”
She hiked her dress up and ran down the stairs. He followed behind, calling her name. “Damn it. Would you just stop running?”
She ignored him and kept going; her dress was pulled up high enough that she was able to easily reach for her shoes and slide them on. She brushed the front of her dress down and ran her fingers through her hair before walking back inside the tent.
Luckily, it seemed as if everyone else was dancing, and Francesca was able to reach the table without anyone asking where she’d been. She was sure she looked like she had just been thoroughly fucked. This was her first walk-of-shame experience and she hated every second of it. She grabbed her purse and looked around to see if it was possible to slip out without anyone noticing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tony walk in. He glared at her as he stalked closer, but she walked out quickly. She felt her phone vibrating inside her purse, but she ignored it. Her priority was to get the hell out of there fast.
Francesca was already outside when Tony grabbed her arm. “Would you wait a minute, goddammit!”
“Why? There’s nothing to talk about. At least not unless you got me pregnant, in which case I’ll let you know in a few weeks. Trust me, if I am, I’ll want to make sure you’re as fucking freaked out as I will be.”
“Just tell me, are you pissed about that—about the possibility of getting pregnant—or about the fucking part?”
It took all her self-control not to pull her hand back and slap him. “I don’t do this!” she hissed. “I don’t sleep around. This has to be the worst one-night stand ever. I definitely never intended to sleep with you!” She dug the vibrating phone out of her bag and held it up to her ear. “Hello,” she said tersely.
He made an unintelligible noise followed by some sort of frustrated grunt. “Ju can be a real—” He slid his hand down his face and didn’t let the word he wanted to say come out of his mouth.
She covered the phone and mouthed, “Just go away,” before turning her attention back to the call.
Tony had never been rebuffed or pushed aside after sex before; he’d always been the one doing the kicking out. What was more surprising to him was that he didn’t really want to leave. It had been kind of rough, and she’d been so damn tight, but it’d been great sex. Didn’t she think so? It had been years since he’d had sex without a condom. He should’ve at least tended to her afterward, but he hadn’t really been thinking clearly. That was kind of an asshole thing to do, he thought. He should’ve apologized for that, but she wouldn’t even look him in the eyes, much less talk to him. He’d wanted to sleep with her since he’d met her, thinking he just needed one time to get her out of his system. Assuage his curiosity. But now? He couldn’t wait to do it again.
Apparently she didn’t feel the same. He should have known better—she was a viper who’d use him and spit him out. He had to man the fuck up and accept it. For her, this had been nothing more than a one-night stand he’d royally screwed up by not using a condom.
His eyes followed her as she walked away. Her legs moved in long, elegant strides, almost like she was walking on a tightrope, her small waist and mouthwatering full hips swaying side to side. He should’ve taken the time to strip her down and devour her body; instead he’d taken her in the first semisecluded place he’d been able to find, like a horny teenager with no patience.
With that thought, he began to walk in the opposite direction toward his car. Suddenly, thoug
h, he heard a gasp. He turned and saw her slumping onto the hood of her car as her phone fell from her hands.
Tony ran to her and caught her just as she was about to collapse. Her eyes were wet and her skin pale.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” He cupped her cheeks and looked into her eyes.
“That was my aunt. My d-dad. He’s had another stroke. They’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”
“Come here.” He guided her to the curb and sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders, his hand stroking her hair. “Your old man’s strong. Everyone’s told me stories about how they used to be scared of him when he trained the guys at the gym. He’ll pull through, you’ll see.” He continued to stroke her hair, surprised that she wasn’t crying. “Is there someone you want me to call?”
“No.” She sat up and wiped her moist eyes with the back of her hand. “No. It was just shocking news. I’ll be fine.” She sniffled a little and then stood. “I—uh—I’m going to find the first flight out.” They stood and she took a wobbly step. Quickly he took hold of her waist and held on until she found her balance.
“Let me help. I can drive you home or to the airport or something.”
“No. No. I’m fine. I’ll see you….”
She seemed frazzled, so he put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey.” He leaned down a little so that her eyes were focused on him. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know.”
That seemed to change something in her. “Yeah, I do.” She turned and climbed into her car, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter 3
Francesca walked into the gym jet-lagged and in a mood. Tony could see her from the other side of the Academy, walking briskly. He’d heard from Slade that she had returned from Brazil the night before. Click click click click, over and over, was all Tony heard as he tried to put all his force into hitting the speed bag. It was the sound of her heels—a noise he’d grown accustomed to hearing since arriving at WtF all those months ago.
“You’re looking ’specially purty today, Frances.”
“Thanks, honey.” She smiled at Travis. Click click click click.
“How’s Uncle doing?” Enzo, the newest addition to the Academy and Francesca’s cousin, asked.
“He’s much better, thanks. Your mom’s been helping.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” He kissed her cheek and left for the locker room.
“Whatcha doing after work?” Travis asked as he leaned against the reception counter, where she stood shuffling through a couple of weeks’ worth of mail.
“She has a date with me,” Clint Thompson interrupted. The arrogant jerk occasionally trained at WtF but wasn’t a professional fighter yet.
Tony stopped punching and whipped his head back in time to hear her say to Travis, who looked puzzled, “It’s that bet Slade made a while ago. I almost forgot, but Thompson here was nice enough to text me this morning and remind me that we had a date today.” Her lips were pursed in a fake smile. Tony had forgotten all about the ridiculous bet.
“You goin’ to make it worth my while?” Thompson asked.
“Dinner. Home. No more,” she responded curtly.
“Home? Nice!” Thompson winked. “Yours or mine?”
“Neither.” She folded her arms.
“I bet I can get you to change your mind.”
That was more than he needed to hear. Tony grabbed her elbow and pulled her aside, “Can we talk?”
“I can’t. I gotta go,” she said, avoiding his eyes. He followed her to her office anyway and closed the door behind them.
“You okay? You don’t gotta go if you don’t want to. It was just a stupid bet.”
She straightened her spine. “Oh, please. I’m fine. A bet’s a bet. I’m not going to back down.”
He took a step closer and leaned a hip against her desk. “You don’t have to do this in front of me, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Act all tough.”
She choked out some sort of noise that sounded like pfft. “I’m not acting like anything. I’m being myself.”
He chuckled at her reaction. “Glad you’re back. Your dad’s better?”
“He is.” She was looking at her computer screen, obviously avoiding the elephant in the room.
“Can you expand on that, please?”
She looked up from the computer. “I’ve been gone two weeks. His condition is delicate, but his doctors assured me he’d survive, whereas this gym would probably not survive if I didn’t return. So here I am.”
“Okay.” He grabbed a pen from her desk and started twirling it, “So, um…did you…uh—”
Without looking from the screen she said, “Got my period. It’s fine. No worries. You’re off the hook.”
He let out a breath. “Good. That’s good.” He dropped the pen and leaned against the table. “I called you a few times.”
“Yeah, I know.” She finally looked up. “Listen, Tony, that night…it was a mistake. I told you already, I don’t date, especially not someone I work with. Can we just pretend it never happened?”
“Everyone out there,” he said, pointing to the door, “knows this tough-as-nails Francesca. I got to meet the other one—the one who let me feel her body against mine. I don’t know if I can forget that.”
“Stop reminding me.”
“You liked it.” When he saw that she looked pissed, he amended, “Don’t get me wrong, I like this fiery hellcat too, but now that I’ve seen this other side of you, I want to see it again, even if it’s just in private, when it’s just us two.” He cocked his eyebrow. “Think about me during your fake little date tonight.” He was about to leave when a thought crossed his mind. “Wait! Is that why you’re extra pissy today? It’s a real date, isn’t it? You like him.”
She let out an exasperated noise. “Fuck you, Tony. It’s just a bet, not that I have to explain anything to you. And I’m not pissy.” She walked out of her office, leaving him all kinds of confused.
—
Later that afternoon, Francesca found herself at the Pier. She sat in a corner of the bar looking at Thompson’s hand on her shoulder. She shifted, forcing him to move his arm, then looked at the very pink and very fruity drink she had been nursing. All that remained was a small bouquet of fruits at the bottom of the tall glass.
It was too early to be drinking, but Francesca knew that it was the only way she could make it through the hour with the arrogant ass she’d been duped into a date with. “Look,” he said, pointing behind him. “They’re all staring. Jealous that I’m here with you.”
A month earlier she’d been used as a ploy to get the guys at WtF behind the idea of practicing yoga as part of their training. Slade had bet the guys they couldn’t do an entire hour of yoga, and when no one seemed up for the wager, he’d laid down the gauntlet by betting them a date with Francesca as incentive. She hadn’t really minded, since it was for the good of the gym, but now that Thompson was bragging and touching her, she wanted to kill Slade.
Clint Thompson was the most arrogant man she’d ever met, which was quite a feat considering that the men she spent most of her days with were all cocky alpha males who fought in professional cage fights.
“I’ll be right back,” Thompson said as he walked toward the other side of the Pier. “Going to say hello to the guys.”
Francesca rested her forehead on her hands, her elbows on the bar. She was having a bad day. A bad week, actually. Well, if she was being truthful, a bad twenty-eight years. She really didn’t want to be on this shitty date wearing uncomfortable—albeit beautiful—clothes and numbingly painful stilettos; but a bet was a bet and she never walked away from paying up.
But she did have a lot on her mind. First and foremost, her pai. Even though he was doing better, she was still worried about her father’s health. And then there was her libido. With all the issues currently circling her life, having sex should’ve been the furthest thing from her mind. Should’ve been—but wasn’t. It was
as if Tony had opened up the floodgates and she had to have more. The frustrating thing was that before that night, she’d thought that if she ever had sex again, she would probably need a diagram and a map. It had been that long. But instead, except for the brief second of pain at the very beginning, it had been wonderful.
Finally, to add to the list of shit inhabiting her mind, the only thing she had going for her in Tarpon Springs, Florida, was the financially unstable testosterone-filled Academy she had inherited from her very sick father.
She had placed all her metaphorical eggs in one basket when she’d convinced Slade to spend his life savings and hers on renovating the Academy in order to get Tony on board. Then Tony had failed to make it to almost all his trainings; instead, all the tabloids and entertainment channels featured him partying it up in the local nightclubs. And they’d lost the much-needed purse from his last fight. Luckily, there was another big fight coming up in four months, and the prize was three times bigger than the one in Tampa. They could still save the gym—but Tony had to win.
A loud, boisterous laugh from the other side of the Pier momentarily took her out of her funk. Speak of the devil. Tony lifted his chin to Francesca in the way that men sometimes did that bordered on douchy, but on Tony it was the sexiest thing ever. The man was too confident for his own good. He then turned his attention to a pretty brunette who clung to his arm.
There he was, with yet another woman. He was always with a different woman. She told herself that she didn’t care; she knew he’d screw her brains out again if she just said the word. He had been asking her out since the second he laid eyes on her months ago. She could have been the giggling woman playing pool with Tony if she wanted to be, instead of being on the worst date ever.
To the world, Francesca portrayed the epitome of strength. A born winner, smart, headstrong, always beautifully dressed in power suits, her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup intact. But when it came to relationships, she was a big fat failure. And since failure was not an option, she avoided relationships to the point that the thought of being with a man actually terrified her.
Below the Belt Page 4