Extreme Love

by Abby Niles

Damn, but she loved that sound.

  Clearing his throat, he glanced forward again. “That right there is called a guillotine choke.”

  Cait followed his gaze and recoiled, shattering the moment. Red shorts had turned the tables and was sitting on his butt with black shorts’ head caught in a tight headlock. “He’s going to break his neck.”

  “Nah, just cut off his oxygen. He’s either going to tap or pass out.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Dante chuckled. “Yeah.”

  Sure enough, not five seconds after Dante’s prediction, the man whose head was caught in a vise slapped his opponent’s bicep with his hand. The referee intervened and quickly separated the two.

  That must have been a tap.

  The poor half-suffocated guy lay back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Even from their seats, Cait saw him struggle to catch his breath. And Dante did this for a living?

  The man was crazy.

  He rubbed one of her bare shoulders with his warm palm. “You look a little shell-shocked.”

  “It’s hard to believe you do this and you don’t even wear gloves.”

  “We wear gloves.”

  Her brows rose. “You call that measly padding around your knuckles gloves?”

  He shrugged. “We’re not traditional boxers. There’s more to MMA than seeing who can throw the strongest punch. You have so many different types of martial arts your hands have to be available. Heavier gloves would interfere.”

  Dante spent the next hour explaining his world to her. By the time the fights were over and they were back in his truck, her mind was in a whirlwind. There were so many different terms for the torture these men inflicted on each other—the Kimura, the knee bar, and the triangle choke, just as a start. The list went on and on, and Dante enjoyed every minute of it.

  A few times he’d been on his feet screaming with the fans. Phrases like “choke him out” and “crank the twist tighter” came out of his mouth as easily as “Oh my God, I can’t watch this” came out of hers. This lifestyle was a part of Dante, and she didn’t like it one bit. Was everything about him centered on fighting, or was there more to him?

  She guessed it didn’t matter. Dante was a temporary fixture in her life, so the fighting would be, too. She couldn’t imagine doing this day in and day out like he did.

  “Penny for your thoughts. You’re awfully quiet over there.”

  She looked away from the passing buildings to him. Was his life how she pictured it? “Is fighting and training all you do?”

  He shot her a glance. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t mentioned a career, and you spend a majority of your time at the training facility—training. It’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”

  “Would you ask the same question to a surgeon who spends all his time at the hospital or an archeologist who spends months or even years at a dig?”

  “That’s not the same.”

  “Why? Because you say it isn’t?”

  He hadn’t asked the question harshly; he’d used a calm I’d-like-to-hear-your-opinion tone, but she got the feeling she had ventured onto a touchy subject by the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel. She bit her lip. “It’s not exactly a traditional lifestyle.”

  “Neither is a surgeon who works thirty-some hour shifts, or an archeologist who jets off to Egypt and is gone for a year at a time. Just because it’s not a career you’d spend your life doing doesn’t make it any less a career. I train hard. I’ve busted my ass to get where I am, like every other person aiming to make something of themselves in the field of their choice. The only difference is I do mine with gloves on my fists and not a scalpel or shovel in my hand.”

  Yep, definitely a sensitive topic. Better to steer things in a different direction. “Does the training interfere with hobbies?”

  He relaxed against the car seat. “Right now? Yes. With working with a new coach and my fight only being a few weeks away, my free time is limited, but once it’s over, things will calm down until I have another match scheduled.”

  “How long do you have between fights?”

  “About five months. Intense training usually picks back up about two months before a fight. By then, I know who I’m scheduled to go up against, and I spend the time forming a game plan and working to strengthen my weaknesses. Each fighter is different, has different techniques, so that makes each fight unique.”

  So this was like a full-time job. “What do you do when you’re not training like you are right now?”

  “If I don’t have a scheduled fight but one of the guys in the training facility does, I become his sparring partner to help with his stand-up. I also volunteer a few nights a week at my local rec center. I’ve coached everything from T-ball to basketball.”

  She blinked. “You work with kids?”

  “I love kids. If the rec center is struggling to fill a coaching slot, and I have the time available, I always offer.”

  “That’s really nice of you.”

  He shrugged. “Growing up, I spent a lot of time at my local rec center. It was like a second home for me. I want it to feel like that for another kid.”

  She guessed there was more to Dante Jones than just fighting. “Where were your parents?”

  “Dad’s a surgeon and Mom’s an archeologist.” He sent her a half-smile. “The reason for the little rant earlier. Sorry about that.”

  “I take it they don’t approve of what you do?”

  “To say the least. I’m the polar opposite of both of them. If I weren’t the spitting image of my father, I’d question my parentage.” He chuckled. “The man hates sports, especially MMA.”

  “How in the world did you get into the sports industry, then?”

  “Easy. Rick Pruitt.”

  “Who?”

  “The kid who lived next door to me growing up. The two of us were inseparable until he moved away when I was eleven. When Rick turned six, his dad signed him up for football at the rec center. I begged my father to let me sign up, too. Of course, he said no, but he eventually caved when I reminded him I hadn’t seen Mom in months and he was always at the hospital. I needed something to do other than being stuck at home with the nanny. After that, he pretty much let me get into any sport I wanted. I wasn’t above using their guilt for being too busy to spend time with me.”

  “Oh. Dante, how awful. My mom and dad were always there. I can’t even imagine growing up like that.”

  “It really wasn’t that bad. Yeah, it would’ve been nice if my parents had come to a game or a school play, but if my childhood had been any different, I might never have started playing football, which led to wrestling—which I still suck at, by the way—which led to basketball, which finally led me to Frank’s Gym when I was sixteen.”

  “I assume Frank’s was your introduction into MMA?”

  “Nope, that came two years later. I learned to box at Frank’s. There is a reason I am the knockout champion, you know.” He smiled again. “Frank was a retired professional boxer. He actually fought against Sugar Ray Leonard back in the 1970s. For some reason he took a liking to me and even gave me a part-time job. I spent every afternoon after school there. Those were some of the happiest days of my life.”

  The wistful tone he used made her heart catch. “What happened to him?”

  “He died from cancer a few years ago. Right before I made it into the professional MMA circuit. Man, I wished he’d gotten to see me get there. I could still hear him barking orders from the side of the ring. But I know he’s looking down at me, proud as hell.”

  She reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m sure he is. I’m glad you had someone who supported you.”

  “He didn’t just support me, he believed in me. He’d tell everyone who came into the gym that I’d win a division belt someday. That I was the next Mike Tyson—of course, he’d said that before ol’ Mike started biting ears off.”

  Cait chuckled. “He meant a lot to you.”

&nb
sp; “I had a father who gave me everything I needed except attention. Frank was my dad. He was the one at my high school graduation. He was the one I called if I did some stupid teen stunt that landed me in hot water and who’d set me straight afterward. My life could have turned out a lot differently if I hadn’t met him. I had no supervision at home. Even if my father grounded me, he wasn’t there to enforce it. Frank was.” Dante laughed. “And boy, did he.”

  “How did he punish you?”

  “Once he made me scrub the locker room. That doesn’t sound too bad, but I don’t think that room had been cleaned in months. It was rancid. Took me all day to clean it. I must have taken three showers afterward to wash the smell off. To say the least, I kept my nose out of trouble for a good while after that.”

  “He sounded like a great guy, Dante.”

  “He was.” He inhaled. “Damn, I haven’t talked about him in years. Feels good to speak about him again.”

  “Thank you for sharing it with me. It means a lot.”

  The warmth in his eyes made her insides flutter. He reached across the seat and took her hand, entwining their fingers together. “It means a lot to me that you were willing to listen. I don’t talk about Frank much. There’s a part of me that still can’t believe he’s gone. I miss him.”

  She rubbed the top of his hand. “But like you said, I’m sure he’s looking down on you, proud as hell.”

  “Whew.” He let out a breath, and shook his head. “Enough heavy stuff. You ready for some fun?”

  She took his cue to change topics. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “I thought we’d stop by the after-party for a while. One of the fighters we watched is a good friend of mine and part of Mike’s crew. Tommy’s win was huge tonight. I wanted to show my support.”

  “A-after party?” Her stomach dropped to her feet.

  Good Lord, the man was taking her straight into Barbie hell.

  Chapter Ten

  Cait stood against the wall beside Dante and tried to calm her growing unease. Things were great at first. When they’d arrived, the host, Tommy “Lightning” Sparks, had made her feel both welcomed and flattered. Normally, compliments from a man flustered her, but Tommy had flirted in a lighthearted way that had only made her blush and feel appreciated as a woman. She wasn’t the only girl he made feel that way, either. The fighter was constantly in the middle of a flock of women.

  Afterward, she and Dante had gone out onto the dance floor. Their dance this time was the complete opposite from the night they’d met. She’d still been uncomfortable as Dante bumped and ground against her, but instead of focusing on her awkwardness, she embraced it and laughed each time their moves didn’t synch together. Each time she’d laughed, Dante’s smile grew wider and he edged closer, until it seemed as if only two of them existed. Then he’d kiss her, a deep, thorough kiss that had left her breathless and throbbing. If the harsh exhale he’d given afterward had been any indication, he hadn’t been unaffected by the kiss either.

  It wasn’t until they’d left the dance floor and taken up a place against the wall that she noticed the stares. She tried to ignore them at first, but over the last hour, it became increasingly obvious the Barbies were on the prowl—for Dante. They circled Cait like vultures, waiting for their moment to strike.

  She’d been pulled into a feminine game she was unprepared for and had no idea how to handle.

  She caught sight of a black-haired woman devouring Dante with her eyes. The short, black leather skirt she wore showed endless tanned legs. The nothing tank top was molded to her had-to-be-fake boobs. Cait gritted her teeth.

  The Barbie’s gaze flicked to Cait and turned cold, her crimson lips twisted into a sneer as a perfectly plucked brow lifted. Cait held steady eye contact, lifting a brow of her own, hoping her expression conveyed what she felt: Back off, bitch. He’s here with me.

  The woman tilted her head back, squaring her shoulders, and Cait mimicked her.

  She couldn’t think of any another way to respond to the nonverbal challenges. So if they curled a lip at her or sent her a dismissive look, she copied them.

  The woman’s attention returned to Dante, and Cait peeked up at him. He stood nodding his head to the beat of the music, sipping his beer, oblivious to what was going on. When he caught Cait watching him, he smiled. Her heart did a flip as he pulled her closer to his side and kissed the top of her head.

  The woman had left by the next time Cait looked over. Good. Another confrontation averted. Dante’s lack of awareness seemed to keep the women at a distance. She had little doubt it’d take just one acknowledging glance from him and the cats would climb all over each other to stake their claim.

  He squeezed her hip. “You need another beer?”

  She held up her half-full bottle. “No, I’m good.”

  “You having a good time?”

  “Of course I am.” Just a small fib. She was enjoying his company.

  Now if someone would write a “How to Date an Uber-Hotty” guide that informed her how to deal with aggressive wants-to-steal-your-date women, the night would be even better.

  Dante released his hold on her to put his empty bottle on a nearby table. She stepped aside to give him room, and a buxom brunette shoved between them. Cait stared at her.

  “Dante! Hi!” the too-skinny, completely proportional ninny exclaimed. Cait blinked at the breathless, come-and-get-it tone.

  He turned. His eyes widened momentarily before all emotion left his face.

  Interesting.

  “Amanda. Didn’t know you’d be here. If I had, we would’ve skipped the party.”

  “ ‘We’?” She gave Cait a dismissive once-over before turning her big-ass, toothy smile to Dante.

  Of all the glances Cait had received during the evening, this one pissed her off the most. She curled her hands into fists and opened her mouth to tell the woman off, but Dante slid past the bitch and came to stand behind Cait. She snapped her mouth shut as he snaked his hands around her waist, and pulled her against him. She leaned into his chest and fought a smirk. Maybe she didn’t have the know-how these women did, but Dante made up for it.

  “I don’t think you’ve met my date, Caitlyn Moore.”

  Disgust curled the woman’s lips. “You’re kidding, right? What’s this? A pity date?”

  The words sent horror piercing through Cait’s heart. This couldn’t be happening. She was having a nightmare. She had to be. God, please wake up.

  Horror became reality when Dante went rigid behind her. His chest no longer gently brushed her back, and he seemed to stop breathing. His loose embrace became steel. This was no dream.

  Tears of anger and mortification blurred her vision and she wanted to scream at the cruelty. Why her? Why anyone? No one should ever endure such humiliation.

  She blinked furiously, refusing to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  “Caitlyn, go to the car.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Rage pulsed on Dante’s face and drew his features into a terrifying scowl. Cait swallowed.

  “What?”

  “Go to the car.” He met her eyes, his expression softening as he kissed her gently on the lips. “Please.”

  She nodded and extracted herself from his embrace. She walked toward the exit numbly.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  Dante’s outraged voice carried to her ears. Curiosity made her turn. Anger jerked his movements as he swiped his hand through the air. The woman studied her nails, smirking as if she were pleased in a job well done.

  In truth, the woman had. If this was an example of what spending time with Dante meant, it was a deal breaker. Cait refused to endure this kind of treatment from anyone—no matter how much she wanted Dante in her bed.

  …

  Every muscle in his body trembled from trying to control his anger. He could still feel the way Caitlyn’s body shuddered against his, still see the glisten of tears in her eyes when she looked u
p at him. She didn’t deserve to have anyone speak to her that way. Ever.

  Amanda glanced at him. “I hadn’t realized your taste had shifted to fat women. Makes sense why we broke up now.”

  “We weren’t together long enough to break up. You can’t hide trash, Amanda, and you’re overflowing with it.”

  A nasty sneer turned up her lips. “So you decided to date a woman with an overflowing muffin top? Not sure you’ve traded up, Dante.”

  If these were the type of comments Caitlyn had dealt with most of her life, it was no wonder she felt inadequate. A protective instinct overwhelmed him. No one had the right to make her feel that way.

  “You know what? Fuck this.”

  He hoisted Amanda over his shoulder. Squealing, she pounded her fist against his back. “Put me down.”

  A couple of fighters stood as he stormed past. “What’s going on, Dante?”

  “It’s time to take out the trash.”

  “Hey, Dante, wait up!” Tommy and a few others followed him down the hall and outside.

  Why had he ever wasted time on this woman? Yeah, she had the perfect outer appearance, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize she was one of the ugliest women he’d ever met. He hated that Caitlyn had been a target of Amanda’s malicious mouth, and her foul words would fuel the insecurities he now knew Caitlyn had. Insecurities that were completely unfounded.

  Caitlyn was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met—both inside and out. Sweet and innocent with a little feisty added in for spice. Amanda couldn’t hold a candle to Caitlyn.

  He strode to the lip of the pool and tossed her in, watching her disappear under the water.

  She surfaced, sputtering. “You bastard!”

  He pointed at her. “Don’t ever come near me or my girlfriend again.”

  How easily the word “girlfriend” had come out of his mouth. Not because he was trying to run off another man, but because Caitlyn brought forth a fierce need to protect he’d never felt for a woman before. This was no longer about a challenge, but a woman who’d gotten under his skin. She deserved to feel as beautiful as he saw her.

  Dante spun. Five men stared at him, their mouths hanging open.