by Sasha Gold
The boy holds the pad out, his hands shake badly. My heart squeezes with sympathy for the petrified child.
Riley takes the paper and pencil. “What’s your name, son?”
“My parents told me it was rude to bother you while you were eating but my brothers dared me and I’m not allowed to see your fights, but my brother has and he says you’re the best.”
Riley grins. “I am the best. For now. Who should I make this out to?”
“Thomas. I want to be a fighter too.”
Riley’s brows raise at this. I half-expect him to say something encouraging but he shakes his head.
“Don’t become a fighter, Thomas.”
“I want to learn to fight so my brothers will stop giving me swirlies.”
Riley’s lips twitch as he writes. “What are you brother’s names?”
The boy’s eyes widen. “Brandon and Will.” He gulps. “Sir.”
Riley flips to the next sheet of paper. “Brandon and Will,” he murmurs as he writes. “Stop giving Thomas swirlies.”
Riley hands the paper back to the boy who looks like he could be knocked over by a feather. When the boy is gone, Riley gives me an awkward smile.
“Sorry,” he says.
“I thought you didn’t give autographs. That’s the rumor.”
“I give kids autographs. They’re always half-terrified and I don’t want to say no. I like them. It’s the adults who are rude.”
Dinner comes and we eat, talking about nothing much. How he trains and has to follow a certain type of diet, depending on if he’s leading up to a fight or recovering from one. After the meal we each have coffee. I’m so relaxed by now I think I could melt under his warm gaze. He’s every bit as sweet and wonderful as he was years ago. He makes me laugh. A lot.
“I’m thinking of retiring,” he says. “I have one more fight and then I’ll be done.”
I draw a deep breath and feel weight slip from my shoulders. This is what I’ve hoped and prayed for. When I was taking care of my father I thought about Riley all the time, not just because I’m madly in love with him, but because it hurt my heart thinking of him fighting. I thought about him taking blows to the head. No one said my Dad’s college boxing led to his Alzheimer’s, but it probably didn’t help.
“That’s wonderful,” I whisper. My eyes sting and I’m horrified I might cry. I distract myself by stirring cream into my coffee.
“I have a big endorsement offer from a watch company, but they want me to clean up my act,” Riley says. “They want me to pull back on some of my pre-game trash talk. After that, I’m going to work for the networks.”
“As an announcer?” I can hardly imagine him sitting behind a desk, strapped to a mic.
“No, more behind the scenes. Pre-fight stuff.”
Riley’s on to his second career and I haven’t even figured out my first. It’s good though. I’m so relieved. If he can funnel his energy into a new career he can leave the fighting and all that violence behind.
He lowers his voice and the expression in his eyes is solemn. “My publicist said I need to show a wholesome side to balance the beast side. They’re tired of football players and fighters who carouse and brawl. They want a more stable figure. They suggested I marry my girlfriend.”
A lump forms in my throat. All the heady feelings crash to the ground. I’m sick. Did he invite me to dinner to tell me he’s getting married?”
“You’re getting married?” I can barely manage a whisper. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”
“I hope I’m getting married.”
He looks at his watch and my heart twists. Next thing he’s going to tell me is that he needs to leave so he can meet her somewhere.
“Reporters always ask me about women because I go to events alone. I tell them I have a girl but she’s a mystery girl.”
I wait. The best I can hope to muster is some weak enthusiasm but now I’m sure I’ll really cry.
He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a small box. The box is black. And velvet. My mind reels and thoughts lose traction. I have no words. Maybe I do and they’re stuck in my throat, but nothing comes out.
“I need a wife, Leah. I need you.”
The ring glitters in the candlelight and somewhere across the room I hear laughter. I can feel people looking at us and my skin prickles with discomfort. The likelihood of this getting back to Miranda just shot up a hundred fold. If she finds out she’ll close out my trust and move all the money into her own account. Dad left her the power to do that, part of his all-one-family slogan. I picture one of the living room fireplaces, a huge blaze burning, all of the money that was supposed to come to me burned to ashes by Miranda.
“A wife…?” I feel dazed.
“It would be an arrangement, Leah. Long enough for me to finish my last fight and iron out a few business deals.”
Not exactly the romantic proposal I’ve dreamed about, but a cold business arrangement. My heart twists a little. My stepmother and stepbrother can barely say his name without snarling. I’m not sure if he understands how much they hate him. He assaulted the golden child. The man-child who never got so much as a reprimand.
I’m certain Riley harbors bad feelings too. Just before dad got sick, Miranda held a benefit for a children’s hospital. Riley announced his intention of donating a million dollars and I had to think he did that to force Miranda to thank him publicly. She seethed for weeks. When it came time to send out thank you letters she “forgot” to send him one.
“Riley, my stepmother would cut me off. I have an unfinished art history degree. I’d be under a bridge somewhere.”
“I can send you to school or set you up in a business. You help me and I’ll help you.”
I lift my coffee to take a sip but my hand is shaking so badly I have to set it back down. I wonder how I got here. Riley asked me for dinner. Just dinner. In no way did he allude to a marriage of convenience unless I just plain missed that part.
“How exactly will I help you?”
“Taking my name. Playing the part of my wife.”
The word ‘wife’ on his lips both thrills and horrifies me. He wants me to play a part? I haven’t even had a real boyfriend and I’m going to pretend to be Mrs. Tarrant?”
“Try on your ring,” he says.
The ebony velvet contrasts with the white table cloth. The diamond is a teardrop cut and looks enormous. He reaches across the table and takes my hand and slips the ring onto my finger.
“Wear it. Think about it. I’ll have a contract drawn up. If you agree to marry me, I will put five hundred grand in an account. It’s yours regardless of what happens.”
I can hardly believe my ears. I have no idea how much money is in my trust since Miranda has always kept the amount a highly guarded secret. Until I’m twenty-one or maybe even older I have no access to family assets. The chance of having that much money without having to answer to someone is unfathomable.
His posture is relaxed as he leans back in his chair but I see the intensity in his eyes. My heartbeat goes haywire. It’s me he wants helping him and I flat-out love that, but this could present a small problem too. Like being disowned. That sort of thing. I’m not even thinking about the money he’s offering.
“I think Miranda might have a few questions when she sees this on my hand.”
“Keep it on. I like seeing it on your hand.”
“Tell me this isn’t some sort of get even.”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t about getting back at Dane. This is between you and me.”
You and me…his words steal my breath. The wine combined with the adrenaline that’s pumped through my veins all day makes me feel like I’m floating.
“We’ve never even kissed,” I say softly.
His eyes light with pure desire and my body answers, my breasts tightening and arousal skimming across my thighs.
“The night’s not over.”
His voice is rough. I’m sure. In a moment, I’m
going to wake up because my phone is beeping with an urgent message from Miranda. Or Charlotte.
I snicker and it has to be the least sexy laugh ever. I think I might be tipsy but at least I’m not snorting like Charlotte does when she has a few glasses of wine.
“So what? You give me a ride home instead of putting me in a cab. And we could park on the way back to my house and make out?”
“You really thought I was going to put you in a cab?”
He calls the waiter over. After he pays the bill, he offers me his hand. I take it as we leave the restaurant. Holy shit, I just invited Riley to go park. Make out. Does anyone do that anymore? Everyone we pass gapes when they see him. No one notices me, which is fine. I’m glad he has my hand because my mind floats happily and I’m a little unsteady on my feet. Plus I’m distracted by the rock on my other hand, I’m barely paying attention to where I’m going. He leads me towards the front of the restaurant.
This is unreal. Riley did not just offer to send me a marriage contract. In the morning, I’ll wake up and wonder if he put something in my wine.
He draws me close and wraps his arm around my waist.
“Isn’t your car in the back?” I ask. “Why are we going out the front door?”
“I have a driver.”
Wait staff stand by the doors and open them for us. The sight that greets my eyes might be the biggest surprise of the night. A throng of photographers lies in wait. Flashes start exploding on either side of us, like strobes.
“Holy shit,” I manage. Riley laughs.
“Watch out,” he whispers in my ear. “These fuckers quote everything.”
The reporters start shouting questions.
“Mr. Tarrant, is it true you’re engaged? Is it true she’s the mystery girl?”
“It’s true,” he announces, tightening his hold around my waist.
I try not to gape. I’ve been in front of cameras since I was a little girl, so I manage to recover a little. There are at least twenty journalists on either side of the red carpet.
Riley, who’s the lucky girl?
“Leah Mathews.”
“Hey there Miss, are you concerned about his violent past? Can you hold up your hand so we can take a picture of your ring? When’s the date? Any relation to former Governor Anderson Mathews? Are you expecting?”
My feet refuse to move. The voices fade and all I can hear is my pulse drumming in my ears. Riley practically carries me to a gleaming black limo. Somehow I end up in the back seat with Riley sitting on the other side. The driver slams the door, jumps in the front seat and we’re off.
I look at him in shock and horror. “What the hell was that?”
He pushes a button and a partition lifts, separating us from the driver. He looks self-satisfied. Either he has no idea how much he just turned my world upside down or the notion amuses him. The scope of the betrayal shocks me more than anything I’ve ever known. I imagine launching myself at him…and, what… Slap him?
Riley winks. “You’re mine now, Angel.”
Chapter Four
Riley
Once Leah realizes what I’ve just done, she turns on me like a feral cat, only in Leah’s case, it’s more like a feral kitten. She’s incredulous, stammering as she tries to fend off her panic. My attention is riveted to her. Throughout dinner, I could hardly tear my eyes from her. The last few years have brought about some subtle changes and she’s even more beautiful than I remember, but now her features are animated with a range of emotions. She cycles through hurt and shock and anger and then back to hurt.
We’re heading north of the city to my home. It dawns on her that I’m not taking her home, that I’m stealing her away.
“We’re going to your…house?” she asks, her voice trembling.
“Yes.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her eyes fill with tears.
Some men are bothered by that. Not me. Her family brought me down. They took something from me, and now I’m taking something back.
“I thought you…”
Her words trail off. She’s almost hyperventilating and I’m a dog, I know I am, but I don’t care. I should be trying to calm her but instead I watch her chest rise and fall with each fearful pant and wonder if her breasts would fill my hand. She’s wearing a conservative dress. She looks like she shelves books at the library, so proper. Underneath that exterior she’s a bundle of sin, she just doesn’t know it yet.
“I thought you cared for me, Riley.”
“I care about myself, Leah. The one person I can rely on. I take care of a few people. My foster parents, George and Emily, I’ll always take care of them. And you. I’ll always take care of you. Right now you need a hand out of a shitty situation and I’m offering it. In return, you’re helping me out.”
“And you didn’t think I should have a choice in this?”
I don’t answer, but I see the hurt in her eyes before she draws back. It’s an attempt to retreat from me. Trying to make herself small. She is small, but not in my thoughts. She’s been in my mind since the moment I first laid eyes on her. When she got to the restaurant, I felt her arrive, before I even saw her. I can’t explain it. She has some weird hold on my mind and it pisses me off.
“Miranda will cut me off. Kick me out of the house for this.”
“True, but you’re better off with me. She’ll use you forever. I’m just using you for a little while.”
“Holy crap,” she says softly. “I walked right into this.”
“You did.”
She presses against the seat, holding her little purse so tightly her knuckles are white. Her hair, so perfectly done up for dinner has come loose and a few curls fall around her face and brush the bare skin of her shoulders.
It’s a good she’s sitting on the other side of the limo. My gaze drifts down her calves to the heels she’s wearing and the narrow band around her ankle. Damn, those shoes. I hadn’t noticed them till now. Waiting will be hard, if you catch my drift, but I can’t take her until after my fight. Then I’ll undress her, slowly, and I’ll kiss her everywhere, starting with her ankles, the spot under that fragile strap.
I want her so badly my blood feels like fire, scorching my veins. I can’t touch her, though, partly because she’s shaking like a leaf, wide-eyed with terror. But mostly because sex makes fighters weak. Bad for the legs. Bad for the mind.
She speaks softly. “I was so flattered that you wanted to see me. I thought there was something special about me.”
Her voice shakes. I won’t feel sorry for her no matter what. I’ve planned this for a long time and it’s what’s best for me, but it’s best for her too. I’m sure of that. Her people are rich and pretentious but they’ll suck the life out of her as fast as the leeches in the sports world. In a few weeks, we’ll both be free.
I wanted to do this for a long time but the time was never right. I couldn’t take her from her dying father, even though I hated him. That bastard had me put in jail for a week and took away my football career. Still, it would have destroyed Leah had I taken her away while he was still alive. I needed to wait. Which was fine. The wait allowed me to refine my plans and build something to offer her.
I let myself relax a little, sprawling in my seat. Everything fell into place perfectly this evening, and I have a little time with Leah before we get to my house. Right now images are showing up on people’s news feeds, and I relish the idea of shocking people, especially what’s left of Leah’s family.
Miranda Mathews refused to believe her little boy had been in a fight three years ago. She turned her wrath on me. Dane, the pussy, never confessed to his part in that fight or how I acted in self-defense.
Leah, as sweet as she is, would never have the courage to be with me. She worried I was a monster too. That pissed me off as much as how her family treated her. That’s why my solution was so elegant.
Brutal but simple.
“You know what guilt by association is, Leah?”
She frowns and for
a moment doesn’t answer. When she speaks she sounds exasperated. “Of course, I know what guilt by association is.”
“Do you know what the opposite of that is?”
She shakes her head but says nothing.
“It’s the Halo Effect.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her voice has a little more snap to it as her fear gives way to rightful indignation. She’s just been abducted and when she wraps her brain around the collateral damage she’ll be furious with me. Good thing I have a little time to make it up to her.
“If someone is associated with a good group of people,” I explain, “other people assume they’re good.”
She nods, but she’s still a little too overwhelmed to process anything I’m telling her.
“Your Anderson Mathew’s daughter. You organize and attend lots of big charity events. The world watched you grow up from the little girl in the Governor’s Mansion, to the young woman blogging about drug trials and caregiving and burnout. Everyone thinks you’re some kind of angel.”
I take a photo out of my breast pocket and pass it to her. It’s a picture of her at a rally with her father. He’s at the podium and she’s sitting to the side on a chair. She’s five or so. Her feet don’t even reach the floor and she’s wearing a dress, her hair in braids, and she’s so small and vulnerable looking it sort of breaks my heart.
Governor Mathews took her on the campaign trail, knowing that the small, red-headed, motherless girl would get him the attention he needed. The crowds loved her. He came across as a hard-working, tragic figure. A single dad who drew votes from both parties. It was a brilliant endorsement.
She takes the picture and draws a sharp breath. I can tell it takes her back because she looks even more lost. Biting her lip, she tucks the picture into her purse. She turns away from me and looks out the window. We’re almost beyond the city limits. In a mile or two, there won’t be any more streetlights. I turn off the interior lights so she can see out the window better.
In the darkness, I hear a sharp intake of breath. Like I might pounce on her. I feel my body respond to the thought of doing just that. I didn’t lay a finger on her years ago. I was twenty-four and at seventeen she was too young to make a move on. Not only that but she was my best friend’s little sister. But having her in such close quarters has my self-control hanging by a thread. I want to touch her but I don’t dare. I shift to ease the discomfort.