Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance)

by White, Pat

  Suddenly he realized Gidget still clung to him like a frightened three-year-old to her mommy. He peeled her off his body and set her aside. She could barely stand, as if hypnotized by J’s raw sexuality.

  “Stay,” he ordered, as desire fill her eyes. He didn’t want her desire—or anyone else’s, for that matter. He wanted to be alone. He needed to think, to figure out how to extricate himself from this new challenge.

  He stormed down the ring steps, past California Chris, who played unconscious. Jason was champion? Yeah, a champion of idiots. He was no champion, especially not a champion of anything that mattered. Now, if he could nail the perp in the next seventy-two hours that would be a champion move.

  “Hang on Stripper! You forgot something!” the ref called over the PA system.

  Jason turned in time to catch Gidget as she launched herself at him, wrapping herself around him from her arms to her ankles.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  The crowd roared, distracting him for a second. He started to pry her off when he spotted a boy in the front row, whistling with his pinky fingers. This was big stuff for the fans, especially the young men who believed in the fairy tale that if you fought hard enough you could get the girl. Who was Jason to destroy this kid’s fantasy?

  He mustered a smile and waved at the fans, trying to act the part of champ and hero. Fine, he’d be a star for one day, but just one. Then he’d set things straight with Cosmo. Jason couldn’t be in the spotlight, not if he was going to do his job.

  With one last wave, he walked up the ramp and slipped past the curtain into the back. A group of guys were waiting for him, laughing, applauding, and giving him the thumbs-up.

  Then his gaze caught on Sandy, who glared, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  “What?” he said.

  “You’re a piece of work,” Sandy snapped at The Stripper. She turned and headed for the first aid room.

  So, Jason was like all the rest of them, reveling in the glory and soaking up the female adoration. His shyness, his supposed inexperience at stripping had been an act. She’d watched him out there in the ring, completely uninhibited—and welcoming the embrace of Gidget the tramp.

  Yet in the bathroom she thought she’d seen something raw and vulnerable in The Stripper’s eyes. Time to seriously think about getting out of the business.

  “What?” Jason grabbed her arm and she turned to face him.

  He looked ridiculous with Gidget still wrapped around his torso. Sandy raised an eyebrow at his voluptuous cling on.

  “Hey, this wasn’t my idea,” he said.

  “I don’t see you complaining.”

  “You’re jealous?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Great job!” Cosmo called, shuffling up to them. “At ease, Gidget. Get off The Stripper and let him get some massage time with Sandy. He worked hard tonight. He deserves it.”

  Sandy seethed. Cosmo wouldn’t really reward The Stripper with a one-on-one massage, would he?

  “I’m working on Headbanger,” Sandy said.

  “He can wait. Stripper needs you. Give his muscles a go before they tighten up on him.”

  “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” Gidget offered.

  “Great idea,” Sandy said.

  “Not the kind of massage he needs,” Cosmo said, pointing for Gidget to leave.

  “Bye, Stripper.” Gidget stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

  “Oh, brother,” Sandy said.

  Cosmo’s cell phone rang. “Perini. Yep. Nope. Horse feathers!” He hung up. “Cowboy Gil just pulled out of the Silverdale Special next month. He and Cody Monroe were the only two who could ride a horse and shoot the toupee off of Headbanger. Guess I’ll have to call Cody’s agent and get him back here. Will probably cost me a fortune.”

  Her heart sank. Cody was coming back?

  “I’ll do it,” Jason said, his eyes locked onto Sandy.

  “You know how to ride?” Cosmo asked.

  “I know how to shoot.”

  “Outstanding! A cowboy stripper who can shoot. Excellent. Well, go on, Stripper, Sandy will take care of you.”

  She so didn’t want to, no sir. She wanted to be as far away from this guy as possible, and not just because he was a womanizer who pretended to be a gentleman. No, she wanted to keep her distance because she thought she could read him, but in reality she hadn’t a clue what he was about. He offered to ride and shoot in place of Cody Monroe. Why?

  Don’t read anything into this, girl. He probably just wants to boost his notoriety.

  Then reality struck: She wanted away from this guy because his damned striptease set her body on fire.

  She marched toward for first aid, The Stripper right behind her.

  Frustration settled across her shoulders. It had been way too long since she’d had good sex. Come to think of it, had she ever experienced good sex? Making love with Cody was like needing a chocolate fix and swallowing the entire candy bar before you tasted it. He was always in a hurry, fast and frenzied. She’d never climaxed when they made love, which she’d attributed to her own failings.

  Why on earth was she thinking about orgasms?

  “I’ll be good.”

  She stopped and whipped around to face The Stripper. “What did you say?”

  “I’ll be good,” he repeated, glancing at the floor.

  Damn him for humbling himself, or had he read her mind? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “I’m trying to calm you down. I’ll behave, I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll just stop being so damned pissed off at me.”

  “I’m not pissed off at you!”

  Johnny poked his head out of the first aid room. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine, damn it,” she snapped.

  “Oh, okay.” He shut the door.

  She was making an ass out of herself.

  “Well, let’s get this over with,” she said, marching into first aid. She tossed her pack beside an empty massage table. “Lie down.”

  Johnny eyed The Stripper and they both shrugged.

  “Should I take a shower first?” The Stripper asked.

  “After.” She pulled out eucalyptus lavender oil and rubbed it between her hands.

  “What about—”

  “Stop talking and lie there.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Johnny said, helping Daring Durk to the door.

  She started on The Stripper, spreading her hands across his shoulders and down, tracing his chakra points with her fingertips. Heat raced up her arms. She didn’t want to have her hands on this guy. He reeked of sex and danger. A tickle of heaviness settled low between her legs.

  This was totally unprofessional! What was wrong with her? Refocus. Fan out like a butterfly’s wings, press into the spine. Lower, spread out...

  Her hands traced over a rough spot on his skin, then another. Scars. Round, rugged scars that looked like ... bullet wounds?

  She snapped her hands back. He turned his head and looked at her, his eyelids heavy.

  “What?” he said.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  He closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and in one swift move got off the table.

  “Nothing,” he said, heading for the door.

  “I didn’t say you could leave.”

  He turned to her, his hair hanging into his eyes, his hands resting on his hips. But he didn’t make eye contact.

  “Get back on the table,” she ordered.

  “Why? So you can beat me up some more?”

  “Wait, what I was doing ... it was hurting you?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Jason—”

  “Don’t.” He pointed his index finger at her. “I don’t need a massage, and I surely don’t need you psychoanalyzing me and digging into my secrets. It’s none of your business.”

  “But your body is. Come on, get back on the table.”

  He hesitated, and Sandy held her breath. T
his guy wasn’t used to taking orders from a woman. He definitely had some kind of twisted female issues, one more reason to keep her distance. Sandy needed normal, solid, and predictable.

  With a resigned sigh, he ambled to the bed and flopped down. She went back to work, trying to distance her mind from her hands, to click into automatic healer mode. She’d done it plenty of times when she’d worked on arrogant slugs who didn’t respect her gift.

  But this man was different. He was real and raw. And something in him called out to her.

  Oh crap, she thought, pressing the heel of her right palm into his back. This wasn’t about The Stripper as much as it was about Sandy needing a man to mend that broken spot inside of her. One thing for sure, she wouldn’t find such a man in BAM. She’d been smart enough to keep her distance for years. Then Cody Monroe sneaked his way into her heart. He’d told her how beautiful she was, how her eyes glowed with magic, and she’d fallen apart in his arms.

  Must have been Cody’s comment about her eyes. Pops always criticized her for having serious, moody eyes, but when Cody called them magical, hope lit her insides. Maybe she was a beautiful girl after all, not the tomboy little sister of the Ryan boys.

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  “What?” Jason asked.

  “What, what?” She jerked her hands off from his back.

  “You said something.”

  “Didn’t mean to.” And she hadn’t. Whew, she couldn’t afford for brain mumbles to escape her lips right now, especially not with this guy on her table.

  She’d been drawn to Cody much like she was drawn to Jason. He was sexy, vulnerable, sexy, needy, broken, sexy and, oh, yeah, sexy.

  It didn’t help that she was past thirty and didn’t have a man. She’d call her big brother after today’s show and ask for that guy’s number—what was his name? Danny? Desmond? Big brother Curt raved about the guy, that he was a great catch and would be a loving father and loyal husband. She couldn’t help thinking if she wanted loyal she should get herself a Cocker Spaniel.

  “You’re done,” she said, giving The Stripper a pat on the back.

  He didn’t move.

  “Stripper?”

  Nothing.

  “Jason?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I’m finished.”

  He slowly opened his eyes, focusing on the far wall. “That was amazing,” he said, breathless. “Can you come home with me?”

  “Very funny.” She went to rinse the slick oil off her hands.

  “I’m not joking.” And Jason surely wasn’t. He’d love to have a female like Sandy waiting for him at home, a woman whose magical hands could make him relax better than any booze could.

  He sat up slowly, grinding his teeth against the ache in his back, and studied her expression in the mirror above the sink. She seemed far away, but not angry like before. Good, he didn’t want to make her angry, yet he didn’t know her well enough to know how to avoid the land mines.

  “The least you can do is let me buy you dinner,” he said, then panicked because his idea of dinner was the drive-through burger joint. He sensed she was classier than that.

  “I have a rule.” She turned, rubbing lotion on her hands. It made him hard. “I don’t date any of the boys.”

  “What about that Monroe guy?” He’d heard the rumors.

  A strained look crossed her face. “I thought he was different.” She pushed away from the sink and shoved the lotion into her bag. “Bad judgment on my part. I learned my lesson. Won’t be doing that again.”

  “Just because he was an asshole doesn’t mean we’re all jerks.” He felt compelled to push. He needed to stick close to her. She was an excellent mark for this assignment. She knew all the players, their families, and financial needs, and she had magic hands. Hands he was going to dream about all night.

  The door burst open and Rey Risque popped his head in. “Sandy, Johnny needs you! Atomic Bomb miscalculated and messed up Oscar.”

  “Damn.” She raced out of the room.

  And just like that she was gone, off to save another fool.

  Three wrestlers came into the room: Floyd, Rodger Dodger and someone Jason didn’t know, a seven-foot guy who drooled as he watched Sandy rush off down the hall.

  “Man, I’d like to nail her,” the giant said.

  “She’s not available,” Jason said.

  “No?”

  “Doesn’t date wrestlers.”

  “I know that,” the seven-foot wrestler said. “That doesn’t mean I can’t nail her.” He laughed, but Jason noticed the other two guys weren’t laughing.

  “You’re an asshole,” Floyd said.

  “Don’t I know it,” the giant agreed.

  “But this guy...” Floyd stuck his hand out and Jason automatically shook it. “You were pretty good tonight, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  They all got down to business of dressing or undressing for matches. Since he had a captive audience he figured he might as well go for it. “I hate being practically naked out there.” He slipped off the table and stretched out his neck.

  Floyd chuckled.

  “I mean I’m no Arnold Schwarzenegger or anything.” Jason dropped the hint, hoping to get a bite.

  “A little self-conscious are ya’?” Rodger Dodger asked.

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Nope. I’m buff, baby.” Rodger stuck out his chest and the other guys chuckled.

  “It’s just … when I’m out there, half-naked in front of thousands of people, I wish I were, I don’t know, buffer,” Jason said.

  “‘Buffer,’ is that even a word?” the seven-foot-tall guy asked, slipping on a pink tank top that read Real Men Wear Pink.

  The door burst open and a security guard poked his head into the room. “You’re back on in ten, Stripper.”

  “What the—”

  “Since Oscar’s out, we’ve substituted a rematch between Luscious Lucy and Naughty Nadine. During the fight they’ll cue your music and you’ll jump into the ring and do your strip routine. Get your clothes on and meet me out front.” The door slammed shut.

  Damn, was this really happening? He was going to strip twice in one night?

  “Stripper?” Floyd said.

  Jason glanced at him.

  “You okay?”

  Jason was flailing his arms in the waters of an alternate universe where people cheered at the sight of men stripping in public and beating each other to a pulp. No, he was definitely not okay.

  “I know what he needs.” Rodger pulled a clear plastic bag from his duffle and waved it in Jason’s face. “You need a little confidence. Take two of these.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s safe, don’t worry.”

  Rodger dropped two white pills into Jason’s hand. All three men watched. Ah, the part of undercover work that never sat well with him.

  “Here, I’ll go first.” Rodger tossed them back and took a gulp of water. “Magic pills. They make you feel like a man. What a rush.”

  J didn’t want to ask too many questions. They probably weren’t steroids—he couldn’t be that lucky—but he was getting closer.

  “Come on, do it,” the seven-foot wrestler said. “You’ve got ten minutes before you have to strip again.”

  If the guys suspected he wasn’t one of them, wasn’t willing to play at drug abuse, this assignment was over. J looked at the pills in his hand: the very lead he’d been hoping for.

  “I’d hate to use up your supply, man,” Jason said.

  “No problem. Sandy can always get us more.”

  Chapter Five

  Jason closed his fingers around the white pills.

  Sandy was the supplier? No, she couldn’t be.

  Fool. You’ve let her get under your skin.

  The door burst open. “Stripper, you ready?” asked the security guard.

  “Sure.”

  The seven-foot wrestler nodded at J to take the pills. Jason palmed the things and pretended to
swallow them. He was good at pretending. Apparently he wasn’t the only one.

  Sandy can always get us more.

  The words haunted him as he layered on his clothes. That sweet girl with the magic hands was the perp. God, why hadn’t he seen it?

  He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

  “Good luck,” one of the guys said. Which one, J didn't know. He didn’t care. He had to bust Sandy for distributing drugs and put her behind bars. The sudden image of that sweet little thing in an orange jumpsuit being intimidated by other inmates made his stomach turn.

  “You know what to do?” the security guard asked as they left the locker room.

  “Yeah, I know.” Get even closer to Sandy to learn how she thought and what she felt. Get under her skin so he could arrest her. Suddenly he wanted a shower.

  “Hey!” the devil herself cried, racing up to him. “You shouldn’t be going back out there.”

  He clenched his jaw at the sound of her voice, filled with such concern.

  “What the heck’s going on, Jason?” she said, searching his eyes.

  “Nothing, I’m fine.”

  “You weren’t fine a minute ago.” Sandy grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. “Who the hell is sending you out there again? You’ve got a head injury.”

  Right, a head injury that blinded him to what was real. He hadn’t seen it coming. He really thought she cared about him, about the rest of the guys. Man, it had been a long time since he’d been taken in like that, twenty-some years to be exact. The day Raymond McBain went out for doughnuts and never came back.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Let go so I can do my job.”

  His voice sounded strange, even to him. He kept his focus on the doorway to the stadium.

  “Look at me,” she said.

  He couldn’t.

  “Jason? How many fingers do I have up?”

  He put his hand around her three fingers and lowered them. “I could use another shot of whiskey,” he said, hoping to get a closer look inside her backpack.

  “You sure? You don’t seem right.”

  “Give me a chance, later.” He shot her his best seductive smile. Considering his current mood, it probably looked like an attack of gas.