Claiming The Prize

by Nadja Notariani

  “Mas moje srdee...you have my heart,” he murmured into her hair.

  They stood together, neither speaking for sweet moments, savoring the closeness of one another until Drago's soft laughter broke the silence.

  “We had better return to the house or your father will question my honor.”

  Looking up into his face, a rosy blush on her cheeks, Grace shared in his laughter. Seeing her flushed so beautifully in his arms, Drago felt desire surge through him. Lowering his head, he brushed her soft lips tenderly with his and took her hand once again. As they left the barn, Grace's free hand touched her lips, still warm and tingling from the contact. The gesture did not go unnoticed, and Drago realized that he had been the first to kiss her, the knowledge impacting him deeply. His time with her had led him to believe she had never been intimate with a man, but he had not imagined that she was even innocent of a first kiss. He would not bed her before they married, regardless, having vowed to wait until marriage since returning to his faith after wild younger days had left him devastated, but knowing he would be the only man to touch her evoked a fierce protectiveness within him he had never experienced before. Rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, they descended the path toward the house, each happy to dwell on what had taken place.

  * * *

  Guy heard the door open, and he waited to hear the tone of the conversation before entering the kitchen. When laughter reached his ears, he relaxed somewhat. His daughter obviously returned the Slovak's interest, an interest he had watched grow over the past months, but he had not been certain Grace would accept any overture from a fighter who trained in his gym.

  It was inevitable, he knew, that one day she would find love, and it was good that she did. As a father, he was both thankful and worried. He liked Drago, was confident that the man was honest and hard working; he would not expect his only daughter to choose otherwise. Still, he had hoped she would not become involved with a fighter. It could be a difficult life, and he wanted Grace to have a happy, peace-filled existence. But she was his child, and therefore this life was a part of her as much as her dark hair or her brown eyes. He hoped she would not have her heart broken, now or in the future.

  He had loved Grace's mother, truly. Elleni Sardopolis had entered his life during his rise through the ranks of K-1 Kickboxing. She leveled him out, kept him focused on what was important in life. They married and spent five happy years together, and Grace had arrived in their third year of marriage to great surprise as Elleni had been told she would never have a child.

  When Grace was approaching two years old, word had come that Elleni's mother was ill and didn't have much time to live. Not wanting her mother to spend her final days in a hospital, Elleni Antolini had made the trip to her Toronto home to care for her. Guy never saw her again. She had ignored the pain in her side, not wanting to leave her mother who was close to death. When she collapsed, no one was there. Her appendix had ruptured, filling her body with poison. She and her mother were buried together a week later, leaving Guy alone to raise their daughter. He had never remarried, content to rear Grace and fight.

  Emotion welled in his chest at the sight of his daughter, her cheeks glowing and eyes shining as she poured the steaming cups of tea. God, she reminded him of Elleni. Always, she would remain his little girl, yet he knew he must come to terms with the fact that she was now a woman.

  “Would you like some tea too, Dad?” She grabbed another mug from the cabinet, anticipating his answer. “I see everyone cleared out early tonight.”

  “Yes, I think the Friar is anxious to begin early tomorrow. Henner will get a workout in before the noon break, and then we'll head to the airport. Our flight is scheduled for a three-twenty departure,” Guy explained.

  “I wish I was going to be there for Jeremy's fight. I think he'll do well.”

  Grace slid the mug toward her father.

  “If he follows the fight plan, he'll do fine. He's young and hungry,” Guy chuckled. “Ike will handle most everything while I'm gone, but make sure you get him the daily schedules. Otherwise, he'll never accomplish half of what he should.”

  “Of course, Anto! He'll never suspect he's not completely on top of everything.”

  Her grin and slight shake of head let him know she would take care of everything without making Ike feel sidelined. He was a great trainer, but coordinating all the activity and scheduling in the gym was best left in more capable hands.

  “There's something we'd better discuss, Gracie girl.”

  Drago, who had been quietly listening, rose to excuse himself, catching the serious tone of Guy's statement.

  “I'll ...”

  Guy raised his hand.

  “You'd better stay,” he interrupted.

  Drago sat, unsure of what was coming. The serious expression on Guy's face was more intense than usual.

  “We have a situation with Khaler,” he began. “He tested positive for an illegal substance. It was our in house testing, so at this point he won't be disqualified from his upcoming fight. Tomorrow morning, Ike, the Friar, and I will meet with him. He doesn't know yet, and I don't want a word about this repeated. If it weren't for St. Clair and Ike, he'd be out. But they have convinced me to give him the opportunity to get his head out of his ass.”

  “Anto...,” Grace warned.

  Guy rarely cursed; that he did so revealed the extent of his anger.

  “I'm suspending him from the gym until I get back,” he continued, ignoring Grace's pointed looks. “I expect my wishes to be enforced, which is why I'm including you, Drago, in this conversation. I've tolerated Carson's behavior because I saw talent. He has mistaken my tolerance for acceptance and I mean to put an end to it. I'm not convinced that he'll see this as the second chance it is, so I want you prepared, Grace. I want you, Drago, to watch over my daughter.”

  “I understand, Anto,” Drago affirmed as Grace nodded her head from across the breakfast bar.

  Drago understood too well. Guy shared his conviction that Carson was far too arrogant to acknowledge that he was being offered an undeserved opportunity, and would probably react in anger at any reprimand.

  Grace nodded her agreement, too affected to say anything. This situation had been building for some time, she knew. Her father would not abide reckless behavior, nor allow it to taint his reputation in the business. Carson Khaler had crossed a line that could not be ignored, and she wondered what his reaction would be at finally coming face-to-face with her father's anger.

  Chapter 6

  Early April sunshine penetrated the darkened glass frontage of First Strike, announcing the much awaited promise of spring. The gym was lively with action, and besides St. Clair, only Drago and Grace felt the heavy tension in the air when Guy Antolini escorted Carson to his upstairs office where Ike and the Friar awaited. Grace attempted to work on, preparing the monthly statements of their clients, but her mind refused to concentrate, drifting to her father's revelation of the previous night.

  And to Drago.

  Back and forth her thoughts traveled between the memory of being in Drago's embrace and concern over what was transpiring in her father's office. Thankful when Jeremy appeared for jujitsu, she used the conflicting emotions to her advantage and pressed the lesson hard. Forty minutes later, her mind was clear, her tension left behind on the mat.

  As Jeremy reached for her leg to begin the post-workout stretching, Drago stepped in. He had finished his first morning session, and watching from the mat's edge knew he would not be able to idly observe Henner handling his Grace in such an intimate way. It had been hard enough to tolerate Yves' hands on her, even with the knowledge that the man thought of her as a younger sister, and his possessiveness could not abide young Henner's doing the same.

  “I'll take over.”

  The insistence in his voice was more than enough to send Jeremy on his way to the locker.

  Drago drew Grace's thigh into his grasp as she leaned against the sparring ring's side from the mat covered fl
oor below. Her arm wrapped over the lowest rope to steady herself as Drago slowly extended her calf out and then began the slow press that would end when her leg reached her shoulder. His wide palm cupped the inside of her thigh while the other cradled her calf, and the heat of his touch seeped into her muscles. His gaze held hers in its grip, and Drago heated with desire when she did not look away. The closeness of her body, so near as he leaned into the stretch, brought a new awareness of the intimacy of the position. Watching her brown eyes widen and the rising blush wash over her skin, Drago eased the stretch and slowly lowered her leg. He repeated the exercise on the opposite side with deliberate leisure, enjoying her reaction to his touch. When he at last released her, they sat, and Drago initiated conversation, lightening the mood. Guy and Yves came down, bags in hand, and Grace went to her father and hugged him.

  “Be safe, Anto.”

  “No worries. The Friar will lead me to the right gate and exits.”

  The men shook hands.

  “Carson's not happy, but I don't think he'll make any trouble. Even so, keep your eyes open,” Guy shared with Drago. “We'll get back sometime Sunday night. I have men taking care of the property, but I'll leave you to check in on Grace.”

  “It is 'no problem', as you say in America,” Drago answered with a grin.

  “That's what I figured,” Guy replied with dry humor. “All right, we're heading over to pick up Jeremy. He took his car home so it wouldn't sit in the lot over the weekend. Tommy Moore is meeting us there. Call if you need me.”

  “Call when you get there,” Grace reminded.

  “I'll leave that to the Friar,” her father smirked, certain that Grace would be glaring at him in exasperation as he climbed into the car.

  Yves and Guy pulled away, leaving Grace and Drago to return to the warmth of indoors. Drinking the last of her water, Grace moved to begin cleaning the mats, but Drago's arms encircled her from behind and pulled her down playfully. Laughing, each scrambled for the dominant position. Drago rolled over, pinning her to the padded gym floor. His size and strength made it impossible for her to roll through. Scooting her hips backward in an unsuccessful attempt to escape, she gave in, conceding her loss, and stilled under him. Rolling again, Drago reversed their position.

  “You'll be sorry you gave me the advantage,” she teased, assuming a full mount.

  “You are mistaken, moj milenka. It is I who hold the advantage,” he returned.

  Sitting up straight, Grace asked, “What did you say?” as she tried to repeat his foreign words.

  “I said you are mistaken, my sweet.”

  His smile was beautiful, she thought, and she was thankful to have these moments alone. He was unguarded when it was just the two of them, his harsh mask gone to reveal the man underneath.

  “I like the sound of the words when you say them,” she confessed sweetly.

  “Then I will speak them often.”

  They resumed their play without reserve, laughing as they grappled to win the upper hand, enjoying one another's touch, believing they were alone. But one other remained within the walls of First Strike, watching.

  Carson Khaler, already angered by the set down he had received from Guy Antolini, burned with hatred at seeing Grace and Drago together. In his mind, the perceived insult from Grace stung far worse than anything her father had said. Inwardly, he cursed them. Grace should be his, but before his eyes she welcomed the attention of the Slovakian, allowing him to be the man to hold and touch her. Carson wanted to make the bastard pay for ignoring his warning to leave Grace to him. As for Grace, she looked willing enough to surrender that innocence under Zadrovec; perhaps he'd finally find out how she would feel underneath him. He slipped out the back, imagining the ways in which he might exact his revenge.

  * * *

  Friday arrived, and all in the gym were anxious for the evening. Tonight, Jeremy Henner would begin his professional career. He was scheduled for the preliminary bouts as was Tommy Moore. Tommy had fought a little more than two months prior and won, so he had at least been through the process before, but the set from First Strike understood how important this night was for Jeremy.

  The clock ticked, its hands advancing in reluctant obedience, or so it appeared to the eager group. When Ike gave the word to close up for the day, hoots and hollers echoed in the large building, finding Grace's ears upstairs in her office. She closed out her work on the laptop as St. Clair popped his head around the door.

  “Hey there, Gracie Girl! Are you going to join Ike and me at Dirk’s? The old man bought the fight card and most of the guys are heading over to grab a bite to eat before everything gets underway.”

  “I wouldn't miss it! I'll be along after I finish everything up.”

  St. Clair waved and disappeared down the hallway. Within twenty minutes, First Strike was deserted.

  * * *

  Dirk's, a fair-sized establishment, brimmed with patrons. Always a favorite local hot spot, tonight was no exception. Located on the edge of a vast shopping complex, the bar and grill sat on a prime piece of real estate and - depending on the night - attracted everyone from the under twenty-five set to the retired crowd. The brick exterior was painted black and a wide band of polished metal wrapped the roof's edge, making the backdrop for the neon blue letters which spelled the owner's name.

  Drago opened the lacquered steel door, holding it for Grace, and they made their way through the throng in search of St. Clair and Ike. His hand pressed into the small of her back, assuring Grace that they had not been separated.

  “Over here!” St. Clair bellowed above the din.

  Drago spotted rather than heard him, and directed Grace accordingly. The boxing coach had his newest love interest beside him and even Ike had a date at his side. Removing their coats, they settled at the table while introductions were made. Over their meals, the group talked about Henner and Moore, speculating on the action to come.

  Delilah, who was St. Clair's guest, spoke up.

  “So you work at the gym, Grace?”

  “Yes, I do,” Grace answered.

  “How did you ever come into that job, and what is it that you do there?” the woman continued her friendly inquiry.

  Grace, sensing that the woman was hoping to have found a topic she could converse about responded, “Well, I take care of billing, ordering, and...,”

  St. Clair interrupted, “Grace does it all. It's her father's business. She's also the best jujitsu instructor I know!” He leveled Grace with his wide smile. “Now don't you go and tell the Friar I said that. It'd hurt his little Scandinavian feelings.”

  “You meant to say the best after the Friar, right?” and she, Ike, and St. Clair laughed mischievously.

  Drago smiled, taking her hand beneath the table. He sensed her reluctance at continuing to be the topic of discussion and returned the conversation to safer territory until the big screen television announced the first fights.

  “Here we go, baby!” St. Clair hollered, turning his stool around to face the screen.

  Ike did likewise, just in time to see the first contenders enter the cage. He leaned over, explaining the process to his date, Rosemary.

  “That's our boy, Jeremy. They're checking the tape on his hands, making sure his gloves are good to go.”

  “Yeah, and making sure he's wearing his cup!” St. Clair chuckled. “You don't want to forget that. That's for sure!”

  Everyone was immersed in the pre-fight action on the screen except Drago. He watched with some interest, but his senses were attuned to Grace. Her hair was unbound tonight, a welcome rarity, its soft blackness spilling over her shoulders, tempting him to wrap his hands in it. She wore a smoky gray, sleeveless blouse with soft ruffles around the low neckline beneath a gray, cotton-knit sweater. A long, silver chain hung with a single, tear-drop onyx pendant from her neck, paired with matching drop earrings. A knee-length, charcoal skirt worn over black leggings and flat, calf-height boots completed her ensemble, demure and feminine yet comforta
ble.

  Seated next to his large frame, she seemed small and fragile, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight shining out from the votive cup on the table's center, and she remained subdued until Jeremy's official introduction. The First Strike team members cheered, and Drago stared in fascination as her jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, at the onset of the fight. Leaning forward, her eyes scanned every step, turn, and movement as she silently mouthed the instructions she would yell if present ringside.

  Henner was an excellent wrestler, and each takedown he scored sent Grace back a little against her seat. As Jeremy executed the fight plan, she relaxed until she was once again against the arm Drago had draped across the back of her chair. With some amusement, he observed that her muscles never fully went lax until Henner had been awarded the decision. She did not cheer as those around her erupted, but smiled and leaned against his side.

  “How about that for a first showing?” Ike said proudly. “I worked that boy hard, but he's thanking me now! You can take that to the bank.”

  St. Clair laughed heartily.

  “Yeah, Ike, he's thanking you now, but he sure has been miserable the last few weeks before this fight! That boy cut eleven pounds for this fight, and by last Wednesday he was plain mad at the world.”

  “I felt so bad for him. He would just sit there looking at everyone eating their lunches while he waited for his next session. But he made weight,” Grace added her praise.

  “He did,” St. Clair said. “And he kept his teeth in his mouth, too.”

  The men roared their laughter, and St. Clair struggled to go on with his story.

  “You remember that, Gracie?”

  “Oh, I remember that day. Too well, I remember,” she laughed, in spite of the awfulness of the memory.