by Juniper Hart
His experience had always been that of needy, clingy, and jealous women, demanding his constant attention, something Jordan did not have the time nor the patience to entertain. His childhood had taught him to appreciate his privacy and solitude, to trust no one, but his previous relationships had not allowed him space or understanding on that front. They had been too young, emotionally, and didn’t understand his motivation, often mistaking his dedication to the gym for adultery.
Jordan felt like Samantha wouldn’t be threatened by any of this, and no matter how he tried, he could not get her out of his head.
You need to stop this. It is becoming an obsession which will not end well for you. You don’t know the first thing about this woman except that she’s about to marry someone else, and you need to mind your own business.
“Yeah, I am looking forward to beating Giles’ ass again,” Jordan said, keeping his thoughts about the woman in the office to himself. He knew his trainer would tell him to stay far away from her before she distracted him from what was important: getting into the UFC one day.
Jordan was always intuitively conscious of how Harley would react to his behavior. He truly had become a father figure to Jordan, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was disappoint the man in any fashion.
Harley beamed at Jordan’s response. “No need to train too heavily for this one, Jordy. You already know your signature left hook will catch him off guard. It’s the benefit to being a southpaw. No one ever sees you coming. I recommend that you watch your guard better, though. I noticed you were getting a little relaxed toward the end there.”
“Toward the end of the two minutes?” Jordan retorted sarcastically, and Harley immediately sensed his irritation. Smile fading slightly, he arched an eyebrow and clucked his tongue teasingly.
“Make no mistake, Jordy. Frank Giles won’t fall for the same trick twice. He’s demanding this rematch because he thinks he has you figured out. He wouldn’t be asking otherwise. He’s hoping you do the same thing as last time. He thinks he can beat you at your own game.”
“I didn’t know Frank Giles could think.” Jordan dropped his fists and ripped the tape off his hands. Harley watched him carefully.
“Jordy…”
“Don’t worry about me, Harley. I got this,” he told his trainer, trying to stifle his annoyance. He knew Harley was only looking out for his best interests, but sometimes his fatherly advice was downright infuriating.
Harley himself had been very close to becoming a fighting champion, twenty years earlier. Despite his tiny frame, his lightweight competitors feared the mere sound of Harley’s name. He was ruthless in the ring, inspired by some channeled inner anger which no one on the outside ever saw, since Harley was eternally mild-mannered and cool-headed. Then, just as quickly as Harley had risen to fame, he had dropped out of competitive fighting altogether without explanation. He had disappeared from the public eye and only resurfaced ten years later, opening a small gym in Seattle, which was where Jordan had initially met him.
Sky Train had been an instant success, filled with aspiring boxers eager to take on Harley’s tutelage, but Harley had invested heavily in Jordan, a nerdy, unconfident boy with no experience and too much misplaced anger. To that day, Jordan had no idea what had inspired Harley or what had made him give up boxing.
He had always been intrigued by the story of the older man, but no amount of Google searching availed any answers as to what happened. The general consensus was that a personal matter had taken him out of the game, and by the time he was ready to go back, it had been too late. Jordan had never really learned the truth, and he knew the man well enough to know he would not respond well to prying.
If I’m meant to know about it, I suppose one day, he’ll fill me in.
Jordan glanced at the clock above the door.
“I gotta go. I’m working afternoons this week,” he told Harley, wiping his neck with a towel. Harley nodded absently as a group of teenagers wandered into the gym.
“All right, man, see you tomorrow. Two more days until you take on ‘The Giant.’ Make sure you get sleep and stay away from the beers.”
Jordan felt another surge of annoyance but flashed Harley a forced smile before grabbing his bag and heading outside without uttering another word. I shouldn’t be mad that he cares so much. He’s more of a father to me than my own was.
“Jordan, sit down.”
Jordan slowly walked into the kitchen of the dilapidated apartment and dropped his bookbag onto the worn linoleum floor. He was still slightly out of breath, having outrun Derrek Jameson home from school, narrowly avoiding another beating. His mother’s eyes were swollen, and he recognized the signs of crying, but for the moment, no tears streaked her gaunt face.
And it was clear she was high as a kite.
“What happened, Ma?” he asked, sinking into a chair, staring up at her with dark eyes, sensing something terrible was about to occur.
She did not join him and instead leaned back against the chipped Formica countertop.
“We’re in a lot of trouble,” she sighed heavily, her words escaping in a torrent. “Your father did something awful.”
The words didn’t shock thirteen-year-old Jordan, and he suddenly looked about for his sister, who was conspicuously absent.
“Where is Wren?” he asked dully. Caroline didn’t meet his eyes.
“We’re going to need your help, Jordy,” she whispered. “To make things right.”
“Where is Wren?” he asked again, his heart beginning to pound. “What did you do with her?” He put nothing past his chaotic parents now. They were too far gone for retribution.
“Wren is fine—for now,” Caroline muttered. “If you help us get the money back that your father… lost.”
It was at that moment that Jordan saw his entire life and future flash before his eyes. He wasn’t ever going to escape the Archer curse, the Elliot Bay stigma. He was forever bound to be the lowest of the low, living in his parents’ shadow.
“What the hell did you do this time?” he growled. His mother reached out to touch his hand in some semblance of comfort, but Jordan jumped up and glared furiously at her.
“It was a mistake,” she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes. “He just got in over his head…”
“Why didn’t you stop him?” he demanded. “Why don’t you ever stop him from doing this to us over and over?”
“Oh, Jordy, this is completely beyond my control. I can’t stop your father from being who he is any more than I can stop him from shifting. We are who we are. There’s no escaping that.”
Jordan did not heed the depth of her speech. He was too wrapped up in his own adolescent agony. Later, though, when given the opportunity to think about her words that day, Jordan realized his mother was right; there was no changing who they were. The only thing he could do was embrace his future.
Between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, Fergus Archer became his son’s teacher in between horrible highs and volatile lows. Fergus came and went out of his family’s life, often running from dueling packs or at the order of their alpha because the Council of Seven sought him out for various infractions. He was always high, always angry, and yet always there.
There had never been a way to escape his father, nor his mother. Not until he’d found solace in MMA and Harley had taken him away from everything.
Jordan grimaced at himself in the mirror of the bathroom at work, trying to ignore the feeling which wearing the customary black and white security guard uniform gave him. He always had flashbacks of being a nerdy, bullied child adorning the get-up, as if his true purpose was suffocated within the fabric.
He closed his intense eyes to block out the man in the glass.
This is means to an end. You are not the reflection staring back at you. You are going to be a UFC champion one day. Remember that. He waited for the pep talk to calm his nerves before opening his eyes, quickly averting his glance and leaving the washroom.
This was his f
irst afternoon shift, and he was not looking forward to it. He knew from the other guards that the afternoon shift was the worst of the three. There were still enough people around that napping was not an option, but by the three o’clock start, most of the executives had left for the day, leaving little to do to occupy one’s interest.
It’s going to be a long night of playing online poker, Jordan thought to himself bitterly, pulling open the door to the restroom. Instantly, he collided with a body, and without looking, he instinctively knew who it was.
Samantha’s pheromones filled his nose, and for a brief second, he shut his eyes to relish her sweet scent before abruptly stepping back. He peered at her, a scowl on his face.
“Do you ever watch where you’re going?” he asked rudely as she caught herself on his arm. She glanced up in surprise, her eyes widening, and frowned. Then, recognition colored her face, and she broke into a gorgeous smile. The very expression melted his heart, the even white of her teeth taking his breath away.
“There you are!” she declared. “I was beginning to think you had quit this hellhole and gone onto greener pastures—or at least somewhere more exciting.”
Jordan tried to maintain the stern look on his face, but he found himself softening at the sound of her mellifluous voice. She’s got a hold over me. There’s no denying that. Nothing I can do or say will change how I feel about her.
“Were you looking for me?” he asked, despite his determination to remain aloof. She cocked her head to the side and blinked, her surprisingly dark lashes tickling the bottoms of her eyebrows.
“Would it surprise you if I were?” she replied. Jordan was lost for words all of a sudden. He could not understand what it was about this woman he found all consuming, but she turned him into a puddle of desire with a mere glance.
For a stunning moment, he wondered if he would be able to stop himself from kissing her.
“I guess it would,” Samantha answered her own question. Her smile faded slightly, and her full pink lips parted, as if she wanted to say something but was considering the words before she did. Jordan could only stare at her expectantly. “Why did you disappear so quickly last week after we met?” she decided to ask anyway. “Was it something I said?”
Jordan felt himself tense at the inquiry, and he shifted his eyes uncomfortably toward her left hand.
“No,” he responded evasively. “I had to get back to work.”
“No, you didn’t,” she countered flatly. “You were upset about something. What was it?”
Jordan stared at her. How could she possibly have sensed his mood that day? She had only spent two minutes with him. Yet, somehow, she had known how angry he’d become to learn her relationship status. He’d been even angrier to learn that she had no online profile on any social media account he could find. So much for learning more about her.
He paused, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want to sound weird or whiny, but no matter how he phrased it, he knew that it could only sound one way.
“You’re engaged. Maybe married,” he blurted out.
Idiot. Why did you say that? Jordan’s bronze complexion flushed a deep red with embarrassment.
Samantha pursed her lips thoughtfully and regarded him like she was trying to read his mind. He watched as her aqua-colored eyes seemed to drink him in.
“Is that a problem for you?” she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper. The question infuriated him in more ways than he could count.
“Yeah, it is,” he said, feeling a flash of anger when Samantha’s mouth curved into another smile. Did she think he was a joke? That this was a joke? “What?” he growled. “Why are you smiling?”
She shrugged and spun away, uttering one single word. “Good.”
She left Jordan watching after her sashaying hips.
Good? Good what? he wanted to yell after her, but he didn’t dare, not when there were so many prying ears around him. Whatever she was trying to say would have to wait until next time. I hope there is a next time, he thought.
5
“How long have you been fighting?”
The following afternoon, Samantha and Jordan sat in the lunchroom, staring across a table at one another. Samantha had bought coffee and croissants from La Baguette, the French bakery across the street, before covertly gesturing for Jordan to follow her into the back of the building.
As she had suspected, he didn’t hesitate, jumping from the front desk to amble after her and into the breakroom, where they had the place to themselves.
The sun was starting to set outside the twenty-sixth story break area, but Samantha barely noticed the glorious sunset, completely fixated on the stunningly handsome man before her. She would have been lying if she said that she hadn’t been attracted to him from the second they’d bumped into one another. There was an almost palpable energy coursing through them even when their eyes met.
Who is this guy? Samantha wondered, watching his lips move, answering her questions like they’d known one another for a hundred years or more. He’s a Lycan. A wolf. We’re almost the same bloodline.
Suddenly, Jordan sat back, as if he was aware that they were leaning completely into one another.
“How did you know I was a fighter?” he demanded, shocked by her question. She laughed and instantly noticed the way his eyes lit up when she did.
He’s as smitten as I am, she realized, her pulse racing at the understanding. We’re mates. I’m sure of it.
“Jordan, I’m a web designer. I live on the internet. Google is a wonderful thing,” she told him, her eyes twinkling.
“And yet you have no social media,” he countered. Samantha whooped with laughter.
“Are you checking up on me, Mr. Archer?” To her amusement, he blushed slightly.
“I may have looked you up.”
“Good,” she giggled. “I don’t feel so bad about looking you up now.”
His brows raised with bemused interest.
“What did you find out about me?” he asked, apparently flattered that she would take the time to seek out information about him.
“Everything… except how long you’ve been fighting,” Samantha said.
“I started competing about five years ago, but I was fifteen when I started. I found a fighting gym in my neighborhood and walked in one day. My trainer, Harley, was the owner, and he took me under his wing right away. Taught me everything I know.”
Samantha could clearly hear the affection in his voice, and she again closed the tiniest bit of distance between them to stare intently into his dark brown eyes. This time, he didn’t sit back, his gaze boring into hers.
“You still train at the same gym, all these years later? That’s remarkable!” she breathed, half willing him to touch her. When he didn’t, she leaned forward, placing her slender thighs in a straddle position and reaching out to touch his arm. Again, the glint of the diamond on platinum caught Jordan’s eye, and he tensed. Samantha immediately recognized her mistake and sat back.
Should I tell him or draw this out a little bit? she wondered. His next question answered hers.
“When are you getting married?” he finally asked after an awkward silence. She took a sip of her almost cold coffee and sighed.
“January.”
“That’s a strange time for a wedding. Or are you one of those weirdoes that like the cold?”
“It was Marco’s idea,” she replied, taking another sip of her drink. “He wants to have a ski wedding in Aspen. I would much rather a beach in Costa Rica.”
Jordan smirked, but there was no mirth in his eyes. Oh, this was exquisite torture.
“I thought that the wedding was more for the woman’s benefit than the man’s.” Samantha’s eyes narrowed at the sexist remark, but she smiled frostily, knowing that he was just upset by her revelation.
“How completely caveman of you to think that way,” she said sweetly. “Is it that hard to believe that a man would want to marry me so much that he wants to have a say in th
e wedding?”
The look on his face sent knives of guilt through her, but she couldn’t stop herself. Another silence ensued, and Samantha could tell Jordan was trying to think of something to say. He quickly moved the subject back to the original topic of conversation.
“Do you like MMA?” he asked weakly.
Aw. Is that all he’s giving it? Pity. Samantha shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know a lot about MMA, but I’m a huge fighting fan,” she explained. “My dad was a major Ali fan. My sisters got hooked on watching fights. I always knew that the trained boxers would win matches over any other fighters.”
“Is that right? Well, I should take you gambling with me, if you’re so sure of yourself.”
Samantha laughed. “Maybe I’ll just start betting on your fights all by myself.”
Jordan grinned, and she was sure she had never seen a sexier smile in all her life.
“I have a fight tomorrow night,” he told her. “It’s a rematch, actually. I won the last one against this guy, but he is a sucker for punishment.”
Samantha shrugged and smiled enigmatically. “Most people are. I would wish you good luck, but it sounds like you don’t need it much.”
“Don’t say that! I can always use good energy!” Jordan pleaded, his eyes wide. Her face softened as she realized he meant it.
“In that case, I wish you the best of luck, Jordan.” She glanced at her watch, and her face went serious. “Oh, we better go. We’ve been in here for an hour and a half. There are cameras everywhere. You’ll get in trouble if they catch you.”
“I know. I’m supposed to be watching them,” Jordan joked but reluctantly rose to his feet, even though she could tell it was taking every fiber of his being to oblige.
Trust me, I don’t want to go, either, she thought, stifling a sigh. She couldn’t stay there all night, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Are you going to take another break later? Maybe you can come and get me?” he asked with naked eagerness in his voice. Samantha shook her head. She really shouldn’t have given him the wrong idea. She couldn’t do this with him, at least not yet.
