Win by Submission

by Melynda Price

  As the two women chatted him up, he politely answered their questions, only half-paying attention as they flashed him wanton grins and cleavage shots. Try as he might, his focus kept straying to the woman sitting across from him. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? Or what she did to him every time she slipped that straw between those luscious lips of hers? Fuck, Katie put these women to shame, and he’d be willing to bet his last fight’s winnings that she didn’t even know it, which only made her all the hotter. Damn, keeping his hands off her for the next four months was going to be one hell of a fight that he wasn’t sure he was up to.

  He’d been wondering for hours what she looked like beneath that coat, and when she finally slipped it off and draped it behind her chair . . . it’d been like watching her unwrap a beautiful present. Unlike the disproportionate women hanging on him right now, her curves were subtle, but definably and deliciously feminine. She wore a modest gray cashmere sweater that hugged what looked like a full C cup. The wide black belt that accented her narrow waist and the gentle flare of her hips matched her form-fitting dress pants. The new boots he’d insisted she get—there was no damn way his fighter’s tape was going to hold that heel through their power shopping—were mid-calf silver-buckled heather-gray flats. It wasn’t until she’d put them on that he’d realized just how petite she really was. Those icepicks she called boots had given her a deceptive three-inch advantage. If he had to guess, he’d say this woman wasn’t a centimeter past five-four.

  God help him, as he sat across the table—staring—wondering what it’d be like to have such a small, naturally soft woman like her naked and writhing beneath him. Katie was the kind of woman a man would want to take his time with—to learn every dip and curve, to savor every little gasp and sigh.

  Katie was nothing like the woman who was currently bent over him, reeking of stale cigarette smoke and the cheap perfume she coated herself in to try to hide the nasty habit. Her beer-soured breath brushed hot against his ear as she leaned closer, her hair-sprayed curls snagging in the stubble of his jaw as she invited him to come home with her and her friend for a three-way. She attempted to seal the deal by flicking her tongue against the lobe of his ear and catching it between her teeth.

  There would have been a time when he’d have been all fuck yeah, let’s do this, but for some reason, this woman’s indecent proposal offended the shit out of him. He wasn’t sure if it was the blatant disrespect she showed to Katie, who’d clearly overheard this woman’s drunken whisper, or the fact that that these woman wanted to fuck him simply because he was Cole Easton. They didn’t give a shit about him. They only wanted a famous cock to rock on and a story to tell their girlfriends in the morning. He was nothing more than a good ride, and for the first time in his life, for some godforsaken reason, that mattered to him.

  Cole tipped his head to the side, pulling his earlobe free of the woman’s teeth, and braced his hands on her hips, moving her a full step back. “That’s a flattering offer, Shayla, but I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate that very much, nor do I think you’d appreciate being the one sitting in that chair having to watch this.”

  The woman looked at him as if he’d slapped her, but the reaction that surprised him more was Katie’s. She appeared utterly shocked, which kinda pissed him off because what the hell did she think, that he was going to take off with these two and leave her here? Wow, she must think little of him to look this fucking surprised.

  If she’d thought Cole’s mood was foul before, she hadn’t seen anything yet. When he shot those two women down and called her his girlfriend, her jaw had nearly hit the floor. She’d been so sure he would leave with them and just hire a taxi to take him to Somerset. It was what her ex would have done. Hell, it was what he had done.

  Her ice had been in a full-on thaw at that point, and for a moment, she’d entertained the glimmer of hope that maybe Cole was different, after all. But then those women left, and that frosty glower turned on her. He was angry—at her! For what? Ruining his good time? Probably. Asshole.

  Hey, if he wanted to get laid that damn bad, she wasn’t stopping him. Katie was just about to tell him so when he growled, “Let’s go.”

  His speed and agility surprised her. To see how fluidly he moved from one chair to the other was like watching an Olympian on a pommel horse. And then it suddenly dawned on her, the reason he hadn’t taken those women up on their indecent proposal. It had nothing to do with her. That whole girlfriend thing had been to save face, and damn if that didn’t sting more than she wanted to admit. Cole hadn’t left with those two women because he couldn’t leave with them. They obviously didn’t know about his accident. If they had, they would’ve asked him about it. His medical records made no comment about sexual function, or perhaps lack thereof. What if he . . . ?

  “Now, Katie,” Cole barked, slapping a hundred-dollar bill on the table, leaving a more than generous tip before turning away. He didn’t wait to see if she followed. The bags looped over the back handles of his chair made a whirring sound against the accelerating wheels.

  As she watched him leave, she couldn’t decide who she was more upset with: him for proving her right, or herself for daring to hope he was different.

  Dead. Silence.

  Neither of them spoke the entire ride back to Somerset. By the time Katie pulled up to the Murphys’ house, the tension had grown so thick between them she could cut it with a knife. If she’d thought it would help, she would gladly Norman Bates that shit right here and now because there was no way she could share a house with this man for four months if they were constantly going to be stonewalling each other every chance they got. Clearly, they’d gotten off on the wrong foot here.

  So in the effort to clear the air before they entered the house and brought their bad blood inside it, Katie came to a stop in the garage, cut the engine, and turned to face Cole. The overhead light from the garage door opener lit the inside of the RAV with a soft, warming glow—too bad it failed to soften the hard lines of his stony, irritatingly handsome face. It was such a shame a man this gorgeous had to be such an incredible ass.

  Clearing her throat, she extended the proverbial olive branch. “Listen, Cole, I’m not sure why you did what you did back there, but I want you to know that you don’t owe me anything. You’re an adult, and who you choose to spend your time with is none of my business. I’m not here to judge you. I’m only here to help you.”

  He defiantly crossed his arms over his broad chest and leveled her with a you have got to be shitting me glower. “You’re not judging me? I don’t know who you’re trying to kid, but that’s all you’ve done since the minute I got off that plane. You judged that I couldn’t make it down the fucking escalator by myself and nearly got us both into a wreck. You judged that I was going to hurt you when I only wanted to fix your busted heel before you broke your ankle. And you judged that I wanted to go home with those women when I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night long. Your judgments of me are exactly the problem here. So if you don’t mind, I’ll thank you to take yourself and your opinionated judgments home. I’ve had a long day.”

  Katie was pretty sure she couldn’t remember when she’d felt like a bigger ass. So it was with mounting dread that she politely informed him, “I am home. This is where I live.”

  Un. Fucking. Believable. This day just kept getting better and better. “You’re what?” Cole snapped.

  She flinched at his anger, which only served to piss him off more. What in the hell was her problem? “This is the second time you’ve done that today,” he accused.

  “Done what?”

  “Acted like you’re afraid of me. Is this another one of your judgments, Katie? You think that just because I earn a living with my fists that I’m going to hit you? Or maybe you’ve been reading too much of the Enquirer. Is that it? Well, it might surprise you, love, but you can’t believe everything you read.”

  Perhaps that statement was only half correct, because if
he didn’t get out of the car right now, he was going to hit something. It wouldn’t be her, but she had a glove box that was about to get a facelift. He wasn’t sure why it mattered what Katie thought of him. He was used to people casting judgments and stereotyping him. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he’d probably deserved some of it. He just never let it bother him—before now.

  “You’re right, Cole. I don’t know you. And maybe I have judged you unfairly. I guess only time will tell. I realize your life has been turned upside down, and that this can’t be easy for you. In the future, I will try to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” he grumbled, her concession nailing him like a punch to the solar plexus, right along with the realization that not only was he going to be rehabbing with this beautiful, intriguing woman, apparently he was living with her. When Marcus told him he’d be staying in a wheelchair-accessible home, he’d failed to mention anything about a roommate.

  “Just so you know, I’m not much of a morning person. And I’ve never lived with anyone before.”

  She surprised the shit out of him when she replied, “Well I have. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” and then climbed out of the car.

  The house couldn’t be better designed if Cole had laid it out himself. His only complaint—there was one bathroom to share, albeit it was one of the largest bathrooms he’d ever been in. Everything was handicap accessible, including the shower and the whirlpool. The house was even equipped with a gym, which he immediately fell in love with. There weren’t a lot of rooms in the two-bed, one-bath rambler, but the floor plan was open and accommodating.

  “This is your room,” Katie said, finishing the brief tour. As she reached inside the bedroom and hit the light, a cat darted into the hallway with a complaining meow. “Oh, that’s Scarlet. Just ignore her. She can be a bit bitchy.”

  “You have a cat?”

  “Well, no . . . not really. Technically she’s the Murphys’ cat. She comes with the house. I’m house-sitting for them while they’re in Florida this winter. Hopefully, by the time they get back my dad will be doing better. I hope you’re all right with the cat. I didn’t think to mention it to Uncle Marcus.”

  “Cats are fine. It’s no problem.”

  “Great. Well, then, I guess I’ll just let you get settled. If you need anything . . .”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  It didn’t take Cole long to unpack. As soon as he finished, he headed to the weight room and immediately felt at home—except for the wall of mirrors and the ballet bar. That just made him feel like he was in dance class again, something he’d had the distinct displeasure of partaking in early in his career to gain flexibility and balance. Though it had been instrumental in his training, he wouldn’t be caught dead doing it now.

  It had been too long since he’d had a good, hard workout. Training and fucking had always been his stress outlets. He’d been doing neither of late, so it was no wonder he was feeling pent up and irritable. Perhaps after he shed a pound or two of sweat, he’d feel more amiable about this whole damn situation. The challenge was going to be tailoring a program to effectively work his cardio, given his current limitations, but with the modifications made to the equipment, it might be doable.

  Sticking to his old routine as much as possible, Cole moved to the mat to warm up with some stretches. Wrapping the pant leg of his sweats in his fist, he pulled his left leg to the side, and then did the same with his right. With his legs parted wide, he bent forward, stretching his arms above his head. The strain on his lats felt good, the pull in his groin a familiar and welcome pain. He leaned over his left leg and grabbed his heel, pulling his chest to his knee. After holding it to the count of twenty, he began doing the same with the right. His back was tight, the muscles protesting the stretch, but his surgeon assured him his vertebra was completely healed, so his back was just going to have to quit bitching and get with the program.

  “You could pull a hamstring like that and you’d never know it. You should take it easy.”

  Cole glanced at the mirrored wall and locked eyes with Katie standing in the doorway behind him, a motherly scowl on her face. She’d already gotten ready for bed, wearing one of those pants-and-tank-top pajama combos that hugged her trim waist and revealed the ripe teardrop flare of her breasts. Her hair was piled high into a messy bun, and she was rubbing some kind of night cream on her cheeks. She’d accidently smeared some across the tip of her nose—how adorable and utterly charming.

  It was such a natural thing to do—a woman’s nighttime rituals—yet they were completely foreign to him. The women he’d hung out with would never have allowed him to see them with even a hair out of place, let alone an entire head in disarray. And without makeup?—God forbid. But Katie looked so damn irresistible standing there in her moon-and-stars pajamas, he could hardly breathe. He stared at her, his pulse hammering inside his chest as he struggled to put two intelligible words together, because the only ones knocking around inside his head were Holy. Fuck. And he couldn’t very well say that, now could he?

  “You did it, didn’t you?” Her frown deepened as she walked into the gym and weaved around the equipment to stand in front of him. Cripes, even her bare feet were adorable with her French-tipped toenails and hot-pink flower design painted onto each big toe. “You pulled a hamstring.”

  He pulled something all right, but it sure as hell wasn’t a hami. Thank God he’d decided to put a T-shirt on. He usually worked out without one, and would have had a pisser of a time covering the bulge in his sweats.

  She knelt between his legs and pulled each calf closer to her. It was surreal, watching her touch his flesh and yet not really feeling it. Little by little, his sensation was coming back. For the most part, his legs were numb from the knee down. The left was worse than the right. It was hell on his balance, making walking damn near impossible without crutches and severely limiting his distance. For a guy who was used to running ten miles a day it was fucking hell.

  Katie’s delicate hands were clutching his calves. There was such a disconnect to the lower third of his body, it was like watching her touch another man, which was decidedly unsettling for a number of reasons he’d rather not explore.

  “You have to be careful,” she scolded, completely oblivious to the tension coiling in his groin. “You can’t push yourself like this or you could do damage that will set us back even further.”

  He didn’t say anything as she carried on. Rather, he watched her, waiting for her to finish her speech as he debated whether or not to tell her she had face cream smeared across her nose. She glanced up at him, and she must have noticed the amused smirk he was trying to hold back, because she suddenly stopped lecturing him and braced her hands on her hips. “What? Do you think straining a hamstring is funny?”

  Cole liked her like this—in her element, all fired up and sassy. What he’d seen before, those frightened, timid reactions, he’d be willing to bet were a result of something that had happened to her—from childhood, or perhaps a bad relationship? He couldn’t know, but it surprised him to discover he wanted to find out. Who had hurt her so badly?

  Unable to help himself, he reached up and brushed his thumb across the tip of her pixie nose. She instantly jerked back, her beautiful emerald eyes wide with alarm. “You have face cream on your nose,” he explained, holding up his thumb as proof and then rubbing it between his fingers.

  “Oh,” she murmured, swiping her palm across her nose, making sure it was gone.

  “You don’t have to worry,” he said, purposefully ignoring her startled reaction. “I didn’t pull any muscles. I could stretch further than this if my back wasn’t so tight. I know my body’s limits.”

  She looked surprised and not entirely certain of his claim. “Well,” she said, rising to her feet, “if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciated it if you’d take it easy tonight. Tomorrow I’ll do a thorough assessment of your baseline and I’ll test your range of motion.
We’ll set up a therapy plan from there.”

  “Fair enough.” Cole had no intention of copping out on his training routine, if that was what she was asking, but she didn’t need to know that. “Was there anything else?” he asked when she made no attempt to leave and just stood there, standing between his legs, staring at him.

  “What? Oh, no. I uhh . . . I’m going to bed.”

  So then why was she still standing there? Awkward . . .

  “All right, then. Good night, Katie.”

  “Good night, Cole.” She turned and started to walk away, then stopped halfway to the door. “We’ll get started early in the morning—before I leave for work.”

  “Sounds good, but fair warning: I told you I’m not a morning person.”

  Not a morning person was an understatement. Despite several summons, seven o’clock came and went with no sign of Cole. When he still wasn’t up by the time Katie finished her coffee, she went to his bedroom and rapped her knuckles against the door. “Cole, it’s seven thirty. Time to get up.”

  When she got no answer, she waited another five minutes. By then, the limit of her patience was exhausted, and when she knocked for a third time, she was royally pissed off. How rude! She told him she only had a specific window of time this morning. If he thought he was going to dictate her schedule and be so flippant with her precious little free time, then this guy had another thing coming. Maybe in Vegas he was the Golden Boy, catered to and coddled by her uncle, but she had news for him. He was in Wisconsin now, and some people actually had to punch a clock for a living.

  Without further consideration for what a horrible idea it might be, Katie threw open his bedroom door and her breath immediately stalled in her lungs. Cole was sprawled across the bed—prone, thank God—without a single stitch of clothing on. The covers were tangled around his legs, his bronze flesh starkly contrasting the white sheets. It was as if the heavens had opened up and dropped this Greek god into her bed—his bed, she corrected herself. Katie was no stranger to seeing muscular, well-formed men, but the sight of Cole’s body sent a rush of tingling heat coursing through her, stirring an awareness deep inside her she’d been certain was long dead and buried.