by Vicki Essex
“How did your parents react?”
“Horribly. They didn’t get that I was trying to save my family. They blamed me for Mitch being in jail. They thought I’d betrayed him. Never mind that Mitch was a terrible father and husband…and poor after the conviction.” She cleared her throat. She could still remember the cold clarity when she’d realized her parents would never take her side.
Moving Sean away from his grandparents and everything he’d ever known was her one big regret. Because of some complications at birth, Mary and Will MacAvery had only had Fiona. But when Sean came along, it was as if Mitch had given them the son they’d always wanted.
When Mitch was arrested and Fiona had talked to the police, her parents had been horrified.
“You’re going to let your son grow up without a father?” her mother had cried. “You can’t do this to him!”
“I don’t have a choice, Mom.”
“Of course you do,” her father had blustered. “All I have to do is talk to the governor. I made a generous campaign contribution last year. We can still salvage this and get Mitch out….”
And that had sealed it. They still saw her as a child incapable of making her own decisions and leading her own life. And Mitch hadn’t done anything seriously wrong in their eyes. In the world of her parents, laws could be bent to save face. After all, a stain on him was a stain on their whole family.
They’d let her and Sean go without a goodbye, without even a glance out the window as she packed the car. They were so convinced she’d come crawling back with their grandson, they hadn’t even bothered to ask whether she wanted her things forwarded to her new address.
“I haven’t heard from them since we left New Hampshire,” Fiona admitted to Dom. “There hasn’t been a single phone call. Not even Christmas or birthday cards. They know I’m living here, so it’s not as if they can’t find me.”
“Sean said something about a college fund.”
“Guilt money.” Fiona had kept a nervous eye on that account those first few shaky months as her personal savings dwindled. It continued to taunt her to this very day. “They set up the fund a long time ago. I figure they’ve either forgotten about it, or are willing to let him take it and make sure I never forget how he got his education.”
“Maybe they’re leaving a back door open.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the time comes, Sean’s going to need that money for university. Unless you’re planning on applying for financial assistance?”
Her lips flattened. “I know the cost of higher education. I’ll take the money, all right. If my parents want to lord it over me, then so be it. Legally speaking, it’s Sean’s.”
“So,” Dom went on carefully, “it’s going to be an opportunity to get in touch with them. I’m sure your parents will want to see him graduate from high school. Maybe that money is their lifeline to Sean and you both.”
And maybe Fiona had always seen the college fund as her parents’ way of keeping their hooks in her. She’d been bitter because they’d cut her and Sean out of their lives as easily as they would a bruise out of an apple. But as the months went by in radio silence, she had begun to wonder who was being more stubborn. Several times she’d thought about picking up the phone, but she’d never gone through with that call. As more time passed, it was getting harder and harder to extend the olive branch.
Dom made it sound so easy.
Considering what she’d been through over the past few weeks with Denise, maybe it was time to reconnect with her parents. The worst they could do was hang up on her. But at least she would have made the effort, and her son would know what kind of people his grandparents were.
They finished their meals in silence, and the waiter took their empty plates. For dessert, Dom ordered a crème brûlée. “I like to crack the shell,” he said as the dish was set on the table. “You’ll have to help me eat this, though—the diet gets stricter the closer I get to the fight.” He tapped the dark brown caramelized crust with his spoon to get to the golden custard beneath.
“How’s training going?” she asked. The past was rawer than she’d anticipated, and she appreciated the change of topic.
“As well as it ought to be, I suppose.”
“But without Sensei Miwa here, how will you get along? I mean, I know your friends are all trainers…”
“Sensei has his ways. I kinda have a suspicion he intended to leave me here alone. Before he left, he told me that to teach was also to learn. I’m certainly getting that now, but…”
“The classes take up a lot of your time.” Fiona was reminded of that every day at dinner by Sean’s concern for his teacher.
“I’ll have a little less than three weeks left after the last women’s self-defense class is over. And I’m still not sure when Sensei will return. I need to focus. Usually, two weeks before a big fight, I don’t have any outside contact, and work solely with my trainers, so that all I have to deal with is the fight. I can’t do that if I have to run the dojo.”
“For what it’s worth,” Fiona ventured, “I think you’re in great shape.”
His eyebrow arched. “Fiona MacAvery. Ah do believe you are flirting with me.” His thickened N’Awlins drawl made Fiona laugh, mostly out of nervousness. She’d had no idea she could be so turned on by an accent.
They left the restaurant hand in hand. Fiona was giddy. She felt as if she was sixteen and on her first date. It was still early, so Dom insisted they go dancing.
“You’re serious?” Fiona asked as they pulled into the parking lot at Pete’s.
“Don’t tell me you have two left feet,” Dom said. “You’re one of the most graceful people I know.”
She blushed at the compliment. “And why would you say that?”
“I’ve seen the way you move in class.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
The look he sent her told her everything. Her cheeks heated.
They stepped inside to find the speakers blaring top forties tunes played by a local radio station DJ. People crowded around the tables and bar, eyeing the newcomers with interest.
Self-consciousness made Fiona edgy. She could practically hear the rumor mill churning. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea…”
“We’ll just stick around a little while. C’mon.” He led her straight to the dance floor, the crowd parting for him. Dom spun Fiona deftly and drew her close, their chests brushing in the tight space. She sucked in a breath.
It started as a stiff two-step shuffle to some techno-pop remix, but Fiona gradually loosened up until she was lost to the music, inhibitions abandoned. She hadn’t danced like this in years, and she used to love dancing. She was aware of Dom watching her—he wasn’t a bad dancer himself—and the thrill of having those intense eyes on her made her feel sexy, wanted.
The rhythm eased and a slow dance started. Dom claimed her instantly, wrapping his arms around her waist and cinching her in tightly against his warm body. “May I have this dance?”
Fiona smiled in acquiescence and slid her arms up around his shoulders. Their heavy-lidded eyes never broke contact as they swayed. Fiona felt warm, safe and turned on as all get-out.
“Do you have to be at work tomorrow?” he asked softly. His fingers, splayed possessively across her hip, tightened as though she might leave right then.
She shook her head. “No. It’s my day off.”
“Then you can stay out late.” The conclusion hinted at much more than drinks and dancing, and Fiona found herself unable to say no. She was locked in those arms, captivated by his gaze, and if he leaned just a little closer, she’d be swept away by those lips, too.
But he didn’t kiss her. Not there, with so many eyes on them. Not that she would have much cared if he did. Her body ached with need, and right then, it was as if they were the only two people in the whole wide world.
The song ended and Dom paused. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingertips grazing her jaw and cheek so
lightly that Fiona nearly swooned. A soft chuckle rumbled through him.
“Dominic!” Someone shouted across the room. “Yo, Dominic Payette!”
She saw the briefest flash of frustration before he turned. “Hey, guys.” He acknowledged a group of college-age men sitting at the bar.
“C’mon and have a drink with us!” the loudest one yelled, toasting him a little unsteadily with a beer bottle.
“Thanks, man, but I’m on my way out.” Dom ushered Fiona off the dance floor.
“Hey! Hey, Dominic! C’mon, man, just one drink? What, we’re not good enough for you?”
Dread formed an icy spike in Fiona’s gut. Dom’s hand on her lower back urged her on.
They managed to get outside, where the warm air was less stifling and the night much quieter. They started for the car, but the door crashed open behind them. “Hey!” The drunk who’d been hollering stumbled out. Two of his buddies followed, looking less than impressed. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”
Dom turned back around, pinning on a smile. “Sorry, guys, I’m in training.”
“Yeah, I bet you are. I hear you got your ass whupped those last three matches.” The drunk’s sneer was ugly. “You’re not so tough. I could totally take you on.”
For a terrifying moment Fiona thought Dom would accept the challenge. But he just shook his head. “You’re right. You totally could.” He started to leave again.
“Ohh, I get it.” The guy chuckled. “Hey, pretty lady, gonna spread ’em for him tonight? Big fighter need a little lovin’?” The man made kissy noises at her.
Dom stopped in his tracks. That dark, fierce look clouded his features, and he slowly turned. “Are you insulting my friend?”
Fiona’s senses went on high alert. Her heart dropped into her stomach. He’s not Mitch, he’s not Mitch….
The man leered. “Yeah, like you would know the difference between a friend and a whore.”
In three long strides, Dom was toe-to-toe with the drunk.
“Dom, no!” Fiona cried.
“Apologize to the lady.” The low growl rumbled like thunder. “Now.”
“I can take you on.” The drunk puffed out his chest, and his buddies tensed, looking apprehensively from their friend to the fighter. “Show me how tough you are, man, c’mon!”
“Stop it!” Fiona grabbed Dom’s arm, tried to haul him away. The drunk chose that moment to reach out and shove the professional MMA fighter.
Except that his groping hands fumbled and he ended up shoving Fiona. Hard.
She reeled back, not hurt so much as caught off guard. By the time she regained her wits and footing, it was too late.
Dom didn’t shove back, didn’t pose, didn’t shout obscenities or taunt the drunk. He simply grabbed him at the soft juncture of his throat and shoulder and slammed him to the ground in one swift move.
The man yelped, then went silent.
It happened so fast, she wasn’t even sure what occurred next. One of the drunk’s friends advanced, shouting indignantly. The man grabbed blindly for Dom. He swatted his hands away, picked him up and threw him. Down went punk number two.
The third guy wasn’t nearly as drunk or stupid. He raised his hands and stepped back in the universal gesture of “no trouble here, man.”
With one last threatening look, Dom squatted, checked to make sure both men were okay, then stood and stalked back toward her.
Her knees locked.
“Let’s get out of here.” He guided her to the car.
Fiona didn’t make a sound. She was deafened by the rush of blood to her head. Her heart thudded erratically. Her hands were cold and stiff and her feet felt like blocks of ice as she stumbled into the car.
She’d forgotten what Dom was. All it had taken was a little taunting and he’d walloped the poor guy.
Not that the drunk hadn’t asked for it. And though Dominic had refused at first, he’d given him what-for in the end.
And that, she realized as they pulled onto their street, was what really scared her. She’d actually felt as if the guy had deserved what he got. She’d liked the way Dom had dispatched the jerk—cleanly, simply, efficiently.
She shivered as he parked the car in front of the house. “How are you doing? Were you hurt at all?” he asked finally, as though he’d only now surfaced from the encounter.
“I’m…fine.” She wasn’t fine at all. She was cold and hot, and felt sick and bewildered. And now dinner wasn’t sitting so well.
“I’m sorry,” he began gently, “for what you saw back there. I didn’t mean to scare you, but he put his hands on you and I…I just freaked out.”
“You could have hurt them. You could have killed them.”
“I could have.” The grim line of his mouth told her the rest. “Fiona…”
“I…I should go to bed.” She hugged herself, stepped away from him.
“This wasn’t how I wanted to end the night. I’m sorry I ruined it.”
Fiona glanced at him with resignation. “It’s just what you do.”
She hadn’t meant it to come out that way, but it was too late. Dom flinched.
“Take a hot shower. Get some rest,” he murmured. “Good night.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IDIOT.
The jab of bare knuckles on the pedestal bag barely made a dent in the self-disgust coursing through Dom. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He would beat this loathing into submission if it took all night.
How could he have let some random punk push his buttons? People were always taking potshots at Dom. It had never gotten to him before.
But Fiona had been watching, and then the jerk had touched her….
It had taken considerable willpower not to deck the guy and hit him until he stopped moving. Dom wasn’t sure he would have pulled his punches if Fiona had been hurt, either.
He’d let his control slip like that only once before. And the man on the receiving end was in a coma now.
Dom growled, hitting the bag so hard it swung on the stand. He’d scared Fiona in a big way tonight. She’d gone white—even her lips, which he’d been looking forward all evening to kissing. She was afraid of him.
Dom had stripped off his jacket and practically torn off his shirt, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He wanted to track Mitch down—the man who’d put this fear into her to start with—and give him the pounding of a lifetime.
As if that would solve anything.
The one-two of his punches bore into the shiny leather with less-than-satisfying results. So much had been at stake when he’d first come to Salmon River. And after pissing his time away, chasing a single mom and teaching her kid, he was no closer to grappling with the insecurities that dragged him down to rookie status.
The championship had been all that mattered when he’d arrived. He’d escaped to Salmon River to avoid distraction. Now he was hung up on a woman who was afraid of him.
He landed a set of furious jabs to the bag, working up a sweat, cursing himself. He didn’t know what was most important anymore. The championship meant everything—lucrative sponsorships, advertising contracts, recognition among his peers, a big shiny belt…. But the satisfaction of knowing he was helping his sensei, and watching an eager student like Sean master a move, presented Dom with a different kind of reward.
What reward was he seeking now? The approval and love of a woman he couldn’t be with? A woman who detested what he was?
Well, there was no way she’d want to be with him after tonight. He’d known her aversion to violence, but he couldn’t deny who he was—a brutal, merciless fighter.
A man Fiona could never love.
FIONA CLUNG TO THE PHONE handset, counting the rings.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Patricia, it’s Fiona.” She didn’t want to sound breathless, but she had a terrible sense of foreboding, for no reason she could name. “I just wanted to check in and see how things are going.”
“Oh, the boys are doing great. Let’s s
ee, we had fried chicken for dinner with roasted spuds and a brownie cake for dessert. Scotty loves the MMA book Sean picked for him, by the way, but you should have seen Sean when he told the boys they couldn’t try any of the moves in the book! I mean, scary. He does a bang-on impression of Mr. Payette.”
Fiona chuckled. “Dom did tell him no horseplay.”
“So, I take it your date’s going…well?”
“How did you—” She cut herself off. Of course Patricia would know. The whole town would’ve known about her date the minute Dom had asked her out.
“I don’t blame you—I mean, he’s a really nice guy, and he’s such a great teacher…”
“Um, listen, is Sean around?” She needed to hear her son’s voice. She needed to know he was okay. If anything was even remotely wrong, she could drive over there, bring him home—
“The boys are in the basement right now, telling spooky stories. But I promise, lights out before midnight.”
“Oh.” Fiona couldn’t take Sean away from his friends. Not to answer a phone call from his mom. How would that look to the other boys?
Like he’s a mama’s boy, that’s what.
“Do you want me to get him?”
Fiona loosened her grip on the phone. “No. No, that’s okay. I just thought… I wanted to make sure he was all right.”
“Listen, I know it’s his first sleepover. You must be nervous. But I promise to check on them throughout the night. We played touch football earlier, so I think they’ll be too tuckered out to keep their eyes open much longer.”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you.”
“Let’s go out for coffee sometime,” the other woman suggested.
After a few more pleasantries, Fiona hung up.
The house was so empty without Sean. She went to the darkened living room and sat down on the sofa, hugging a throw cushion.
She hadn’t realized how much of a crutch her son had been in her social life. She’d made Sean her excuse for excluding herself from activities in town. When she’d entered the house, she’d spent exactly two minutes trying to occupy herself before caving and calling the Maddens to check on him.