Hard Knocks

by Lori Foster

  Hooking her right knee with his elbow, he lifted her leg, opening her as much as he could with her jeans still on, his still on. He moved closer still, kissing her until they were both on the ragged edge.

  “Now,” Harper demanded.

  He nudged against her, found his way, and sank deep in one strong thrust.

  More cheers sounded in the outer room, but neither of them paid much attention. Already rocking against her, Gage admitted, “I’m not going to last.”

  She matched the rhythm he set. “I don’t need you to...Gage!”

  Kissing her, he muffled her loud cries as she came, holding him tight, squeezing him tighter, her entire body shimmering in hot release. Seconds later he pinned her to the door, pressed his face into her throat, and let himself go.

  For several minutes he was deaf and blind to everything except the feel of Harper in his arms, where she belonged.

  Little aftershocks continued to tease her intimate muscles, and since he remained joined with her, he felt each one. Their heartbeats danced together.

  Gradually he became aware of people talking in the outer room. They sounded happy and satisfied, telling him the fight had ended.

  Harper came to the same realization. “Oh, no. We missed everything?”

  “Not everything.” After a nudge against her to remind what they hadn’t missed, he disengaged their bodies. Slowly he eased her leg down, staying close to support her—which was sort of a joke, given how shaky he felt, too.

  “Do you think Cannon won?”

  “I know he did.”

  Her fingers moved over his face, up to the corner of his eye near his stitches. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “I was sure even before the fight started.”

  Letting out a long breath, she dropped her head. “I’m sorry we missed it.”

  “I don’t have any regrets.”

  She thought about that for a second, then worried aloud, “They’ll all know what we were doing.”

  “Yeah.” There was barely enough light to see, but he located paper in the printer, stole a sheet, and used it to wrap up the spent condom. He pitched it into the metal waste can.

  “I hope they didn’t hear us.”

  Gage tucked himself away and zipped his jeans. “Even if they did—”

  She groaned over the possibility. “No, no, no.”

  Pulling her back into his arms, he teased, “They won’t ask for too many details.”

  Her fisted hands pressed against his chest. “I swear, if Armie says a single word, I’ll—”

  Gage kissed her. Then touched her breasts. And her belly.

  And lower.

  “Gage,” she whispered, all broken up. “We can’t. Not now.”

  “Not here,” he agreed, while paying homage to her perfect behind. “Come home with me.”

  “Okay.”

  He’d told her that he loved her. She hadn’t yet said how she felt. But while she was being agreeable... “I’ll fight again in two months.”

  Gasping with accusation, she glared at him. “You knew you’d fight again—”

  “Of course I will.” He snorted. “I got injured. I didn’t quit.”

  “Yeah, I know. But...” Her confusion washed over him. “I didn’t realize things were already set. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Didn’t come up.” He kissed the end of her nose. “And honestly, I was too busy raging about the fight I’d miss to talk about the next one.”

  He felt her stillness. “You’re not raging anymore?”

  “Mellow as a newborn kitten,” he promised. “Thank you for that.”

  Thinking things through, she ran her hands up his chest to his collarbone. “Where?”

  “Canada.”

  Gage felt her putting her shoulders back, straightening her spine, shoring herself up. “So when you leave again—”

  Before she could finish that thought, he took her mouth, stepping her back into the door again, unable to keep his hands off her ass. When he came up for air, he said, “If you can, I’d love it if you came with me.”

  She was still all soft and sweet from his kiss. “To Canada?”

  “To wherever I go, whenever I go. For training. For fighting.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, gave her a soft and quick kiss. “For today and tomorrow and the year after that.”

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “Gage?”

  “I told you I love you. Did you think I made it up?”

  In a heartbeat, excitement stripped away the uncertainty and she threw herself against him, squeezing tight. With her shirt still gone, her jeans still down, it was an awesome embrace.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Armie called, “Just about everyone is gone if two want to wrap it up.”

  “He loves me,” Harper told him.

  Armie laughed. “Well, duh, doofus. Everyone could see that plain as day.”

  Gage cupped her head in his hands, but spoke to Armie. “Any predictions on how she feels about me?”

  “Wow.” The door jumped, meaning Armie had probably just propped his shoulder against it. “Hasn’t told you yet, huh?”

  “No.”

  “Cruel, Harper,” he chastised her. “Really cruel. And here I thought you were one of those nice girls.”

  Lips quivering, eyes big and liquid, she stared up at him. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “Me or Gage?” Armie asked with facetious good humor.

  Harper kicked the door hard with her heel, and Armie said, “Ow, damn it. Fine. I’m leaving. But, Gage, you have the keys so I can’t lock up until—”

  “Five minutes.”

  “And there go my illusions again.”

  The quiet settled around them. They watched each other. Gage did some touching, too. But what the hell, Harper was mostly naked, looking at him with a wealth of emotion.

  “I should get dressed.”

  “You should tell me again that you love me.”

  “I do. So much,” Harper added with feeling. “I have for such a long time.”

  Nice. “The things you do to me...” He fumbled around along the wall beside the door and finally located the light switch.

  She flinched away at first, but Harper wasn’t shy. God knew she had no reason to be.

  Putting her shoulders back, her chin up, she let him look. And what a sight she made with her jeans down below her knees and her shirt gone. He cupped her right breast—and saw a light sprinkling of freckles decorating her fair skin.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered. “I want to take you home and look for more freckles.”

  That made her snicker. As she pulled up her jeans, she said, “I don’t really have that many.”

  “Don’t ruin it for me. I’ll find out for myself.”

  By the time they left the room, only Armie, Stack and Denver were still hanging around.

  With his arm around Harper, Gage asked, “You guys didn’t hook up?”

  “Meeting her in an hour,” Stack said.

  “She’s pulling her car around,” Denver told him.

  Armie shrugged toward the front door. “Those two are waiting for me.”

  Two? Everyone glanced at the front door, where a couple of women hugged up to each other. One blonde, one raven-haired.

  “Why does she have a whip in her belt?” Harper asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Armie murmured, as he, too, watched the women. “But I’m intrigued.”

  “Are they fondling each other?” Gage asked.

  “Could be.” Armie drew his gaze back to Harper and Gage, then grinned shamelessly. “But I don’t mind being the voyeuristic third wheel.”

  The guys all grinned with amusement. They were well used to Armie’s excesses.

  A little shocked, Harper shook her head. “One of these days a nice girl will make an honest man of you. This is, if some crazy woman doesn’t do you in first.”

  “At least I’d die happy.”
Leaning against the table, arms folded over his chest, Armie studied them both. “So. You curious about how your match went?”

  “Wasn’t my match,” Gage said.

  “Should have been. And just so you know, Darvey annihilated your replacement.”

  “How many rounds?”

  “Two. Referee stoppage.”

  Gage nodded as if it didn’t matter all that much. Darvey had gotten off easy—because Gage knew he’d have won the match.

  Then Armie dropped a bombshell. “Cannon damn near lost.”

  Because he’d been expecting something very different, Gage blinked. “No way.”

  Armie blew out a breath. “He was all but gone from a vicious kick to the ribs.”

  “Ouch.” Gage winced just thinking of it. If the kick nearly took Cannon out, it must have been a liver kick, and those hurt like a mother, stole your wind, and made breathing—or fighting—impossible.

  Stack picked up the story. “But you know Cannon. On his way down he threw one last punch—”

  “And knocked Moeller out cold,” Denver finished with enthusiasm. “It was truly something to see. Everyone was on their feet, not only here but at the event. The commentators went nuts. It was crazy.”

  “Everyone waited to see who would get back on his feet first,” Stack finished.

  And obviously that was Cannon. Gage half smiled. Every fighter knew flukes happened. Given a fluke injury had taken him out of the competition, he knew it better than most. “I’m glad he pulled it off.”

  “That he did,” Armie said. “And if you don’t mind locking up, I think I’ll go pull off a few submissions of my own.”

  Harper scowled in disapproval, then flapped her hand, sending him on his way.

  A minute later, Denver and Stack took off, too.

  Left alone finally, Gage put his arm around Harper. “Ready to go home?”

  “My place or yours?”

  “Where doesn’t matter—as long as you’re with me.”

  She gave him a look that said “Awww!” and hugged him tight. Still squeezed up close, she whispered with worry, “I can’t believe Cannon almost lost.”

  Gage smoothed his hand down her back. “Don’t worry about it. We fighters know how to turn bad situations to our advantage.”

  “We?” She leaned back in his arms to see him. “How’s that?”

  “For Cannon, the near miss will only hype up the crowd for his next fight.” He bent to kiss the end of her freckled nose. “As for me, I might have missed a competition, but I got the girl. There’ll be other fights, but honest to God, Harper, there’s only one you. All in all, I’d say I’m the big winner tonight.”

  “I’d say you’re mine.” With a trembling, emotional smile, Harper touched his face, then his shoulders, and his chest. As her hand dipped lower, she whispered, “And that means we’re both winners. Tonight, tomorrow, and always.”

  * * * * *

  Look for Cannon’s story, NO LIMITS, the first book in the new Ultimate series— coming soon from Lori Foster and Harlequin HQN! Read on for a sneak peek...

  “A red-hot page-turner.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole on When You Dare

  If you loved the novella Hard Knocks, be sure to catch the first title in New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster’s Ultimate series No Limits (September 2014). Download on Amazon.com today!

  Don’t miss these other great stories from Lori Foster:

  Dash of Peril

  Getting Rowdy

  Bare It All

  Run the Risk

  Back to Buckhorn (novella)

  When You Dare

  Trace of Fever

  Savor the Danger

  A Perfect Storm

  What Chris Wants (novella)

  These, and other Lori Foster titles, are now available in ebook format. Be sure to download all of them today!

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  ANXIETY STILL CHURNED inside Yvette, but it didn’t matter. She had outgrown that embarrassingly timid girl who’d allowed herself to be a sniveling victim.

  Never again.

  She concentrated on presenting herself as a proper, poised woman, using that facade to hide the truth. So many dreams had died, but no one else needed to know that.

  Preparing to see Cannon, she made herself as polished as possible and then set off.

  Because of the mid-August heat wave, she wore a white tank top with her skinny jeans and sandals. She’d pulled her freshly washed hair into a high ponytail that hung down between her shoulder blades.

  On the walkway outside Rowdy’s bar, she hesitated. Judging by the noise alone, the place was packed. Being in such a crowded atmosphere would help keep her attraction under wraps. She had to see Cannon, but she wanted to do it without embarrassing herself in any way.

  A trio of men stepped out, gave her double-takes and leered. She heard “Well, hello,” and “Hot damn,” along with a low whistle from the third guy.

  Yvette made a point of not encouraging that sort of thing with men—really any sort of thing—so she merely nodded and stepped inside. The place looked exactly as she remembered it, with people laughing, a small crowd dancing to the jukebox and every stool lining the bar taken up with a body.

  More men checked her out and, wondering if she looked as out of place as she felt, she smoothed her palms over her thighs. Only on very rare occasions had she ever visited bars. Rowdy’s bar was different than most, friendlier, a part of the community she still loved and missed, but it left her self-conscious all the same.

  Cannon used to work here, right up until his fighting career took off. She knew that whenever he came to the area, he stopped in to visit so she hoped to find him here tonight. And if not, then surely someone could tell her where he’d be.

  Before people started to wonder if she’d gotten lost, she began searching the room, making her way past the front tables, the dance floor—and finally she found Cannon back by the pool tables in the company of men and women alike.

  As if her senses had been starved for him, a dozen emotions made her muscles weak. He looked even better than she remembered. In an otherwise dim room, florescent lamps over the pool table added blue highlights to his dark unruly hair, still a little too long, curling on the ends. As he bent to take a shot, his T-shirt stretched over those impossibly wide and strong shoulders. Muscles flexed, making her stomach flutter in an expected way.

  That particular reaction to Cannon was nothing new.

  A woman was draped over him, whispering in his ear, and he grinned, his blue eyes bright. The lady kissed his jaw and stepped back.

  Taking the shot, Cannon sank three pool balls.

  Yvette had never learned to play pool, but given how the others reacted that must’ve been a good shot.

  Laughing, two of Cannon’s male friends handed over bills and the women lined up for hugs. Part of the bet maybe?

  Or just because they all wanted an excuse to touch him? She’d bet on the latter.

  Watching it all, Yvette noted the five-o’clock shadow and a few colorful bruises that darkened his handsome face. He’d always had a lean, strong build, but now he was positively shredded, his muscles bulkier and more defined, not an ounce of extra weight on his large frame.

  Thinking of the number of fights he’d had in such a short time, she smiled. It was a running joke in the SBC that if a fight came available, if another fighter got sick or injured and had to drop out, Cannon was always there, ready to jump in. Drew Black, the owner of the SBC, loved it—especially since, so far, Cannon always won.

  He’d had a few close calls, but every time he managed to pull it off. That last bout...it still amazed her how
he’d finished the fight before it finished him.

  Shifting inside the doorway and taking up an unoccupied spot against the shadowy wall, she studied him for a while, content to re-familiarize herself with how he moved and smiled. Not that she’d ever really forgotten. He drew people like flies to honey, and occupied the entire room with his presence.

  Thinking of the antics her grandfather had pulled, her brows twitched together. Cannon already had so much on his plate. He was out of town more than in, and he traveled all over the world.

  He had to be wondering how he’d find the time to take on even more. Shortly, Yvette would relieve his mind. She knew her grandfather had always felt seriously indebted to Cannon. She did as well. But leaving him half ownership of his house and pawnshop, with all the responsibility that went with it, was not the way to repay him. As a fan favorite in the sport, Cannon made a considerable amount of money with each fight. Endorsements were lining up for his approval. He’d been in a few commercials, done some commentating. He didn’t need her grandfather’s meager inheritance.

  He’d earned it, she would never dispute that, but he shouldn’t have to maneuver through the quagmire of responsibilities her grandfather had unloaded on him.

  Though she wished it could be otherwise, she’d stay around only long enough to sell both properties, give Cannon his share, and then move on.

  But before she did that, she wanted him to know that she would no longer chase after him like a lost puppy begging for affection—especially when she couldn’t do anything about it even if she got his attention.

  Which she knew she wouldn’t. Other than that one sympathy-inspired moment after the threat against her had been removed, he’d made his disinterest well-known.

  Little by little, Cannon cleared the table. With only the cue ball and two others remaining, he chalked his stick, walked around for a better position, bent for a shot—and froze when his attention zeroed in on her body.

  Yvette held her breath, especially when that electric blue gaze deliberately tracked up in minute detail, from her thighs to her stomach, her breasts—and finally her face.

  Their gazes locked.

  Her heartbeat rocked into overtime when, with an arrested expression, he slowly straightened to his impressive height. No smile, just those intense blue eyes consuming her.