What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  Reid nodded, appeased by Jax’s flattery. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll tell everyone she didn’t need your help. Save face.” He pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his hands together. “Looks like our work here is done. How ’bout we go out for a coupla drinks? Marcy’s pissed at us, and she can’t drink anyway, so sticking around here will be as much fun as watching paint dry.”

  Jax’s stomach clenched. God, how had an evening of such promise turned out so badly? Spending an evening with Reid was about the last thing he wanted to do.

  “Let me talk to Marcy first.” He crossed the room and stepped into a bright, modern kitchen with dark wood cupboards, stainless steel appliances, and granite counters. Marcy was at the island chopping vegetables, each slice of her knife hitting the cutting board in firm rebuke.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up and scowled. “You tell me. You’re the psychologist. Am I crazy for wanting to be a fighter? Do I have what it takes, or I am mentally fucked up?”

  “That’s not fair.” He crossed the tile floor and put his hands on the counter in front of her. “Psychologists help people confront or deal with issues that may be too challenging for them to handle themselves. You aren’t sick or crazy, and to be honest, I dislike when people react that way.”

  Immediately contrite, her face softened. “I’m sorry. It’s just … a bit of a shock.”

  “Totally understandable.” He reached for her hand in sympathy, and she jerked away.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Why?”

  She leaned against the opposite counter, arms folded, the chopping knife still in her hand. “I don’t want to be touched.”

  His heart squeezed in his chest. One step forward and two steps back. Well, Reid was right about one thing. Marcy didn’t want company. “I’m going to take Reid home. He’s in no shape to travel by himself, and I don’t trust him in a taxi. He would probably pay the driver to take him to the nearest open bar.”

  Marcy resumed her chopping. “He doesn’t drink very often, but when he does, watch out.” She looked up and gave him a weak smile. “Thanks for looking after him.”

  “He’s going to let you come back to the club. You don’t have to train with me.”

  Marcy put down the knife and drew in a ragged breath, as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thanks for that, too.”

  “Pleasure.” He turned away, pausing at the door to look back over his shoulder at the woman who, only hours before, had tried to entice him into her bed. “Guess I’ll see you at the event on Saturday.”

  Her eyes glistened, and she dipped her head. “Guess so.”

  Marcy adjusted her padded helmet and leaned against the ropes in her corner as Reid adjusted her gloves. The crowd seated in bleachers and chairs around the ring in the Cirque Events Center was scant, at best. Her fault for agreeing to a showcase fight for a debut MMA organization in the Bay area. In an attempt to attract a wider audience, the new organization, TriStar, had pitted her against a Muay Thai specialist, Jenny Li, for a bout showcasing the different fighting styles in a five-rope ring.

  Marcy preferred the ring to the cage for its openness and the illusion of freedom that came with it, but cage fighting was all the rage, and if she wanted a serious career, she had to up her cage fighting game. Still, she wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity for some competitive practice, especially when her opponent was a striker, which meant Marcy wouldn’t have to worry about the submission issue that arose primarily when fighters hit the mats and tried to keep each other down.

  Reid put in her mouth guard and ran his hands down her body, checking to make sure there were no loose threads or tags on her silky red fight shorts. His hands slid lower, checking her shin pads and the wraps under her instep. Some fighters preferred to go without the padding, but Marcy had learned her lesson after a bout that had left her with bruises so bad she couldn’t train for a week.

  At the sound of the whistle, she stepped into the center of the ring and touched gloves with her opponent to start the fight. Li opened orthodox with an outside leg kick, which Marcy easily deflected. She returned with a jab when Li moved in, but her next punch went wide. Already breathing heavily, Marcy tried a front kick but wasn’t fast enough to avoid Li’s double underhooks. She doubled over as Li’s fists slammed into her. Damn. Double score for Li.

  Stomach aching, Marcy used the ropes to pull herself up, but Li was behind her. Li turned into her again and took her down. Marcy heaved herself up and connected two lefts, but Li picked her up for a slam and thumped her down on the mat. She flipped to her front, but Li was already down and on Marcy’s back, her elbow around Marcy’s throat as she attempted a rear naked choke. So much for strikers not being big into submission.

  Marcy struggled, but Li only sank in deeper. She could hear the deep timbre of Jax’s voice from the ropes, and Reid’s loud shouts. What were they saying? Did they want her to tap out? Were they telling her not to freeze? Well, they were wasting their time. There wasn’t anything wrong with her, and once she got out of this damn submission hold, she’d prove it.

  A tightening in her chest was the only warning she got that maybe Reid was right, after all. And then the world faded to black.

  “Back in bed.”

  Bare legs dangling over the side of the hospital bed, gown bunched up around her thighs, Marcy froze mid escape when Two Step’s voice boomed through her tiny hospital room.

  He frowned when she caught his gaze. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to sit still once you woke, so I told Reid and Jax I’d stand guard. Looks like I was right. Climb back into bed, baby girl. You aren’t going anywhere. This is your punishment for not tapping out of that rear naked chokehold and losing consciousness.”

  Marcy gave him a weak smile, but with her head still fuzzy and her lips dry, she couldn’t engage in their usual banter about the irritating nickname he had given her that had spread like wildfire through the club.

  Two Step’s smile faded in the silence, and his corded neck tightened as he swallowed. “You’re supposed to tell me off for callin’ you a baby girl. And then I’d tell you that you looked like a baby girl to me, all tucked up in that hospital bed for the last few hours.”

  Catching her gaze drifting to the water jug, he poured a glass of water and held the straw while she sipped. The cool water soothed her parched throat, and she slid back on the bed and leaned against the pillow with a sigh.

  “You’d make a terrible jailer. You’re far too nice.”

  He brushed a stray curl off her forehead, his gentle touch belying his massive frame. “More like relieved. You went down pretty hard.”

  The memory came back to her in a rush. Jenny Li’s arm around her neck, slowly tightening. Reid and Jax shouting from the ropes. The moment when she froze instead of fighting back. And then blackness.

  “It was nice of you to come,” she said. “And it would be even nicer if you could break me out.”

  Two Step gave her a crooked grin as he paced back and forth in front of her bed, clearly restless in the stark, confined space. “You think anything would have kept me away? You’ve been in my corner for every fight. Least I can do is give you a pretty face to wake up to. Reid said you weren’t close with your family.”

  Marcy shifted in the bed to face him, wincing as the IV tugged at her wrist. “As close as a black sheep can be. Sometimes I wonder if I was switched at birth. They’re all academically inclined. High achievers. My brother and sister preferred schoolwork to sports and killed themselves to make it onto Wall Street like my parents. But all I ever wanted was to be outside kicking a ball around or climbing trees or jogging down by the Bay. They were pretty disappointed with my pot-smoking, class-skipping, party-until-you-drop death metal phase in high school and devastated when I went into retail and bought a dog instead of a cat. Total disappointment. I can’t imagine what they’d think if I told them I was a fighter.”

  “You got a rebellious streak in you.” Two Step
patted her hand. “That’s why the kids at the youth club love your fight classes. They sense you’re one of them.”

  A smile tugged at Marcy’s lips. She loved her Saturday mornings at the youth club with Two Step, teaching self-defense to kids who had to defend themselves every day on the street. “More like a sporting streak. My love of sports made me the family freak.”

  His face softened. “At Excelsior, we’re all freaks one way or another.”

  She snorted a laugh and looked around for her clothes. “So how about letting a fellow freak escape? Now that the fight is over and I don’t have to worry about making weight, I’m desperate for a hot dog and a chocolate fudge sundae.”

  “No can do.” Two Step shook his head. “You aren’t allowed to leave until you get the doc’s all clear, and then you gotta deal with Reid.”

  “What do you mean, ‘deal with him’?” Marcy frowned.

  His jaw tightened. “He took it hard when you went down. Real hard. Like I thought he was gonna bust a vein. Says it’s his fault for not picking up on that weakness a long time ago. Now he’s banging the drum about you training with Jax.” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath. “You might have been hurt worse if Jax hadn’t been watching so closely. He was in the ring before you hit the floor…”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Two Step frowned. “Is that a yes? It better be a yes. I don’t think I could watch something like that again, baby girl. I know it happens to fighters all the time, but I can’t watch it happen to you. And neither can Reid.” He swallowed hard. “He cares about you, Marcy. A lot.”

  Marcy nodded. Reid had never hidden his interest in taking their friendship further. But although she liked him and was indebted to him for both her job and her fight career, he was too straight for her. She suspected Reid had never skipped classes, smoked pot on the school roof, or sneaked out of the house for an all-night rave when he was a teenager. And although she trained with him on a daily basis, she’d never once felt her body tingle the way it had when Jax had put her in submission.

  A choice that was no choice. She didn’t want to leave her friends and train at another club. Even the few days thinking she would have to leave had been torture. If she wanted to stay with the team, she would have to train with Jax, which meant locking away her silly fantasies and maintaining the same professional distance she had with her other coaches. And that was the key. He was a coach. Nothing more.

  Chapter Four

  Professional. Keep it professional.

  Jax leaned against the ropes in the practice ring as he watched Marcy cross the floor toward him, stopping along the way to talk with her friends. She’d agreed to train with him, but in an awkward conversation in the hospital, she’d laid down the line. Nothing personal. What had happened between them was all that was going to happen.

  Just as well. He was already losing his professional detachment. His stomach had twisted when he’d seen her go limp in Jenny Li’s hold, and although he wasn’t authorized to be in the ring, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from running to her aid the moment the referee blew the whistle. Reid had been only a step behind him.

  Given that knockouts happened all the time in the MMA world, he had overreacted, but then so had Reid, which said a lot about his feelings for Marcy. Well, Jax wouldn’t get in his way. He had already set up his next contract in Miami, starting in a few weeks. He’d get the job done and say his good-byes—as he always did. He touched his hand to his chest, an almost unconscious gesture of remembrance for his mother and sister and the good-byes that had broken his heart.

  Problem was, he had to find a way to deal with the tightening in his gut every time he saw her—an uncharacteristic yearning. Yes, she was beautiful and sexy as sin. And Reid had been right about her skill. When she’d stepped into the ring at the TriStar event, he’d been blown away by her raw talent. She’d fought smart, and she’d fought hard. But then it had all gone to hell.

  Well, it wouldn’t happen again. Not on his watch.

  Marcy reached the elevated ring and looked up at him, her soft green eyes wide with apprehension, the slightest flush in her cheeks. His abdomen tightened, and arousal stirred low in his groin.

  So much for resolve.

  He held the ropes open, and she joined him in the practice ring.

  “White Sox fan?” She gestured toward the white lettering on his T-shirt.

  “Always. Never missed a game when I was a kid. Some of my greatest memories are the afternoons I spent with my dad in the stadium. Those were the days I could eat hot dogs without worrying about making weight for my next event.”

  Her face brightened when she smiled. “I’m a White Sox fan, too, although I just go for the junk food and men in tight pants.”

  Jax chuckled. “I’m surprised Reid lets you eat junk food.”

  “He doesn’t, but I’m not always so good at following the rules, as you’ll find out tonight. If you’re planning on tossing me around the ring again, I won’t be so easy on you this time.”

  He saw her humor for what it was. An attempt to diffuse the tension. Still, he liked this side of her. Soft, gently teasing. He wanted more.

  “I’ll be sure to keep up my guard.”

  As he led her to the center of the ring, he caught her taking a quick glance around. The gym was busy for a Friday night. Every station had a line-up, from the free weights to the grapple mats and from the practice rings to the studios. The slap of gloves on leather, the steady beat of the punching bag, the slip slap of jump ropes, and the whirr of exercise machines all blended into a symphonic cacophony of sound. Was she glad for the company or wishing they were alone, as he did?

  “Sit.” He gestured to the mat, and they sat facing each other. Her fight shorts rode up as she crossed her legs, and he dragged his gaze away from the creamy softness of her inner thighs.

  “Do you like to be touched?”

  The question startled her as it was meant to do, and she blushed. “I don’t understand—”

  “It’s a simple question. Do you like to be touched? After watching you fight, I don’t think you do.”

  Her voice dropped to a throaty rasp, and she looked away. “No. But I don’t see how this is relevant to…”

  He edged closer to her and took her hands in his. “That’s what we’re going to do tonight. I’m going to touch you. Not in a sexual way. Clothed areas are off limits. But I want you to get comfortable enough with touch that it doesn’t elicit a fear response. Does that make sense?”

  She shook her head. “Other fighters touch me every day in practice. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “But in a highly charged situation, when the adrenaline is flowing and you’re being pressed into submission, you do. What I’m trying to figure out is whether you freeze because of the touch, the loss of control, or something else entirely.” He helped her to her feet and led her over to one of the four corner pillars that marked the corners of the practice ring. “Face the pillar, hands on the ropes on either side.”

  For a long moment, she hesitated, and his heart thudded in his chest. He could help her, wanted to help her, but more than that, he needed to help her. Some part of him had connected with her the first day they’d met, sensed a need in her that he knew instinctively he could fill.

  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and then placed her hands on the ropes.

  A familiar warmth suffused his body, slowing his pulse and easing his tension. This was why he had left the ring and become a coach. He could help people in a way he had been unable to help his mother and sister. Never again would he feel that sense of helplessness and loss as he’d watched them die.

  “Is this okay?” The slight sway of her body betrayed her anxiety, and he placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

  “Relax, little fighter.” He brushed his fingertips along her arm from shoulder to wrist, savoring the soft warmth of her smooth skin as a wave of heat crashed through his body. Christ. If he reacted
like this every time he touched her, he would combust before the session ended. Stepping back, he stripped off his shirt, but the cool air did nothing to dampen the fire raging through his veins.

  Before he could stop her, Marcy spun around. “What are you—?” Her gaze fixed on his chest, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Awesome tats.” She gestured to the intricate swirls inked across his pecs. “Is that a Celtic design?”

  Jax steeled himself against the urge to press her hand against his chest and nodded. “My Dad is Irish. Some of the symbols are in our family crest.”

  “And the names?”

  His breath caught as her finger hovered over his heart.

  “My mother and sister. They died of breast cancer within five years of each other.” With a gentle touch, he drew her hand away.

  “Oh, Jax. I’m sorry.”

  Resting his hands on Marcy’s shoulders, Jax turned her to face the post, taking a moment to regain his composure. Her genuine sympathy stirred emotions he went to great pains to hide.

  “Back to work.” He resumed the touching exercise with brusque, efficient movements, wondering what had possessed him to share such a personal piece of information. He usually kept his fighters at a distance, never socialized outside the gym. He wasn’t there to make friends, especially when he knew, after a few weeks, he would be moving on to his next contract. And he and Marcy had come to an agreement.

  Yet, as his hands glided over her body, her responsiveness drove away the momentary melancholy, replacing it with raw desire. He noted her every sharp intake of breath, the quiver of her muscles, and the heat of her skin. When she finally spoke again, he heard an unmistakeable waver in her voice, a need that matched his own.

  “Jax … what are people going to think?”

  “They’ll think it’s that crazy Jax training Marcy with his crazy ways.” His fingers glided over the dip between her neck and shoulder blade, and a sliver of delight wormed its way into his chest when her breath hitched.