Down for the Count

by Christine Bell

  “Taking you out,” he said. It was the truth. He wanted to take her on the town in a pretty dress and open doors for her. She deserved to be doted on some.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s get ready for a special night, and we’ll go down and talk to the concierge. Maybe dinner and the casino?”

  She shook her head and held up a hand. “I’m not really a gambler, but I’ll watch if you want to go.”

  “We’ll figure something out. Now go get ready.” He gave her one more quick kiss and shooed her out of the stall.

  After he dried off and dressed, he waited in the living room while she did whatever face-painting, boob-taping ritual girls did to get ready for a fancy night out. An hour later he was just about to start complaining when she walked into the living room and sent his jaw swinging.

  Her honey-colored mane swung loose around her bare shoulders, framing her glowing face beautifully. The black dress she’d chosen was shorter than anything he’d ever seen her wear and showed off her gorgeous gams to perfection. “Damn, squirt. You are so fine.”

  Her hand fluttered to her midriff and she looked away. “Yeah, well, thank your sister. She insisted that every girl needs a little black dress—emphasis on the ‘little’—and she made me buy it for the honeymoon.”

  “Remind me to send her some flowers.”

  He hustled her out the door before she changed her mind and her clothes, and they made their way to the main hall reception desk.

  “Good evening, Jesus. We were hoping you could offer some suggestions for a big night on the town.”

  “Oh, hello Mr. and Mrs. Clemson. I was going to come to you today, but things got very busy here at the desk. You had some more phone calls.” He ruffled through some papers on his desk and held out a pile of messages.

  She eyed them like they’d been dipped in acid. “All of them from my mother?”

  He shrugged then nodded. “Yes. She, ah, really wants you to call her, I think.”

  Lacey straightened her shoulders and smiled at him. “You can just chuck those in the trash. In fact, unless something important comes through, you don’t have to bring them up to me anymore. No need for a special trip. I think I got the gist yesterday.”

  Galen took her hand and gave it an approving squeeze.

  “If you insist, ma’am.” Jesus looked almost comically relieved and he tossed the pile in the garbage can behind the desk. “Now, for this evening, would you like to salsa, maybe?”

  “God, no!” Lacey said with a violent shake of her head. “Too hard. Maybe just a little place where we can sway together and have a cocktail.”

  “Let me give you a list of places.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it over the counter. “Another thought is the dinner cruise. They have two each evening, and the second one is scheduled to leave in thirty minutes. People say good things about it, and it offers a little of everything. Gambling, entertainment, dinner, and a great view.”

  Galen sent Lacey a questioning glance.

  She nodded. “Sounds like fun, and it’s a beautiful night.”

  Armed with directions, they made the fifteen-minute walk to the ship. It was small, large enough for maybe fifty people, but it was luxuriously appointed with teak railings that gleamed in the fading evening sunlight.

  The host welcomed them onboard, then sat them for dinner with a wide smile. “Your waiter will be here with our cocktail specials and wine list in just a moment. Enjoy!”

  They thanked him and settled into their cozy booth, taking in the view of the island from the water. The room was open on all sides, and a balmy breeze kicked up as the ship pulled away from the pier.

  An hour, two beers, and a plate of guanimes later, Lacey paused with a spoonful of flan halfway to her lips, her brows raised in outrage.

  “So that’s why Jimmy MacTurk called me Lacey Drawers.”

  Her retelling of the childhood memory had him grinning. “That’s a pretty good reason for the nickname. I mean, if you’re going to go around flashing your bloomers at him.” He shrugged.

  “I wasn’t flashing him! I was just riding on the seesaw. He was a little perv, is all.”

  He laughed, and she joined him, dropping the mock annoyance. “I have so much fun with you,” she said softly.

  He nodded and took her hand. “Right back at you.”

  They stared stupidly at each other, grinning like fools, until their waiter came to take their plates.

  “Good choice,” she said on a sigh. “This ship is really lovely.”

  He stood and took her hand. “Shall we see what else it has to offer?”

  “Definitely.”

  Full from their meal, they took their time strolling the perimeter of the boat, stopping to greet other couples and take in the view. They passed a wide set of doors and a slow, sensual beat caught his ear. He tugged her toward it. “Maybe they have a band playing and we can do some dancing. Come on.”

  She resisted, digging in her heels. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m a terrible dancer.”

  “Well, I’m not, and I can teach you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. My first trainer thought partnered dancing was a great tool to prep fighters. Learning how to lead, anticipating the move of your partner and all that, but it’s also great for stamina and balance. So I took some classes, and it stuck with me. At first I thought it was bullshit, but I think it’s actually helped me over the years.”

  “Great, so you’ll look cool as usual. I’m going to look like an idiot, though. Your sister and I bop around and stuff at the clubs once in a while, but if you’re talking like the stuff they do in Dirty Dancing? I’m pretty sure my hips don’t move like that.” Her brow wrinkled the way it did when she got anxious, and he pressed a kiss to that spot.

  “After the last ten hours, I can vouch for the fact that they definitely do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not the same thing. But,” she said, sucking in a deep breath, “I’ll try it. As long as you promise if I hate it we can leave and try to find shuffleboard or something.”

  “Deal.”

  When he opened the door to the club, the song changed and Lacey visibly paled. “What is that, swing?” She froze. “I-I don’t know, Galen. Why don’t we just go sit on deck and enjoy the breeze?”

  “No way. I want to spin you around and show you off. It’s going to be great,” he assured her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We can watch for a while and you tell me when you’re ready. We can start with a slow song. Swaying, like you said.”

  “Okay.” She allowed him to lead her through the wide entryway and down the red-carpeted steps into the large room. The lights were low and inviting, flickering off the teakwood bar and tables. A large dance floor loomed in the center of the room. Lacey stiffened beside him. It wasn’t very crowded. Maybe twenty milled around the edge, all seeming to wait for that one couple to take the leap first. Most were dressed similar to Lacey, with cocktail dresses or skirts, and men in sports jackets and jeans.

  “Let’s sit and have a drink,” he said, pulling her over to a small table by the dance floor. Before the waitress had come to take their orders, the song that was playing ended, and the DJ called into the microphone.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight to our ballroom dance night. Let’s keep things rolling with a cha-cha. Any beginners here? We have two dancers on staff who would be happy to teach anyone who’d like to learn.”

  The small crowd chattered, but no one stepped up.

  “You want a lesson from the pro?” he asked.

  Lacey shook her head furiously. “No way. You said you would teach me.”

  The DJ continued. “How about any intermediate dancers? Looking for a partner and want to dance with either Yesenia or Junior?” He gestured to an attractive pair seated next to the DJ booth who smiled and waved.

  Lacey grabbed his arm and shook it hard. “Get up there. Go dance so I can at least see what
I’m getting into.”

  “I came to dance with you.”

  “And you will, but I need a minute to settle down. Plus I’m a visual learner, and it will be easier for me to pick it up if I see it.” Her wide eyes pleaded with him.

  “I know you’re only doing this to buy yourself some time, but don’t think you’re getting off the hook. You swear if I go up, you’ll dance with me next?”

  She bit her lip then nodded. “Swear.”

  An older woman had already scooped up Junior, and Yesenia turned to speak to the DJ when Galen called out. “I’ll give it a whirl.”

  The dancer smiled and stood, gliding toward him, hips swaying like a Latin ballroom dancer’s should.

  “Well, crap,” Lacey muttered.

  “What’s the matter now?” he asked with a short laugh. “You’re the one who wanted me to do it.”

  “Yeah, well, she didn’t look all that impressive sitting over there, but I didn’t realize she was going to be sex on a stick walking over here.”

  “You want me to say no?”

  Yesenia beckoned from the edge of the dance floor and Lacey blew out a sigh. “No, go ahead. Better her than me right now.”

  The strains of “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” blared from the house speakers and, in spite of his bravado, he felt like a kid on his first day of school. Nervous, and hoping he had the goods to impress. “Here goes nothing.”

  …

  Galen had lied. He knew far more than the basics. They started with the standard old “One, two, cha-cha-cha,” but fairly quickly, Yesenia caught on to the fact that Galen was no beginner. And now? He and the sensual brunette were tearing up the floor. The crowd gathered around and even Junior and his partner stopped to watch. Galen was masterful, and his partner’s cheeks flushed with pleasure when he spun her around twice. Son of a gun, he was good. He executed a stunning lift and Yesenia laughed out loud. His body was so fit, he made it look easy, and jealousy reared its ugly head.

  Lacey was sure she wouldn’t enjoy a second of this. It looked too impulsive, too unrestrained, too dangerous. Then, about halfway through, the dance sucked her in. The fact that Galen’s eyes met hers a dozen times, with a hint of challenge and a lot of promise, definitely helped. He was dancing with Yesenia, she of the well-oiled caboose, but he was dancing for Lacey.

  The song ended, and the pair bowed to the audience’s applause. Yesenia thanked Galen and brought him back to the table.

  “You are a very lucky woman,” she said with a smile, before sauntering off to find another partner.

  “That was…amazing,” she admitted ruefully. “It’s ludicrous that a man your size, who beats up other men your size for a living, could move like that.”

  “You like?” Galen held out a hand and grinned. “Well get in on this, then.”

  She stared up into his smiling brown eyes, wanting so badly not to disappoint him, but she was almost paralyzed with fear. Her hands had gone icy cold and she couldn’t feel her lips. What if she made a total fool of herself? What if she fell on these cursed heels and broke her coccyx bone? A dozen excuses marched to the tip of her tongue, ready for deployment, when he cupped her chin in his big, warm hand.

  “Hey. Stop this. I got you, okay?”

  He caressed her cheek with his thumb and the fear began to melt. She wanted this. She wanted to be in Galen’s arms, hips swaying to the beat. She wanted him to twirl her and dip her and to shimmy her shoulders until his eyes popped out. And she was done not taking what she wanted.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the far corner of the dance floor. “Teach me.”

  “Rockin’ Robin” came on, and she stared up at Galen expectantly.

  “Let’s jive, baby.”

  They started off slow, and at first, she was aware of everyone around her. Were they looking? Laughing? But no sooner had she realized that no one was paying attention to her at all, that it no longer mattered. All that mattered was Galen, and the way he made her feel. When she stumbled, he caught her, holding on a little longer and a little tighter than he needed to. When she made a mistake, he showed her again, endlessly patient until she felt comfortable. By the end of the night, she’d gotten the hang of the basics of several dances and was ready to try for real, in the center of the floor. It felt like kismet when the last song was one she knew well.

  “‘The Stroll.’ I love this song!” she said with a grin.

  “Then we’d better get out there.” He led her to the middle of the floor and stepped back, leaving her in a line with six other women and taking his place next to their male counterparts. Although they were apart, stepping and sliding in their respective rows, his eyes never left hers. The heat of his gaze made her feel beautiful, so she tossed her hair back and put a little extra sway in her hips. By the time it was their turn to meet in the middle, she was desperate for his touch. He cupped her waist, and their hips rocked together, perfectly synchronized, as they strolled down the center of the floor.

  Every so often, accidentally on purpose, she brushed her breast to his chest or her thigh against his, and the hand on her waist would tighten, his eyes going dark. The power was heady, and she wielded it with glee.

  When the song ended, they stopped to applaud the other dancers, breathless and smiling. It hadn’t been flawless, but it was perfect and she felt like she was dancing on air. If this time was all they could ever have, she would always be grateful to at least have these memories. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  …

  The next five days with Galen were heaven. The next five nights? Heaven during Mardi Gras. Overtly sensual, steamy, and totally erotic. No matter how many times they did it, their lovemaking was mind-blowing. Galen seemed driven to take her to new heights and his hunger was insatiable.

  They’d fallen into a routine of waking early and going to the main resort for a workout. He taught her how to jump rope, and she taught him Pilates, although the latter had prompted them to cut their workout short when he requested a private lesson in the nude.

  Her favorite thing, though, was watching him shadowbox. After his weight training, he always went into a corner and started swinging. She would be on the elliptical machine, peering from beneath her lashes while he dipped and turned, bobbed and weaved, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t a brawler like so many thick fighters were, rolling their shoulders and crabbing flat-footed around the ring, on the hunt for a chance to land that one stunning blow. He was a boxer, quick, sharp, always moving, sticking, and jabbing. The commentators liked to say that, by the time Whalin’ Galen knocked out his opponents, they were likely glad for the respite. He was beautiful to watch and moved with such fluidity, such grace, it wasn’t until he stood next to a mortal man that his size became apparent.

  During the third workout, she finally got the nerve to ask him. “Will you show me?”

  He swiped a muscled forearm over his sweaty brow and gave her a lethal grin. “Darlin’, I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but I can’t imagine saying no to anything you want to see.”

  His words sent a thrill through her, and she tamped back the urge to blurt, Seriously? Why me? The words seemed to be ever-present on the tip of her tongue. Still, she managed to keep it in because the answer wouldn’t change anything. He could’ve had a fling with anyone on the island, but he’d picked her. In this magical place, at this magical moment, she had found happiness, and she was going to hold on with both fists until it was over.

  “I want to learn how to box.”

  When his smile broadened, she congratulated herself for finally speaking up.

  “For real?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been watching forever but never thought about it as a workout. I’d really like to learn.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “After all the years we’ve known each other, I can’t get over how you continue to surprise me.” His dark eyes held hers captive. “I’ve never had a
woman interested in my career before, aside from the celebrity of it. I gotta tell you, it’s very sexy.”

  Warmth spread through her whole body, as if she’d turned to face the sun. “Teach me. I want to know everything.”

  He chuckled, and she rushed to correct herself. “I mean, I know we don’t have a lot of time, but whatever you can show me in a week.” The last thing she wanted was for him to think he was going to have to let her down easy once they went back home. She might be naive in some aspects, but she wasn’t a total rube. When they went back to Rhode Island, they would be leaving this behind. The thought was like an eclipse, sapping the warmth of the sun away. She shoved it aside in a rush.

  Galen rubbed his hands together and grinned. “I am so down with this plan; I can’t wait to start. We’ll see if we can’t find a sporting goods store to get me some punch mitts and you some wraps and little gloves. It’s going to be a blast.”

  She drew back. “I just meant fooling around here. I didn’t know we needed stuff for it. You don’t need to go through all that trouble for me.”

  He shook his head with a frown. “When are you going to get it, Lacey? You’re worth the trouble. You deserve to be around people who want to do things for you and make you smile.” His face softened and he pulled her in for a hug. “Besides, this isn’t for you, it’s for both of us. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  She held him tightly, reveling in the clean sweat smell of him, until he reached down and smacked her on the ass.

  “In fact, let’s start now. I’ll teach you some moves. Come on.” He stepped back an arm’s length. “First thing, let’s get your stance right. You’re a southpaw, right?”

  “Well, I’ve never punched anyone before, but I write with my left hand, yes.”

  “Okay, so usually you stand in front of a mirror for this part, but since you’re a southpaw and I’m not, I can be your mirror.” He waggled his brows at her and she smiled. “Start in athletic position, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent.”

  She did as he said and then looked up at him. “Like this?”

  “Close, but not flat like that. Get up on the balls of your feet, get a little movement going.”

  She tried to mimic him, bouncing on her toes, but she felt like a total idiot and stopped. “I don’t think I—”

  “That was great, come on. Keep doing it.”

  She did, reluctantly at first, but more enthusiastically at his approving grin.

  “Nice. Watch me, and do what I do.”

  He moved his right foot back a step, swiveling his hips at a forty-five-degree angle and she followed suit.

  “Nope,” he said, reaching out to pat her thigh. “I’m your mirror. I put my right foot back and lead with my left. You do the opposite. Like a mirror, got it?”

  She switched feet and waited for his next command.

  “And don’t stop bouncing, gotta keep it moving. Good. You’re still too straight on, though. Tilt your hips more, get almost sideways. Stand like you were, and you’re a wall, just waiting to get hit. Get on the angle and you’re a much smaller target.” He twisted to show her, exaggerating the move, and flashing his tight butt for the second before he turned back to her.

  She twisted until her stance matched his. “Good?”

  “Beautiful.” He lifted his left hand up and made a loose fist. “Lift your right up. Not so high. You’re blocking your line of sight. Put it right below eye level. That way you’re covering most of your face, but you can see what you’re aiming at and what’s coming.”

  She dropped her hand down a little.

  “Good. That’s your jabbing hand. A jab is the feeler punch. A tester. The soldier you send out to get the lay of the land. Tire the other guy out some, keep them guessing. Now put up the left. This one’s going to be level with your chin, elbow more bent and closer to your body.”

  She followed his lead and sent him a questioning glance.

  “Right. This is your power punching hand. The mac daddy. The haymaker. It’s cocked and ready to fire, like a piston. The strength of your whole body will be behind it, but because you expend so much energy to throw, you have to limit it. Make every single one count. You ready to throw some punches?”

  His biceps bunched and gleamed with sweat and she tore her gaze away to meet his. What she saw there nearly took her breath away. The boyish smile, his face lit up in the best way…a swell of emotion rolled through her, so strong she wanted to throw herself in his arms and beg him to never let her go. Instead she nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “The most important weapon in boxing is the jab. There isn’t a truly great fighter out there, alive or dead, who didn’t have an effective jab. You want to skip a step forward with your right foot, getting a little of your body behind it when you let that fist snap out, okay? When the fist comes back, so should the foot.”

  His hand flicked out, so fast it was a blur. She dropped her hands and jumped back.

  “Never put your hands down. Come on, I wasn’t even close to you. Get back in here. You try.”

  She tried to put it all together, bounce, fist at eye level, step forward, let her hand fly—

  “Not bad! But don’t let it linger like that. You leave it out there, you’re wide open to a right cross. You’d get your block knocked off. Fast, like a