Simon Says

by Lori Foster

  “If that’s so, then how did the reporter even know about Dakota?”

  “I have no idea. Until he said her name to me, I hadn’t heard of her. In fact, when he first mentioned her, I thought he meant the state, like maybe he thought one of us was taking a damn trip or something.” Harley’s mouth twisted. “He was real quick in explaining things to me.”

  Simon didn’t want to admit it, and he definitely didn’t like it, but he believed Harley. He had no reason not to. He didn’t know that much about the man, but what he did know gave him no reason to think he’d lie, or use underhanded tactics to garner press.

  “Fine. You told me. Now I need to go.”

  Harley grabbed his arm. “Not yet.”

  Slowly, Simon met his gaze. He wanted Harley to know how he’d erred by touching him.

  And the second Harley looked at Simon, he more than understood. Lifting his hands away, he asked, “Did you know that my uncle Satch is my manager?”

  “It’s common knowledge. I know he’s obsessed with you winning a belt, too.” Harley hadn’t had an easy time in the organization. He often came close to taking a title, but three times now, something had happened to knock him off course.

  “When I told Uncle Satch about the reporter, he did some digging. And here’s where I can help you if you’ll stop trying to find a reason to slug me.”

  Simon’s shirt stuck to his chest and back. The reflection off the blacktop nearly blinded him. “Get on with it.”

  Harley drew a deep breath. “The reporter told my uncle that he got Dakota’s name from an anonymous man who contacted him with what he called the ‘whole sordid scandal.’ The reporter said he confirmed that you’re seeing her.”

  “How’d he do that?”

  Harley gave him a look. “Jesus, man, you can ask just about anyone in the sport and they know. I take it she hangs out at Havoc’s gym? And that she’s a looker?” He lifted one solid shoulder. “Guys talk. You know that.”

  Yeah, he did know it. No way could Dakota Dream infiltrate an all-male domain without causing a stir.

  “Now this damned reporter wants to paint Dakota as a rebound fill-in for Bonnie, and as a bone of contention between us.”

  Simon burned. No way in hell would he let the press sabotage Dakota. He’d talk to Drew. He’d—

  “But I wouldn’t have come to you just over that.”

  There was more? “I’m roasting out here, Harley. Do you think you can get to the point sometime today?”

  Harley chewed his upper lip, looked around the lot, and hedged uncomfortably. “Like I said, my uncle leaves no stone unturned. He used to be military, and after that, he worked as a bodyguard until I took up fighting. He’s a mean cuss with contacts everywhere.”

  “Skip the family history.”

  After one sharp nod, Harley said, “My uncle is convinced that the man who called the reporter is going to cause more trouble.”

  Thoughts churning furiously, Simon narrowed his eyes. “And he thinks this because…?”

  “He found out that Dakota just took a spill down some stairs at a local club back where you’re training. Is that true?”

  Simon hid his surprise. Very few people knew of that, and he couldn’t see any of them spreading rumors. Old Uncle Satch really did have his sources. “What of it?”

  Using his wrist to wipe the sweat from his brow, Harley huffed out a breath and then propped his hands back on his hips. “Maybe my uncle is paranoid, and maybe he sees conspiracies where none exist. I don’t know. But he made me promise I’d tell you, so that’s what I’m doing.”

  Simon began to feel ill.

  “You might already be aware of this, but Dakota’s mother died a while back.”

  “I know.”

  Harley nodded. Eyes squinted from the bright sun, he explained, “Ultimately, it was an infection that killed her. But did you know that it was a fall down some stairs that injured her so bad in the first place?”

  A sick foreboding kicked Simon in the gut. He stood there for several moments, taking it in, working it through his brain.

  Appreciating his expression, Harley nodded. “Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  Simon glanced at his watch, then at Harley. “Got some free time?”

  “Nothing until this evening, then I’m running again.”

  “Hang on.” Simon walked back to the driver. He tipped him generously, thanked him, and dismissed him. As the driver left the lot, Simon turned and walked past Harley toward his car. “Come on. You can give me a ride to my motel, then to my next appointment. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

  Harley jogged to catch up. “So you think it’s important? My uncle was right about that?”

  “Yeah. He was right.” A thousand questions demanded answers. And most of them would start and stop with Dakota. “Let’s go. I’m running late.”

  SIMON’S trip got extended again and again. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of him while he was in Vegas. After four days away, Dakota was missing him so much that she couldn’t stop thinking of him. He called at least once a day, which gave him the opportunity to do a lot of the “talking” that he’d requested.

  Starting on the second day of his trip, every sports channel shared quick footage of him. His fame and the attention he got amazed Dakota. Not that long ago, outraged senators who didn’t understand the sport had tried to have SBC events banned in their states. Now, most considered it the fastest-growing sport around. It had long since overtaken boxing in popularity.

  Simon took the attention in stride, and lamented his delay in returning to town.

  Sounding almost bored, he mentioned over the phone that a hit sitcom had invited him to play a bit role. On top of that, he’d turned down offers to commentate select sporting events and even a few other interviews. According to Simon, he’d refused because the timing was wrong and would have interfered with his training.

  Dakota hoped that was true, that he wasn’t turning down awesome offers just out of worry for her.

  While hitting a heavy bag at Dean’s gym, Dakota listened to Mallet and Billy speaking of Simon. They liked and respected him, but more than that, they believed in his ability to win. Though Harley Handleman was considered the top contender and a very dangerous man, most would still put their money on Simon.

  She was deep into a series of kicks against the bag when Barber came up behind her. “That’s enough for now. Let’s practice some moves.”

  With her muscles on fire, Dakota gladly accepted the switch. How the men practiced full speed for up to six hours a day, she couldn’t fathom. She’d only been at it since Simon’s departure, and already she felt the strain in every muscle. Of course, compared to the men surrounding her, she looked downright scrawny.

  Using the hem of her sweatshirt, Dakota mopped the perspiration from her face. Unlike the guys, who wore only shorts and regulation-weight gloves, she’d bundled up in a jog suit and sports bra. A breath of cool air and a hearty lunch would do her good—but she wasn’t about to cry uncle, and Barber knew it.

  With the gym packed and the men all working, it took them a few minutes to locate an empty mat. As usual, as soon as Dean came over to oversee their practice, Mallet, Mitch, Billy, and Gregor all stopped to watch, too. The small crowd they made drew the attention of the other fighters.

  Dakota didn’t like being the center of attention, but at least it spurred her on to do her very best.

  Trying to look pumped instead of pooped, Dakota peeled off her gloves. In a real competition, the fighters would wear them. But she didn’t practice in order to compete, and the others accepted that. “What’s first?”

  Standing there in nothing more than black nylon shorts and a big grin, Barber said, “Standing guillotine defense.” He moved behind her, put his right arm around her neck, locked it in, and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got, sweetie.”

  Dakota went through the defensive moves, knowing that Barber allowed her to do them by offering very li
ttle resistance. With the right move, he went flat on the mat beneath her. Keeping her grip on his left wrist, she stepped over his head with her right leg and finished by leaning her weight onto her left side and onto Barber’s stomach for a reverse bent arm lock.

  Barber tapped. And snickered…as did most of the guys watching.

  Of course, her derrière was inches from Barber’s face, with her legs on either side of his head.

  Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re making it too easy on her, Barber.”

  Dakota rolled off him, but Barber just lay there, sprawled out and still smiling. “Like you wouldn’t?” A rumble of agreement came from the spectators, and a few even volunteered to coach her next.

  “No.” Dean strolled onto the mat. “I won’t.” He took a stance. “Let’s go, Dakota.”

  She stared at him. Somewhere along the way, Dean had not only decided that he liked her, but he’d made it his personal goal to better her skills. “You’re not kidding?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Barber said, “She’s learning by repetition.”

  “At first,” Dean agreed. “Now she’ll learn by actually defending herself.”

  She didn’t know if she liked the sound of that.

  Without softening, Dean asked, “Do you want to improve?”

  “Yes.” She wanted those same fast, automatic reflexes that the fighters had.

  “Then you’ll have to take your knocks.” He signaled for her to come closer. “So let’s go.”

  Did he plan to maim her? With everyone watching, Dakota couldn’t back down. Barber moved out of the way, but sprawled on his side to watch. Mallet crossed his arms and grinned. Gregor, standing a head taller than the others, shouted, “Go get ’im, Dakota.”

  Chin up, Dakota walked to Dean. “All right. What first?”

  “We’ll do an arm lock series—from the mount.” So saying, Dean went to his back. He braced his bare feet on the mat, which emphasized the muscles in his thick thighs and calves. Chest muscles bulging, he lifted his head and motioned her forward.

  He wanted her to mount him?

  Sure, she knew the mount was a vital part of positioning. She wasn’t attracted to Dean that way, so she supposed it would be okay. And at least he wasn’t planning to mount her. That would have been worse, because it might have caused her to panic, given how she reacted when in a submissive position.

  Hoping to brazen through what she considered an awkward moment, Dakota shrugged. “All right. Sure.” She put her knees on either side of Dean’s hips and…sat down. Other than embarrassment, she felt nothing.

  Judging by Dean’s expression, he didn’t, either. She might have been another male. That made it easier.

  But the men watching sure liked the show. Typical.

  “Forearm choke?” Dakota asked.

  “Whatever suits you,” Dean agreed. “But be ready to defend it.”

  Seconds later, when Dakota found herself in a rather uncomfortable position, she realized she wasn’t ready at all. Dean sat up with her, patiently explained each move that she’d done incorrectly or that she hadn’t finished, and then went to his back again.

  By the fourth try, they ended with Dakota on Dean’s left, his arm secured in hers with his pinkie aimed at his chest. She dug her heels into the mat, lifted her hips—and got the armlock.

  Dean tapped.

  “Good job,” he said as soon as she let up. “Now let’s do it again.”

  And so it went for over an hour. Each man had something he wanted to contribute to her education, offering up suggestions, encouragement, and a few bawdy jokes. One by one, they took the mat with her to show her something from a different perspective.

  They were all good at what they did, some more than others. They were careful with her, but diligent, and overall, Dakota found it so tiring that her embarrassment faded away. She learned a lot, and despite the male teasing from their audience, she had fun.

  It was in the middle of an arm-bar counter against a standing front choke that she heard a familiar voice say, “What kind of welcome is this?”

  From her position on the floor, Dakota cranked her head around to look up. And there stood Simon, arms crossed, feet planted apart—and looking so gorgeous she couldn’t help but grin. “Simon!”

  Twisted together with Dean, Dakota had his arm locked against her chest, her legs around his head, with both of them belly down on the mat.

  Tone dry, Dean said, “Now might be a good time to let me up, Dakota.”

  “You think?” Laughing, she scrambled to free herself and get to her feet. Everyone watched them. Feeling conspicuous at the gym was starting to be a habit. But it didn’t stop her from rushing over to Simon and saying quickly, “I’ve been practicing and I think getting a lot better.”

  Simon’s gaze moved from her face to somewhere behind her and a second later, she got locked in a tight embrace from the rear.

  Without even thinking about it, Dakota executed several moves, countering each new one until she was able to do a sweep with her right leg, dropping her attacker to the mat. Keeping her own balance, she shifted quickly and caught him in a standing arm bar.

  Barber groaned and laughed at the same time. “Yep, she’s definitely better, Simon.”

  “So I see.”

  Dakota scowled. “That was to give a demonstration to Simon?”

  From flat on his back, Barber winked. “You know you were dying to show off for him.”

  She had been, but…“Doofus.” Dakota helped him up and, one by one, the crowd dispersed. “You know you could still brush me off like a fly.”

  “Maybe, if I was really pissed. But most guys without training would have their hands full.”

  “You mean it?”

  Barber smoothed her hair. “Yeah.”

  Suddenly she felt herself hauled to the side. Simon leaned forward and put a warm kiss to her mouth—right in front of Barber. “You smell like male sweat.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’d be Dean, Barber, and Mallet.”

  Expression carefully blank, Simon asked, “No one else?”

  Barber chuckled. “Sorry, bud, but I’m afraid the whole gym took part.”

  Simon gazed around the crowded room. He didn’t look happy. “I suppose they had good intentions?”

  “Dean made sure they did.”

  Simon relaxed. “I owe him.”

  Dakota shook her head at both men, then said to Simon, “I’d be showered and fresh, but you weren’t due home for hours.”

  “I got done ahead of schedule and was able to catch an earlier flight.” His attention went to Barber. “Everything go okay?”

  “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone suspicious.” Barber clapped him on the shoulder, picked up a towel, and headed off.

  Left somewhat alone, Dakota moved from foot to foot. She wanted to throw herself against him. She wanted to take him to the mat and kiss him senseless.

  “What are you thinking, woman?”

  “I was thinking that this time I’m the one who’s a sweaty mess, otherwise I’d greet you with…more enthusiasm.”

  “Soon.” He took her chin in his hand and moved her face from side to side. “Your bruises are fading.”

  “I’m a fast healer.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Wrung out like a limp dishrag. But that’s from working here. Dean is ruthless. But he’s also real clear about what I should do and when.”

  His large hand went to the side of her neck. “Other than that, you’re okay?”

  “Good as new.”

  “How about we get out of here, then?”

  “I need to go to the motel to shower and change.”

  “You rode here with Barber?”

  “Yes.”

  “My car is outside.” He held out a hand. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 17

  AFTER barely sponging off the worst of the sweat in the locker room, Dakota joined Simon and they went to his car. Unlike the men,
she couldn’t use the shower room at the gym. It was a big open space with no privacy.

  Of course, the guys always volunteered to wash her back—not that she’d tell Simon that. Somehow she didn’t think he’d appreciate their humor.

  “What’s all this?” His backseat overflowed with shipped boxes.

  “Freebies. You might want some of it. There are some energy drinks and bars, shorts and towels. A new type of razor, too.” Grinning, Simon ran a hand over his clean-shaven head before fastening his seat belt. “They’ll be sponsoring me in exchange for a few ads.”

  After Dakota latched her belt, too, Simon started the car and left the gym parking lot, saying, “That other box, the one near the door, is filled with SBC Tshirts and sweatshirts. I figured with your fondness for printed tops, you could make use of them.”

  The way he said it with so much nonchalance gave him away. “You mean instead of the shirts that Barber gives me?”

  “Exactly.”

  His possessiveness thrilled her. He wasn’t overbearing with it, and he never tried to bully her. It just…showed that he cared. And that never ceased to amaze her. Dakota stared at him, and smiled.

  Afternoon sunlight limned his profile, highlighting the straight line of his nose, the sensual curve of his mouth, his strong chin and firm jaw. “You’re too handsome, Simon, do you know that?”

  His grin flickered. He lowered the visor to block some of the sun. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “Don’t be modest. It’s true. You’re like…better than good-looking.” She shook her head. “It’s unnerving. And almost scary.”

  “Scary?”

  His concern only baffled her more. She was an okay-looking woman. Not a hag, but not a real beauty, either. She had a strong figure, not a supersexy bod. In almost every way, she rated average. Simon was so above average that she didn’t even know what to call it.

  And he wanted her.

  “Not that kind of scary.” She pulled at her sweat-soaked top. “Look at me. At my best, I’m no match for you. And right now, I’m bordering on gross.”

  Without smiling, without a word, Simon reached out a hand to her. When she took it, he carried it to his lap and pressed her palm to his growing erection. “Whatever you are, Dakota, I like it. A lot. I can’t recall ever wanting a woman as much as I want you.”