He guided her farther into the room, down the four wide steps that led into the main living area. Windows dominated the far right side of the room. A cream-colored sectional with pale blue pillows took up most of the floor, offset by other seating areas of ice-blue chairs with cream pillows. A stocked bar flowed right into a dream of a kitchen anchored with industrial-style appliances, the whitewashed cabinets and center island topped with black granite.
“This is amazing. It must have taken you a lot of time.” She eyed him. “And money.”
“Thank you. It took both. But I wanted it to be just right.” He saw no reason to pretend otherwise. His estimated wealth was common knowledge for anyone who followed ESPN, Forbes, or TMZ. It guaranteed him a steady supply of beautiful and ambitious women who wanted to be seen on his arm whenever he wanted them, which admittedly wasn’t often. There was only one woman he wanted, and he had three months to convince her to give him another chance, not that he intended to take that long. Getting the house right was just the start.
He showed her the breakfast nook that opened onto a sunroom that led to the wide patio with a hot tub tucked into an arbor, a pool, and the two-bedroom pool house. Beyond the sunroom lay the television room and entertainment bar, his formal office, and a large guest suite at the very back decorated in white and aged gold that was more soothing than ostentatious even as it reflected the style of the revivalist house perfectly.
“This is one of the guest suites,” he told her as she walked through the room. “The previous owners had it sound insulated, but that was before I put in the television room.”
“That’s a minitheater, Bas,” she reproached him. “Seating for twelve, a screen that rivals a movie theater, a full bar, and a popcorn machine does not equal ‘television room,’ dude.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “I like to study fights and watch disaster flicks, what can I say? The second level has two more guest suites besides the master, and a smaller bedroom between the study and the master. Let me show you those.”
She balked. “What for?”
“So you can decide which one you want to stay in.”
“I can’t stay here,” she protested. “Are you kidding?”
“Why would I be kidding?” He stopped, frowning at her. “I just said you could stay here.”
“I thank you for the invitation, but no. There’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m staying here.”
“Why not? You need to train. You agreed to let me train you, agreed to allow me to control all aspects of your training.”
“Yes, but—”
“I have plenty of room here. Everything you need to focus on honing your skills is available right here. We’ll have the right foods made here. We can run in Audubon Park. You can do laps in the pool, soak in the hot tub. You don’t like the equipment in the gym, we’ll go to Loyola. Since I donated a bunch of new machines, I think they’ll let me use them if I want to.”
“Yes, but …” You’re here, she wanted to say, which was the biggest reason she couldn’t be here. Live under the same roof with Sebastian Delacroix for three straight months? How was she supposed to concentrate on anything but Bas? How the hell was she supposed to sleep, knowing he was right down the hall?
He finally clued in on her discomfort and heaved a sigh tinged with hurt and exasperation. “If you’re worried about privacy, you can stay in the pool house, which has two bedrooms to choose from. You’ll be able to focus entirely on your training with no distractions.”
She’d only signed a one-month lease on the crappy apartment that she didn’t want to stay in anyway. Giving it up wouldn’t be a hardship and would allow her to focus on other things. She snorted. Like avoiding distractions.
He grinned again. “I’m going to work you hard, Renata, giving you everything that you asked for. Trust me, when I’m done working you, you won’t have the energy to be distracted by anything else.”
The dark promise in his words and his gaze, intentional or not, sent a shiver of need through her. Yeah, if she worked hard, pushed herself, she’d get through this. One thing she knew from bitter experience was that Sebastian Delacroix could focus on his career with single-minded intensity. Even if that meant turning his back on someone he professed to love. That focus was exactly what she needed if she wanted a championship belt in three months. She didn’t have time for anything else. She certainly didn’t have the heart for something more.
“All right. Show me this state-of-the-art gym.”
Renata followed Sebastian up two flights of stairs to a wet dream of a personal gym. Free weights and tension machines lined the back wall. Two different punching bags, a speed bag, and medicine balls were aligned along the mirrored wall to the left. A wet bar with a fridge was in the left corner behind her. On the right was some aerobic equipment, a massage table, an elliptical, and some multiuse monstrosity she hadn’t seen before, as well as a video camera and computer setup. In the center stood a boxing ring, not regulation, but close. In the far right corner a door led to what she could only assume was a bathroom. Heck, Sebastian probably had a hot and dry sauna back there. She wouldn’t put it past him.
Though the gym took up the entire floor, he’d maintained touches here and there of the house that contained it. Pale yellow paint coated the walls like splashes of early morning sunlight, providing a warm contrast to the black, blue, and gray of the machines and the darker blue of the mat flooring. Large posters and photos dotted the walls, and she realized that there were shadowboxes that held each of his championship belts proudly displayed beside a photo taken moments after he’d won: bloody, exhausted, but triumphant. There was also a photo of him in a business suit alongside two other impressive-looking men with the first Hard Knocks Athletics prototype. At the start of the line of photos was a picture of the Sebastian she remembered: early twenties and just coming into his power and talent.
Somehow she got the feeling that he hadn’t intended the display to crow about his achievements. No, she thought these reminders were placed for motivation, reminders of where he’d been and where he was going.
“This is amazing.” She shook her head. “I keep using that word, but it fits.”
“Thanks.” He glanced about the room, pride obvious in his expression and tone. “I test a lot of Hard Knocks’ prototypes here. We pride ourselves not only on setting the standard, but surpassing it.”
She laughed. “Nice commercial. I can see why they made you the spokesperson.”
“That’s Raphael Jerroult’s job. I’m the R and D guy. New technologies, weight management and workout apps, new polymers and metals for our equipment, biometrics, that sort of thing.”
“Wow.” She stepped into the center of the room, spun in a slow circle. “I think my nipples just got hard.”
Sebastian’s gaze immediately dropped to her breasts, and dammit if her nipples didn’t tighten for real. “Don’t be a tease, Renata,” he ordered, tension filling his features. “It won’t make me go easy on you.”
She settled her hands on her hips. “Who said I was teasing? And who said I wanted you to go easy on me? I can take whatever you can dish out.”
The look he gave her should have made her run back down the two flights of stairs and out the front door. Danger and hunger gleamed in that laser-like gaze, rooting her to the spot. She’d thought Sebastian was no longer interested in her in that way. She was obviously so very wrong. The thought thrilled her.
“You think so?” he asked, his voice as soft as she’d ever heard it. As soft as when he’d whispered to her as they’d lain entwined in bed together, breathless and muscles trembling. He padded toward her, a predator on the prowl, his gaze never leaving hers. When a mere whisper separated them, he stopped. “You really think you can take whatever I want to dish out?”
Less than an inch separated her breasts from the wall of his massive chest, sadly covered by his black tank. Still, he was close enough that she could feel the energy crackling between them, making the f
ine hairs on her arms stand on end. Memories flashed through her mind, filling her body with need. Straddling him on a weight bench. Her ankles on his shoulders as he plunged deeply inside her. Stretching her lips wide to take his cock. Fingers digging into those dark waves as he licked and suckled a scream out of her.
Need gripped her body, making her want to weep. Oh, her body definitely remembered this man, remembered the no-holds-barred way they went at each other, how she’d willingly taken every bit of sexual pleasure she could from him. But her heart remembered the pain when he’d left her, when he’d chosen a life as a boxer over a life with her.
She licked her lips, raised her chin. No way would she allow him to intimidate her. Not now, not when she had so much at stake. “I know I can. Give me your best shot.”
Sebastian grinned at her, then gestured to the far corner. “Well, come on, then.”
He led her over to a sturdy, waist-high padded table that looked as if it could double as a massage table for two. Without a word, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up as if she were a child instead of a one-hundred-and-forty-pound boxing machine. “I talked to Chris on the way over,” he said as he walked around the table to a gray steel cabinet. “He’s gathering videos of Andropova’s latest matches and anything else he can find. We can watch them tonight while eating dinner. Unless you’d rather go out?”
“I’m here to train, not date,” she retorted.
“Who said anything about dating?” He pulled out a couple of hand wraps then returned to her. “I figure we can discuss any questions or concerns about your endorsement deal so we can have the lawyers ready the paperwork for tomorrow. We’ll have the photo shoot here in a week.”
“That sure of yourself, are you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The shoot was already in the works. Raphael models our gear but we’re also featuring our latest prototypes.”
She bit her tongue as he began expertly wrapping her hands. Of course it was about business with Sebastian. How could she have thought otherwise? Boxing and business—those were the two most important things in Sebastian’s life. Maybe his mother was first, but Renata knew from experience that nothing else came close on the list of importance.
Bas gripped her fingers as he finished the wrap. “Is that too tight?”
“It’s fine.”
“Good.” He made quick work of wrapping his hands as she jumped off the table. “Did you bring your own gloves? I don’t think mine will fit you, but I can have Chris overnight a pair in for you.”
She made her way over to her gym bag for her practice gloves. “Give poor Chris a break and let him explore New Orleans before you start overloading him with work.”
“You know his job is to assist me with stuff, right? He gets paid very well for that—and extra for off-hours work. Besides, he doesn’t complain.”
She arched a brow. “Who in their right mind would complain, especially to you?”
He frowned. “I’m not a hard-ass, Renata. I treat my people fairly.”
“I’m sorry.” She shoved her hands into her gloves. “I guess I’m feeling a little twitchy right now. This is kind of surreal.”
“Day’s not going quite like you expected it to go, is it?” Sebastian grinned again, and again she felt the effect of that smile like a caress. “You ready to show me what you’ve got?”
Renata pulled her mind out of the gutter with an effort. Why in the hell did she think every word that came out of Bas’s mouth was a come-on? It hadn’t been that long since she’d had sex, had it? She frowned as she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she and Roddy had slept together. It was well before they’d broken up, that much she knew. “Let’s do this.”
They warmed up their muscles for a few minutes then stepped into the ring. It was like throwing a mental switch. She shifted from Renata, shell-shocked ex-girlfriend to Renegade Giordano, former women’s welterweight champion.
“Okay, Rennie,” Bas said, holding up his gloved hands. “Show me what you’ve got. Don’t hold back, either.”
She didn’t, giving it all she had, wanting to show Sebastian all of her skills. She didn’t want him to think he was wasting his time or his huge vats of money by taking her on. More than that though, she wanted to show him that she was a capable boxer, she wanted him to appreciate her skill and talent and strength. She knew if Bas admired anything, it was his opponent’s skill.
Dance back, bob, weave. Right, right, left. Left hook, right hook, uppercut, right cross. Dance back and repeat. She sank into the rhythm of the sparring, focusing on her target, hitting Sebastian’s gloves wherever he held them. He barked orders as she swung, pointing out a lack of follow through on one punch, ordering her to tighten her footwork, praising a good jab. He coached, guided, criticized, and corrected, everything she would have expected of a trainer.
It was like the years had fallen away. Back in the day, they’d met at Hard Knocks, when Renata and her father had come into the gym in search of a no-nonsense training space. The gym already had an excellent reputation for producing winners, and Sebastian had been on his way up even then. Renata’s father, Salvatore Giordano, had been a bantamweight boxer in his time but hadn’t made it to national prominence. Still, he’d convinced Armand Duparte to give Renata a chance. She’d taken it, stepping into the ring and showing everyone what she could do. That included Sebastian, who had happened to be at the gym that day.
She’d squared off against one of the bantamweights who’d made the mistake of treating her like a girl instead of a girl with boxing gloves. By the time she’d dropped him on his ass for the second time, everyone in the gym knew she’d meant business. Including Sebastian. Twenty-five to her twenty-three, he’d already had national recognition and was prepping for the next major leap in his career. They’d fallen hot and hard and fast for each other, their sexual attraction akin to pouring water on a grease fire. She should have known it was too good to last. She should have known he’d throw her over for the next step to a world championship. Hell, she’d probably have done the same thing if their positions had been reversed.
Sebastian tapped her shoulder hard. “You’re not paying attention! Where’s your mind at?”
Crap. She shoved her thoughts away. “I’m paying attention.”
“The hell you are!” he barked. “Stop wasting my time. Pull your head out of your ass and act like a boxer.”
“I am a boxer!” Anger flooded her. Wasting his time? She was not a fucking waste of time!
Growling, she went on the attack, putting her all into every punch, every jab and uppercut, growling and grunting with each swing. She backed him into a corner, her aim less refined with each swing. Her vision blurred and it took her long moments to realize it wasn’t sweat stinging her eyes, that Sebastian wasn’t returning her jabs or even trying to defend himself.
Shocked at herself, she backed away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—oh God, I’m apologizing to you. To you, when you’re the one who should be apologizing to me! You stomped on my fucking heart, Sebastian Delacroix. Stomped on it, pissed on it, then disappeared like we had nothing. My dad said it was for the best but I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to believe him because I believed you were better than that. But you didn’t even come to his funeral. Now here I am, giving you an apology! How ridiculous is that?”
Renata started laughing, and once she started, it was impossible to stop. She laughed until she couldn’t breathe, until the force of it doubled her over. Only when Sebastian’s arms went around her did she realize she wasn’t laughing at all.
“Renata. Rennie.” He cradled her against his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other firm around her waist. When had he removed his gloves? “I’m sorry, Rennie, so very sorry.”
The softness of his tone as much as the words themselves pushed her overboard. She buried her face into the sweat-soaked cotton of his shirt and bawled. For the loss of her father, the love of this man, the years they should have
had together. All her frustrations and pain and confusion raced up and out, eager to be purged through her tears.
When the tears subsided, embarrassment set in. “God, that was such a girl thing to do.”
He loosened her gloves, pulled them off, then tossed them to the mat. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said, wiping her tears away with gentle sweeps of his thumbs. “I happen to like girls. Especially girls who can kick ass.”
Embarrassment gave way to relieved laughter. She felt more than a little punch-drunk, even though she knew Sebastian had blocked more than attacked. “Yeah, well, I obviously had some pent-up emotions I needed to work out. Thanks for taking it.”
“No problem. I’ll be your punching bag anytime.”
Shit. She belatedly realized that his father had done much the same to him, using a young Bas as a human punching bag for his drunken rages. “Oh, God, Bas—”
“Don’t.” His arms tightened around her. “I know the difference between what you did and what he did, Rennie. Like you said, you had some stuff to work out and I wanted you to let it out. Besides …” He smiled down at her. “Unless you aimed for my nuts, you weren’t going to do a lot of damage with those gloves on.”
“So you’re saying I’ve got a long way to go before I can take on Andropova?”
“Not at all. But you’d have a long way to go if you were facing me in the ring. Beginning with adding on another eighty pounds.”
She knew that. Bas had been formidable during his time in the ring. Very few of his matches went the full time. He was just that quick, that brutal, that good. That focused. It was why she had no problem with agreeing to train with him. Even with their personal issues unresolved and strained, she could learn a lot from him professionally.
His expression sobered. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Her heart twinged with old sorrow. She still missed her dad, even though it had been two years since he’d passed. “I don’t need your condolences, Bas. I know we weren’t together anymore by then, but you knew him. I would have thought you’d come to the funeral at the very least.”
Knock Out (The Billionaire's Club: New Orleans) Page 3