by Lisa Fox
She winced, lightly caressing his skin. “Ouch.”
He smiled, his hands running slowly up and down her back, sketching patterns along her spine. “Yeah.”
“People like to abuse you, huh?” It was so nice to lay here with him and explore his body. His beautiful body.
He laughed. “I deserve it most times.” His hand moved to her forearm. “Looks like you’ve got one of your own. What’s this from?”
“I fell out of a tree when I was ten. I wanted to rescue a cat that climbed up it.” She moved closer to him, emotion closing her throat. “My dad used to be the fire chief. I wanted to be just like him. I thought he was the biggest, strongest man in the world.”
His thumb brushed over her cheek. “They’re going to do whatever they can to help him.”
“I know,” she said softly. “It’s just that there isn’t all that much help for him anymore.”
He looked down into her eyes. “No matter what, you will get through this. I’m here for you.”
Moisture pricked the back of her eyeballs, but she willed it away. She could not deal with any more crying tonight—not even the good kind. “Thanks.”
He nuzzled her temple. “We’ll go back tomorrow and check on him.”
“Ryan…” She couldn’t see him tomorrow. She had to work. She’d go see her dad alone later in the day. Being with Ryan would mean way too much distraction. And an afternoon trip with him would probably turn into a whole night together. It was temping, very tempting, but she had other responsibilities. It was imperative that she meet every one of her deadlines. “I can’t go with you tomorrow. I’m busy. Booked. I have to write.”
He frowned. “Grace, I don’t know where you think this is going, but I want to see you more than once a week.”
She ran her fingertips over the muscles in his arms. It was hard not to feel safe in arms like these. She wanted to be with him, but her career came first. Making money had to come first. “Ryan, if you want this to work, I’m going to need space. Time to write. I want to be with you, but it can’t be every day. It can never be every day.”
“I understand,” he said, drawing her closer. “We’ll work it out. But this week, I get you not only Friday night for the fight, but all day Saturday too.” He kissed her. “And that means Saturday night as well.”
Everything in her cringed. This was exactly why she’d been staying away from relationships. People needed attention. Required it. He was asking her to give up a whole two days of writing, days that were now more important than ever. But she wanted to be with him. She’d never felt anything like the comfort she felt in his arms. Didn’t she deserve some happiness? One little thing all for herself? She recalled the way he’d looked at her when they made love. There had been something real there. Something special. A connection she did not want to deny. If she wanted him, then she needed to double down, work harder, rearrange her word count goals. It was going to be difficult, she was already almost stretched to her limits, but she thought she could do it. She had to. It was the only way to have it all. She would make it work, even if it meant she never slept again. “Okay,” she said and kissed his lips. “And all day Saturday too.”
Chapter Seven
Ryan heard the sounds of voices and music outside the locker room, but they were distant, unimportant. His own fight wasn’t scheduled to begin for another half an hour, and he sat on the hard wood bench, staring at the blank wall, surrounded by the line of metal lockers. Other men moved around him, showering, dressing, preparing for their fights, but Ryan paid them no attention. He was lost in thoughts of Grace.
When he’d woken up in her bed on Wednesday, he’d never been a happier man. He’d reached for her instantly, her skin soft and warm, her body yielding to his touch. They’d made long slow love in the early morning light, the kind of love he had never quite experienced before. There was no urgency, no rush to fulfill a primal, physical need. It was a slow, intimate exploration, one which took him to realms of pleasure he never thought possible.
Sleeping with his first client was probably the worst choice he’d ever made. It was probably going to get him fired. At the very least, it was unethical.
He didn’t regret it one bit.
If anything, he’d wanted more. He’d wanted to shower with her, linger, make love again, stay in bed with her all day long, but she was firm in her desire for him to go, and he did have to get to work. He didn’t often play hooky, but if she had been willing to let him stay, he would’ve called in sick without a second thought. He didn’t press the issue, there was a lot waiting for him at the office. Among a million other things, he’d missed his meetings with Dean and Ron when he’d taken her to Long Island, and he needed to reschedule those. So, he’d left with a kiss and a promise to see each other at the fight. He’d thought about her every day since that morning, her soft moans and gasps, the scent of her skin, the sound of her laughter, the way her lips curved when she smiled, the rosy blush that so often colored her cheeks. Every bit of him ached to see her again, and he’d spent a long and lonely few days without her.
He’d texted her since then, checking in on her and her dad, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to see her. Touch her. He missed her. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and he had to admit, he liked it. A lot.
A loud cheer erupted from outside the locker room, and he looked toward the exit. He wondered if Grace had arrived yet. He’d left a ticket for her just as he’d promised at the box office. The thought of her in the audience while he fought made his stomach flutter with nervous anticipation. He wanted to win while she watched, while she was cheering for him. And then they could celebrate his victory in style, and not leave his bed for twenty-four whole hours—or more if he could convince her to stay.
He blinked and smiled, his own thoughts surprising him not only with their clarity, but also with the warm contentment that gathered in his chest. These were not things he ever thought he wanted. He wanted to be carefree, not tied down, not an emotional slave to the whims of others. “I want you,” he’d told her. They were words he’d spoken in past, but those words were so often empty, a pretty lie to get what he wanted. All that changed when he held Grace in his arms.
His coach, Miles Michener, entered the room and gave Ryan a mighty frown. Miles was always frowning. He was probably about sixty years old, grizzled, jaded, demanding, and the best trainer Ryan had ever had the pleasurable misfortune to work with. It was because of Miles he’d made it as far as he did. Not that that pleased the man. Not in the least. He analyzed the tapes of every fight, went over Ryan’s mistakes in excruciating detail, and pushed him to do better. He crossed the room and stood over Ryan, his arms folded across his chest. “You ready?”
Ryan met the man’s faded blue eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”
Miles’s frown deepened the laugh lines on his face as he took Ryan’s hands to double-check the wraps, making sure everything was in order. “Your girl’s here.”
Ryan blinked. He’d expected Miles to chastise him for something or another, not this random non sequitur. “My girl?”
Miles held up one glove for Ryan to slip on. “Yeah, your girl. The one you left the ticket for. She’s here.”
“That’s good.” He grinned like an idiot as he pushed his hand into the glove. His girl. Grace. He liked the sound of that an awful lot.
“I take it this one’s going to be around more than a day or two?”
Ryan’s eyebrows shot up. “What’re you talking about?”
“Kid, you’ve slept with every girl on the circuit, and you’ve only been around for about six months. If I’d never seen you in the ring, I’d think you had no discipline at all.”
His coach’s comment stung more than Ryan cared to admit. “I have discipline.”
“Why do you box?” he asked, sliding the second glove onto Ryan’s hand.
Ryan shifted on the bench, not liking the turn in conversation. He doubted he’d ever be comfortable when asked for an honest
ly emotional response, so, as usual, he shrugged it off with a quick grin. “’Cause it’s fun.”
Miles grunted. “Save the bullshit for someone else, all right?”
“Because it’s the one anchor in my life.” The admission was the raw, brutal truth, and it left him naked.
If Miles heard the thickness in Ryan’s voice, he chose to ignore it. “Anchors are good, but it’s not something you can take for granted. It’s something you gotta build, you get me? You can have one, big, stupendous punch that makes the crowd go, ‘Ooo,’ without any training, but it means nothing if you can’t stick around for the entire match.” He held Ryan’s gaze. “And to have the endurance to do that, means putting in an effort every single day.”
Effort. Endurance. Sticking around. He wanted those things to apply to himself, to his life—mostly especially to his new life with Grace. He nodded, taking the words to heart. “I get you.”
“Good.” The older man laced the glove up tight. “Now, are you going to win or are you gonna go out there and look like a damn fool in front of her?”
Ryan couldn’t help but smile. “I’m going to win.”
Miles eyed him closely. “You aren’t all that good-looking to begin with, Granger. Don’t take it in the face like you did last time, okay?”
He winced at the memory. “I’m going to try and avoid that.”
Miles strapped the headgear securely under Ryan’s chin. “You do that. A girl that pretty doesn’t want an ugly guy at her side.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “You’re probably right.”
Miles glanced at the clock mounted over the lockers. “It’s time.”
Ryan stood up, exhaled a hard breath.
“Whose ring is this?” Miles asked.
The blood surged in Ryan’s veins, the feral desire to compete and win. “Mine.”
“Damn right it is.” Miles put his hands on Ryan’s shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “You got this.”
He did have it. This fight was his. He walked out of the locker room.
He entered the event area and gaped at the size of the crowd. Every chair was taken and people milled about around the sidelines. He spotted Kat and Dean down in the third row, and next to them, Ron and Alan. There were other various people from the office and their dates scattered around. He looked everywhere as he made his way to the ring, searching for her in the sea of faces. Anxiety jangled his nerves, setting his teeth on edge. Miles said she was here. Why couldn’t he find her?
And then he saw her, standing close by his corner. She had a red dress on and her hair was piled high on her head. She was the loveliest thing he had ever seen.
“Grace,” he said, but the word was lost in the noise. She must have sensed the weight of his stare though, because she looked up at that moment and caught his eye. When she smiled, all was right in his world.
He climbed into the ring and took his corner. There was a bigger crowd then he expected, and it was louder than he had ever heard it in a gym. Anticipation flooded his senses, the rush of the fight to come, and he wanted to lash out, punch hard, strike quick and fierce, really tear into his opponent, but he breathed deep, filling his head with the familiar scents of sweat and disinfectant, chlorine from the pool, to keep himself centered. Getting all revved up like that was a recipe for disaster. Boxing required focus, skill. He wasn’t some street brawler. He was a fighter.
He looked at his opponent across the ring, another middleweight he’d never met before. But then, Ryan didn’t know many people. He was still too new to the New York scene. The man was built very much like he was, a little over six-feet tall, broad shoulders, probably around one-eighty. Ryan wasn’t worried. This match was his.
The host introduced the fighters, and Ryan waved as his friends cheered for him. It sounded like he had quite a support group out there. It was a damn good feeling. His gaze went to Grace for a brief instant, and when she looked back at him, he knew he would win this fight for her.
The bell rang, signaling the start of the first round, and Ryan circled his opponent. He swung and connected, satisfied by the way the man’s head snapped back. The first point was his. The goal in this tournament wasn’t a knockout or a big sucker punch, but to be technically accurate and land solid, regulation punches. A little bit of blood didn’t hurt though.
Ryan connected with another punch to his opponent’s head. Another solid point. Three minutes was not a long time when sitting at a desk, but in the ring, it was ages. He couldn’t avoid the man’s fists the whole time and gave up a few hits. Still, when the bell rang, he was ahead.
Round two began and it started out as more of the same, promising to be another grueling three minutes of total concentration. He hit the man hard wherever he could, hoping to wear him down. He concentrated on his jabs, snapping them out with speed and precision, but in the process dropped his right guard. His opponent took advantage and tagged Ryan with a devastating hook on the chin. It wasn’t a knockout shot, but it was close. Clean and powerful, it was hard enough to rock him back on his heels and leave his head buzzing. The only thing that kept him on his feet was the horrifying thought of Grace watching him fall. He’d lost many fights in the past, but he couldn’t bear to fail in front of her. He found her in the crowd, standing in his corner, and her smile helped him gather enough of his wits to dance away from his opponent’s fists. He wasn’t clear headed enough to fight back, but she gave him the strength to stay upright until the bell finally saved him.
“Are you going easy on him? Is that your plan? Cause it’s working,” Miles said when Ryan returned to his corner.
His head was still ringing, and he blinked his eyes, willing them to focus. “I’m just wearing him down.”
“Well, cut it out and box,” Miles commanded.
“Yeah,” Ryan replied dryly. “I’m getting right on that.”
The bell for the third round sounded, and Ryan was ready. He circled the other man, wary of that nasty hook. He was not going to get tagged again if he could help it. That last hit had put him behind, and he needed to take some more shots, get in a few more decent punches before it was over. He threw out a few jabs to keep his opponent off balance, forcing him to defend instead of attack. He kept the pressure on, hoping to get the opportunity for a real shot, a solid right or a hook to the body, whatever he could get to score some points
He caught a lucky break, jabbing his opponent in the solar plexus, and Ryan smiled as the air whooshed out of the other man’s lungs. He followed it up with a tight upper cut that sent his head flying back. Two more points right there. He feigned right, then skipped out of the man’s range before he could recover and retaliate.
He didn’t know how much longer he had, but he knew it was going to end soon. This was the best part of fighting for him, those last few minutes where he was not only tested by his opponent, but also by the strength of his will and the stamina of his body. Could he stay on his feet? Could he endure? Sometimes that answer was no. He hoped that would not be the case tonight.
He swung again, but only caught air. He was really sweating now, working hard just to stay steady. He went for another point, something quick and easy, but the bell rang, ending the fight.
Ryan held his breath while the judges tallied the points. It was a close match. The winner was announced over the loudspeaker, and he cheered inwardly right along with the audience when his name was called. He wanted to jump up and down, scream and snarl, but that would come later. Gloating was bad form and just plain rude. He allowed the ref to hold his hand up high over his head, and he grinned wildly at the crowd. He couldn’t wait to see Grace and celebrate in style.
People swarmed around him as he cleared the ropes, but there was only one person he wanted to see. He spotted her toward the back of the well-wishers, waiting patiently for him to get to her. He cut through the throng, his eyes focused on his one and only goal.
“YAY!” she screamed when he got close and opened her arms up wide.
He swept her up in gigantic hug. This was the best win ever. Not only was he the champion, but he had this amazing woman to share it with. He was lucky beyond all his dreams. He swung her around just because he could and because she felt so damn good in his arms. They were going to make love so hard tonight.
He set her back down on her feet and gave her a tremendous kiss. He wanted to share every moment of his life with her, joy like this, but the hard stuff too, like helping her with her father. He never wanted to be without her. Being with her was everything to him and he was totally in love with her.
He jerked back from her, the truth hitting him harder than the man in the ring ever could. Love? Really? Is this what it felt like?
“Congratulations,” she said, grinning up at him.
He looked at Grace, into her beautiful face, the face he wanted to wake up to every morning of his life. He was in love with her. Totally, madly, completely in love with her. There was no other name for what he felt, no other explanation for the passion thumping in his chest. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before or even imagined possible. No wonder his mother chased after it, succumbed to it again and again. For the first time in his life, he understood.
“Um, Ryan?” a female voice asked, accompanied by a tap on his shoulder.
The voice was vaguely familiar, and he turned toward the sound, curious, but also a bit annoyed by the intrusion. Couldn’t this person see he was busy? Whoever it was, he intended to get rid of them quickly, but when he caught sight of the blonde woman standing behind him, his eyes bugged out of his head. It was the Ring Card Girl from the last fight.
“Hi, ahhh…” Fuck! He still didn’t know her name.
The woman looked at Grace and cocked her head to the side. “Who’s this?”
“Ryan?” Grace asked from beside him. “What’s going on?”
Wait, no, this was not right. Something was wrong here. Why was this woman here? He looked from one to the other, catching the dangerous vibe flowing between them. He was in trouble. Lots of trouble. He needed to say something, do something to diffuse this situation, but his mouth only hung stupidly open, no words coming out.