by Lori Foster
On the way up, Audrey said, “But he was vicious to her all the same, and believe me, that hurt her.”
At the landing, Brett steered her toward an empty table close to the railing. He looked grim. “What happened?”
After taking her seat, Audrey looked over at the barroom below. As Brett had promised, it wasn’t nearly as busy tonight as it had been on the weekend. From what she could tell, there were fewer fighters present, too. To Audrey, they stood out from other men. Most of them were tattooed, loud and rowdy, big and buff. Despite the lack of a sports crowd, there were still plenty of people milling about.
Quietly, she recalled that awful scenario involving Millie and Mr. Black. “As one of the spokeswomen for WAVS, Millie posts articles and information about the SBC on various bulletin boards, and on her own blog. Sometimes other outlets pick up the info, too. She did an interview with a small local paper that later got posted on the Internet. It wasn’t really a big deal, but she . . . had a few minor facts wrong.”
When the waitress came by, they ordered drinks—a diet cola for Audrey and an ice water for Brett.
She was wondering about the water when Brett said, “I take it Drew reacted badly?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Temper sparking with the memory, Audrey curled her hands into fists on the tabletop. “Rather than just correct her, Mr. Black demolished her in the cruelest ways possible. He called her awful names, cursed her, and maligned her intelligence. The whole conflict hit the Internet and Millie was publicly humiliated.”
Recognition showed on Brett’s face. “The online blowup. That was Millie?”
She gave a humorless laugh. “You see? Everyone has heard of it.”
“I’ve seen it, yeah. If you follow the sport at all, it would have been hard to miss.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. Smoothing his thumb over her knuckles got her to relax her fist.
“Drew was harsh, but Audrey, you have to admit that Millie got more than a few minor things wrong.”
Audrey’s jaw loosened. “You’re defending him?”
“Not what he said, but his reasons for saying it, yeah. Millie put the SBC in the worst possible light, and she accused Drew of unethical business practices.”
“That’s not how she intended it!”
“That’s how it came off.” He kept her hand when she would have pulled away. “Drew Black’s temper is legendary. The thing about Drew, though, he doesn’t really attack first. But if anyone wrongfully criticizes the SBC, as Millie did, he goes rabid.”
She was not in the mood to hear anyone explain away Mr. Black’s faults. “Millie has always been shy in large groups, and how he treated her . . . she’s still in WAVS, but never again will she be a spokesperson for us. In fact, I have to do all the interviews now myself because no one else is willing to risk the wrath of Mr. Black. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a foul-mouthed bully and a complete jerk.”
“Foul-mouthed, yeah. No one can deny that.” Appearing frustrated, Brett let out a breath. “But you’d have to know Drew to understand—”
Aghast, Audrey freed herself of his touch. “Do you know him?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Brett sat back in his seat and scrutinized her. “I’ve met him a few times, yeah. And like most, I’m familiar with him and his role in the SBC.”
As his tone sank in, her eyes widened. “You actually like him.”
“I respect him. And the sport.”
He caught her before she could push her chair back and bolt. Audrey struggled for only a second, but relented when he wouldn’t release her. She didn’t want to cause a scene. “Let me go.”
“Come on, Audrey. Give me five minutes, will you? Please.”
She saw no point. “You know how I feel about it, Brett.”
He made a display of releasing her hands and holding his up. “Yeah, I do. But I don’t know why. Stay for dinner, talk to me about it. Make me understand your angle.”
“I don’t have an angle.” But she didn’t want to leave. Brett Bullman was the nicest, sexiest guy she’d ever met. And he wanted her.
Millie had insisted that she needed more of a social life. She’d encouraged her to get to know Brett, to add balance to her life of work and WAVS. Not since her brother passed away had she dated anyone, and while she hadn’t summoned the interest to find involvement, she did miss the romance, the comfort of wanting and being wanted.
Brett was not only nice, he was by far the most gorgeous man she’d ever met. And he liked her. Should she really let a difference in perspective get in the way?
Maybe if she stayed, she could convert him to her way of thinking. If she walked out, he’d never see the SBC for the brutal, bloody street fighting that she knew it to be.
The waitress brought their drinks and flipped open a pad to take their orders.
Brett watched Audrey, leaving it up to her. As he promised, he didn’t pressure her.
She took a calming breath—and asked for a burger and fries.
Relaxing, Brett ordered grilled chicken and a side of steamed veggies.
When they were alone again, they sat in silence for some time. Finally Brett leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “I’m glad you decided to stay. After dinner, maybe I can talk you into a game of pool.” He took her hand. “And then dancing?”
Not since college had she danced with a guy. “I’d like that.”
“And what about the mechanical bull?”
She laughed with him. “Now you’re pushing it.” No way would she attempt that bone-jarring feat. But if all went well, she wouldn’t mind kissing him again. Imagining it made her stomach jumpy, and her toes curled in her boots.
Brett’s expression sharpened. “I know what you’re thinking, Audrey, because I’m thinking it, too. Soon as you’re ready, just say the word.”
She couldn’t help herself. Brett Bullman was walking, sweet-talking temptation. She drew in a breath and said, “Now would be good.”
GETTING Dickey settled took a lot longer than it should have, especially since he came around enough to offer up a lot of protest. He wanted his keys, he wanted to go find his girlfriend, he wanted to tear up the streets . . . he wanted to do a lot.
But Drew stood in his way.
He had no problem with fighters partying hard, and if that included getting smashed, no big deal. Far as Drew was concerned, the guys worked damned hard, and they deserved to let off steam—unless it affected the SBC.
If Dickey made an even bigger ass of himself, it’d come back on the sport. Even more importantly than that, the dumb-ass could end up injuring an innocent. No way would Drew let him drive when crocked. And with his judgment impaired, Dickey could get caught up in a street fight. Even plastered, he’d annihilate an untrained man.
But Gillian didn’t want Drew to just knock him upside the head. No, she wanted him to be understanding.
What do I look like? A fucking babysitter?
Dumb as it seemed, Drew didn’t want to disappoint her. Luckily, the tattoo artist wasn’t unreasonable. He apologized for bothering Drew and assured him he was a big fan of the sport. As such, he’d hesitated to call the cops, and he had no interest in contacting the papers for a big scoop.
For that, Drew was damned grateful, enough that he promised the guy a couple of expensive floor seats at an upcoming fight. The last thing the SBC needed was more bad press.
For years it felt that with every two steps they took forward in mainstreaming, someone wanted to knock them back one. It infuriated Drew, as much for the effort and dedication of the fighters as his own time and energy spent building the organization.
Every sport had its pitfalls; on occasion, an athlete fell from grace with a DUI or a disorderly conduct. Some chump wouldn’t pay his child support or his taxes . . . shit happened, in football, baseball, basketball—hell, in every professional sport. No one approved of athletes shirking responsibility or behaving badly, but let it happen in the SBC, and
politicians went right back to comparing them to human cockfighting.
“Did he show up here hammered?” Drew asked the tattoo artist. If Dickey had driven there drunk . . .
“Nah. He had a buzz going on when he came in, but he wasn’t wasted like this. I tried to talk him out of the tattoo, but he was pushy about it.” The guy held up a fancy silver flask. “He guzzled this down after I finished his tat.”
“What a dumb-ass.” Drew took the flask and put it in his pocket. “Did he pay you?”
“Not yet.”
At the moment, Dickey sat in a chair, his head back, his eyes closed as if in pain. Pathetic. Drew couldn’t imagine letting a woman twist him up like that. If Dickey’s ladylove didn’t understand the importance of what he did, the necessity of training at different camps, then to hell with her.
But Dickey apparently disagreed, given his morose posture.
Shaking his head, Drew decided against searching out Dickey’s wallet. “How much does he owe you?”
The artist sounded apologetic as he named the price.
The fancy tattoo design, used to cover up Dickey’s girlfriend’s name, had cost a pretty penny.
Drew ponied up his credit card without too much grumbling. “Give yourself a twenty percent tip for being discreet.”
“No way, man, that’s okay.” The artist held up his hands and shook his head. “You don’t have to—”
“You fucking earned it, dude. Don’t worry about it.” He nodded toward Dickey. “I’ll make sure he pays me back.”
After they settled up, Drew bullied and badgered Dickey out to his car. But what to do with Dickey’s ride?
“I can follow you in his car,” Gillian offered.
“Fuck that.” It looked ready to storm, and besides, Drew wanted Gillian with him. “I’ll have it towed.”
Propping her hands on her shapely hips, Gillian rejected that idea. “No, you will not. I’ll drive his car to wherever you’re taking him, and then you and I can leave from there together.”
God save him from independent, outspoken women.
A cold wind cut through Drew. He watched Gillian pull her wrap tighter around her and he wanted to rage at the way things had unfolded. “Night of your life, huh?”
Despite the dropping temps, she gave him a sultry look. “That remains to be seen.”
Okay, maybe he liked independent, outspoken women. “Is that a dare, Gillian?” He caught her upper arms and saw her smile as he pulled her in close. “By God, I think it was.”
She looked at his mouth. “Possibly.”
They were out in public, but other than Dickey, who paid no attention, there wasn’t anyone around. Deciding it was safe enough, Drew kissed her. But he felt the chill in her lips and the way she trembled, so he cut things short.
For only a moment, Gillian put her icy nose to his neck. Then, with renewed purpose, she pushed back and held out a hand. “Do you have his keys?”
Since he knew he wouldn’t win, Drew dropped the keys into her palm. “Stay close, okay? I’m not entirely sure where the dumb-ass is staying, and I don’t want to lose you.”
“Drew,” she chided. “You should stop calling him that. He might hear you.”
Ignoring that lame bit of advice, Drew said, “You still have my cell number just in case?”
“In case what? Good grief, Drew. I do know how to drive. Now, unless you’re dragging your feet out of performance anxiety—”
Laughing, he kissed her one more time and even dared a quick swat on her voluptuous behind. He could barely wait to get his hands on all her lush curves. “Sounds like I have a few points to make tonight. I promise I’ll do my best.”
With both hands, she rubbed that sweet ass. “Paybacks are hell.”
Enjoying her, Drew grinned. She had such a great sense of humor; that had been evident from the first moment he’d met her. “Is it naked payback? Because, honey, I could get into some naked payback.”
She gasped and looked around for a rock, presumably to throw at him. Pretending to believe the threat, Drew hustled into the car. It occurred to him that he’d laughed more with Gillian in the few days that he’d known her than he did with most people in a month.
That realization threw him, but with Dickey giving drunken complaints nonstop, Drew didn’t want to dwell on his reaction to Gillian.
It took damn near a half hour before they finally pulled into Dickey’s motel. The damp night air felt charged with electricity and smelled of rain. Hoping to get out of there before the storm erupted, Drew dumped him in his room to sleep it off.
Unfortunately, Dickey didn’t want to stay put. Even as Drew turned to leave, he started hunting for his keys.
“Forget it,” Drew told him. “You’re going to sleep it off, and the keys are going with me.”
“But it’s my fucking car!”
His patience had ended some time ago. “Two choices, Dickey. I can sit outside and wait for you to try to leave, then call the cops and let them arrest your sorry ass. Or I can take the keys. Decide quick, because I’ve had more than enough of you already.”
Behind him, Gillian murmured in disapproval, “Drew.”
Drew did not want her to be a part of this. “Wait outside,” he told her without looking her way.
She hesitated.
“Now, Gillian. I mean it.”
When he felt her retreat, he really wanted to clout Dickey.
Dickey stumbled toward him. As a six-foot-four heavyweight who was all muscle, he could intimidate most people.
At the moment, Drew only saw him as a drunk.
Pointing at Drew, Dickey said, “Just because I fight for you—”
“Used to fight for me, dumb-ass.” Stepping up to him, Drew met his temper. “You think I’m going to let this shit slide? Think again. You need to go home until you’ve grown up a little.”
Mouth falling open, Dickey stared at him. “You’re dumping me?”
“For now, you bet your ass I am. Show me you can get it together, and we’ll talk again then.” Drew held up the keys. “But these are going with me, and if you have any fucking sense at all, if you ever want to fight in this sport again, you’ll keep to this room until you’re dead sober.”
Drew pocketed the keys and turned to leave. When Dickey was ready, he’d have a long, heated lecture ready for him. Maybe, maybe if Dickey seemed like he’d learned a lesson, Drew would give him another chance.
But tonight, right this minute, his first priority was to get Gillian alone.
As they left the motel room, a boom of thunder shook the ground and lightning splintered the sky in a bright display. They raced for his car, but the skies opened up in a stinging deluge just before they got in.
In seconds, they were both soaked.
Using a tissue from her purse to pat her face, Gillian looked out the window. “Wow. What a downpour.”
Anxious to be on their way, Drew adjusted the heat and then drove out of the lot. “I’ll have you out of those wet clothes in no time.” Saying it amped up his lust. Jesus, he had it bad.
Gillian glanced at him. “You need to swing by the group home first, so I can get my car.”
She had to be kidding. “Tomorrow.” The familiar tat-tat-tat of hail began pelting the roof.
It didn’t deter Gillian. “Uh, no. I need my car tonight, Drew.”
“Why?” Trees bent under the force of the escalating wind. He’d always found storms sexy as hell. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night than having sex with Gillian. “It’s not like you’re going anywhere tonight except to my place, right?”
“I don’t have any other plans, no. But when I’m ready to leave your place, I want to be able to.”
Her tone sank in and he shot her a look. What the hell? Did she expect him to screw her and then kick her out of bed? Sounded like. “I wouldn’t mind if you spent the night.”
That startled her. “Thank you.” She smoothed wet hair off her face. “I might take you up on th
at. But if I decide otherwise—”
All he wanted to do was get her under him, and it sounded like she was already planning on leaving him. “Hell, I’ll give you my keys, okay?” The determined set to her posture irked Drew. “If I do something to piss you off that much, you can just take my car.”
In a show of stubbornness, she folded her arms over her chest. “I appreciate the offer, but I want my car.”
Slowly, Drew let out a breath. “Look, Gillian, I’m not real good at this ‘pretty please’ shit, but I’m trying all the same, so be reasonable, will you? The weather is crap and it’s getting late. I swear to you, if something happens and you want to leave, I’ll take you, or you can take my car. I have another in the garage so it’s not a big frigging deal, okay?”
It was dark inside the car, with only the bluish glow of the lights on the dash for illumination.
“You’d let me drive your BMW?”
“It’s just a car. No big deal.” But Drew saw her indecision.
Trying for a solution, he added, “Want me to have your car towed to my place?”
“No, of course not.” She shifted, showing a hint of indecision.
“Look, I’d rather do that than see you get soaked in this downpour or have you worry about it.” More thunder boomed, almost immediately followed by a thick, blinding bolt of lightning. “Seriously.”
She relented with ill grace. “Oh, all right. But I am taking your keys. And so help me, Drew Black, if you give me cause, I will leave in your car and you better not try to stop me.”
Damn, but she amused him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He thought of everything he wanted to do to her and with her. It would take half the night and leave her exhausted. The woman wouldn’t be going anywhere, whether she realized that yet or not. “Are you wearing panty hose under that skirt?”
She gawked at him. “I swear, the way your thoughts leap around is mind-boggling.”
“No leaping, not really. I’ve been thinking of undressing you since I first saw you today. Hell, from the moment I met you, I’ve been thinking about what’s under the ladylike clothes.”
Sputtering indignation turned into a reluctant laugh. “Outrageous, as always.”