Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance)

by Pat White

  “Now pick a focal point. A flower or tree, something that makes you feel good.”

  A pair of rainbow-colored eyes came to mind.

  “You like the mountains,” she said. “Picture the Colorado Rockies, the vast, dark green, rolling mountains that take your breath away.”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. “You’ve been there?”

  “I’ve seen pictures. Now go ahead, close your eyes.”

  She placed her fingers on his eyelids, and he thought he’d scream at the gentle touch. The scent of wildflowers tickled his nose. Hell, screw the Rockies.

  “Picture yourself hiking up a mountain, forging a new trail, finding hidden lakes and valleys. So beautiful. Keep breathing…in with your nose, out with your mouth. Count to five. Breathe in…breathe out. The sun’s lighting up the snow-capped peaks. The world is peaceful, quiet. Deep breathing. That’s it.”

  Sure, he’d heard of creative visualization. A lot of the guys used it to cope with the pain, but Jack thought it a lot of hooey.

  Yet the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders.

  “You’re walking up a narrow trail on the side of a steep mountain. Deep breathing. In… and out. You get to the top of the mountain and you feel exhilarated, refreshed. You see a waterfall below you. The sound is so relaxing, the constant sound of water slapping against rock. You take off your backpack and spread out a flannel blanket. Picture yourself sprawled out on the ground. Relaxed. Every muscle relaxed. The rush of water drumming in your ears, the sound of birds singing their welcome...the feel of sunshine bathing you in warmth. Breathe, that’s it. In…and…out. You close your eyes and the sun’s heat warms you, comforts you…”

  Not nearly as much as the sound of her voice. He could see himself lying on a blanket in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, the sun shining, water pounding.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  Dressed in full hiking gear, Frankie smiled down at him from beneath a floppy tan hat. He squinted to see her past the blinding sun. She knelt beside him and brushed her knuckles across his cheek. Then she trailed her fingertips across his lips. He wanted to taste her, taste every part of her.

  He opened his eyes and stared up at the mirror but couldn’t make out her expression because she’d rolled onto her side. Did she sense his fantasy? Was that why she’d stopped talking?

  Jack turned his head to study her. Her eyes were closed, her hands curled, pillowing her head. She looked so peaceful and content.

  And asleep.

  He brushed a strand of copper-streaked hair off her cheek. “At least one of us will get some sleep. Sweet dreams, princess.”

  ***

  Frankie was in the middle of a four-alarm fire. What else could explain the burning of her fingertips and the ringing in her ears?

  Something vibrated against her palm. She opened her eyes and blinked twice. She was half-sprawled across a man. She started to pull away and realized it was Jack. Pressing her cheek against his sinewy back muscles, she squeezed her arm tight around his body and sighed.

  Obnoxious ringing pierced her eardrums. Content and foggy brained, she didn’t want to move.

  “Phone,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

  “Ignore it.”

  “Okay.” He pulled her arm tighter around him.

  The persistent ring rattled her brain. “All right already.”

  She leaned across him and grabbed the phone off the nightstand.

  “Yeah?” she said.

  “Francine? Is that you?” asked Uncle Joe.

  “Yep.”

  There was a pause, never a good thing. “What?” she pushed.

  “You have to come home. It’s an emergency!”

  Jack shifted beneath her. “Who is it?”

  “My uncle.”

  “What does that crazy bastard want?”

  “What do you want, Uncle Joe?” She pushed a few strands of long black hair off Jack’s face.

  “Francine…it’s nearly eleven and you’re just waking up? And is that…is that Jack in bed with you?”

  “Yeah, Jack’s in…bed!”

  She flung the phone in the air and scrambled to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” she accused, standing over him, clutching her robe closed in front.

  “What? Who? What happened?” He sat up, his eyes round, his chest heaving in and out.

  “You were sleeping with me,” she said.

  “You told me to.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did too. The imagery thing, remember? The Rocky Mountains, the waterfall?” He ran his hand through his hair and blinked.

  And looked completely innocent.

  Of course he did. She was the one who was fondling his chest, hugging and cuddling him. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing you of...anything,” she said.

  Too bad it was just an accusation. Her gaze locked with his bright green eyes. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her pulse raced against her throat.

  “Francine? What did he do to you?” Uncle Joe screeched through the phone. “So help me, if he touched you I’ll put him on a card against the Basher in a no-holds-barred match, in a cage, with snow blowers, hedge trimmers and a forty-foot garden hose!”

  She snatched the receiver and shoved it against her stomach.

  “I’m taking a shower,” Jack said, swinging his feet to the floor with a grunt. He hesitated, clenched his jaw and grunted again as he straightened. Pain etched the corners of his eyes. His lips went taut.

  Instinct made her want to go to him, help him again like she did after his nightmare. She couldn’t move.

  Clutching the sheets as cover, he backed towards the bathroom. “I didn’t do…you know…” He motioned toward the bed with his hand.

  “It’s okay. I know.”

  He stumbled into the bathroom and repeatedly shut the door, but he’d broken the lock last night.

  “Francine!” Uncle Joe’s muffled cry vibrated against her stomach.

  She placed the receiver to her ear. “I’m here. Everything’s fine.” Shifting onto the edge of the bed, she reached out and touched Jack’s pillow, absorbing his scent into her fingertips.

  “What in hell’s going on?” Uncle Joe accused. “You were sleeping with Jack? But you’re engaged!”

  “I’m not engaged, and we weren’t sleeping together. We shared a mattress. Our driver disappeared last night and the only room in town was the bridal suite which, big surprise, only has one bed.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “Knock it off, Uncle Joe. I’m a big girl, and he didn’t do a thing.”

  Unfortunately. She gave herself a mental lecture. Time to get back to reality and shove all thoughts of Jack’s lips, pecs, and firm buns out of her mind.

  “But Francine—”

  “What’s the problem, Uncle Joe?”

  He hesitated, no doubt trying to remember his drama of the day.

  “You’ve got to get home!” He started sobbing into the phone and she couldn’t get a coherent word out of him. She wondered if Pugsy and the snakes had something to do with his breakdown.

  “Are you okay? Is someone threatening you?” she said.

  “I can’t explain it over the phone. Please come!”

  “We’ll get there as fast as we can.”

  After listening to another five minutes of moaning and whining, she finally convinced him to hang up so she and Jack could get to work on finding their missing driver. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and took a deep breath.

  Back in the eye of the storm again, and she didn’t mean her uncle’s crisis of the day. She’d awakened with her arm around Jack, caressing his hard pectorals, nibbling at his back like they were a newly married couple, like he belonged to her.

  But he didn’t belong to her. Jack Hudson didn’t belong to anyone.

  No, that wasn’t quite true either. He belonged to a lit
tle boy who needed a hero and an impressionable teenage girl who wanted to be an astronaut. He belonged to a mall full of fans who had waited for to meet him, and well-wishers who graced the hotel corridor waving cornstalks and tossing kernels in honor of the newlyweds.

  “Sheesh!” She sprang to her feet and paced to the window. None of this was real. She wasn’t a bride and Jack wasn’t a hero.

  Still, the admiration glowing in a little boy’s eyes touched her heart. That was definitely real.

  But the wrestling itself wasn’t. With angles scripted weeks in advance and moves planned before the talent stepped into the ring, wrestling was make believe, plain and simple, acted out by a bunch of overgrown kids play fighting.

  She spun around and stared at the bed where Jack had struggled to get to his feet. It seemed as if every bone, every muscle in his body screeched in protest.

  From real pain.

  “What did that old shyster want?” Jack asked.

  He stood in the bathroom doorway, towel drying his hair. A second, flimsy white towel was wrapped snugly around his hips.

  Her pulse raced and her breath quickened. He looked incredible with droplets of water clinging to his shoulders and chest. Good God, every time she saw the man naked from the waist up she nearly came apart with wanting. She hated to think what would happen if she saw the rest of him.

  He cleared his throat, jarring her out of the fantasy.

  “My uncle wants us to come home,” she said, recovering.

  “What’s today’s crisis?”

  “He didn’t say exactly, but insisted we return ASAP.”

  “He snaps and we jump,” he muttered.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  “Now what?” she said.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “But you’re practically…naked.”

  He eyed her and her skin tingled. “Would you rather answer it in that slinky robe?”

  She shook her head.

  “Didn’t think so.” Jack headed for the door. He knew prim and proper Miss McGee wouldn’t be caught dead answering a hotel room door in a robe. No, she’d rather be wearing a turtleneck and wool suit. Maybe even a down parka.

  He spied their visitor through the peephole. The manager smiled back at him. Jack eyed the hallway for fans. The coast was clear.

  He opened the door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hudson. I hope it isn’t too early. We wanted to make sure you enjoyed a hearty breakfast before you headed back to the city. By the way, security officers pulled your driver out of the casino this morning. They caught him trying to shove Necco Wafers into the slot machines.”

  “Great,” Jack muttered.

  “Not to worry. My cousin manages the casino. I convinced him to let the man go so you and your wife could get back to Chicago.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Your car’s waiting out front, but first you should fill up on all our specialties.” He lifted the food cover. “Here we have heart-shaped corn cakes, corn-filled crepes, and every newlywed’s favorite, fresh strawberries with whipped cream.”

  He shuddered at the memory of last night’s whipped cream drama on the television. Jack smiled politely. “Looks great.”

  “I’d be happy to set it up for you.”

  “That’s okay. The wife’s a little shy.”

  “Right. Of course. I gather you…slept well?” He grinned expectantly.

  They did expect a full report. Wasn’t anything sacred?

  He bit back his temper. He wasn’t usually this testy about fans intruding on his life. It must be the lack of sleep.

  “We slept fine, thanks. Could you have our driver bring us our clothes?”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Jack pulled the cart inside and shut the door.

  “What have we got?” Frankie said, ambling toward him.

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Why?” she laughed.

  He loved that sound, that young, refreshing laugh. It made him want to laugh along with her. Laughter was something he rarely enjoyed these past few years.

  “Let’s see what’s on today’s menu.” She lifted the metal dome. “What? No steak?”

  She didn’t seem nervous or tense, which surprised him considering they’d slept together ...touched each other. Hell, he’d awakened to her delicate fingers grazing his skin, stroking him the way a lover caresses her mate. How could she pretend it didn’t happen?

  Denial, that was her trick, her way of staying in control. Heck, if it worked for her, he’d use it, too.

  “No protein. Not good. You need your protein in the morning.” She snatched a strawberry and popped it in her mouth.

  A drop of juice trickled down the corner of her lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. If she reached for the whipped cream he’d jump out the window.

  “These strawberries are delicious.” She plucked another one from the plate.

  “They found our driver. He’s bringing our clothes.”

  “I can’t wait to slip into a fresh pair of pants and a clean blouse.” She closed her eyes, savoring the strawberry.

  He ripped his gaze from her sensuous mouth and snatched a fork, picking at the strange combination of corn, corn, and more corn.

  “Eat a strawberry. Balance out your food groups,” she ordered.

  He wanted to say he’d been feeding himself for the past thirty-seven years, but didn’t. He wanted to eat, get dressed and get the hell out of this room. Even the small confines of the limo would be more comfortable than the lurid bridal suite, which oozed sex everywhere he looked.

  “I’ve got to make a call,” he said, grabbing the phone.

  “Oh, okay. I’ll go wash up and give you some privacy.” She ambled toward the bathroom.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he waited until he heard the water go on in the bathroom and dialed Butch’s number. Jack needed to bring himself back to earth and quick.

  “Yellow.”

  “Hey, coach.”

  “Well, if it isn’t my number-two kid, Jackie Boy.”

  “Number two?”

  “Benson was always quicker at the drop-toe hold.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Hearty laughter filled the line. It was good to hear Butch’s voice.

  “You sure all that fame hasn’t gone to your head?” Butch said.

  “Nah. I got it under control.” Now if only he could get other things under control.

  “They got you swinging from the rafters yet?”

  “Not yet, but soon, I’m sure.”

  “What’s the world coming to?” Butch muttered.

  Jack smiled. Wrestling meant everything to Butch, wrestling and family. A pang of frustration knotted Jack’s gut. Would he ever get his chance at having a family of his own?

  “So, you hanging in there? No pun intended,” Butch said.

  “Barely. They’ve got this insane angle—”

  “I know, saw her on TV. How did they get you to take a partner? You’re a solo kinda guy.”

  “Long story. But I’m getting used to it. Never thought you’d hear me say that, huh?”

  “Life’s fill of surprises. Besides, your partner looks like a nice girl, if you’re into the hissing type.”

  “You’re hilarious. How’s Lois?”

  “Fine, just fine. When are you going to come by? I’ve got some things I want to go over with you.”

  “I’m not sure. Sully’s got us running in twenty different directions.”

  “Yeah, well, stop running long enough to come see me. Looks like you could use a refresher course in mat work. You’ve been spending way too much time outside the ring.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Frankie padded into the room and swiped another strawberry off the tray.

  “Gotta go,” Jack said.

  “Miss ya’, kid.”

  “Same here. Bye.” He dropped the phone in the cradle.

  “Who was that?” Frankie said.

 
; “A friend.”

  “A friend?”

  “Yeah, is that so hard to believe?”

  “Boy, you’re cranky this morning.”

  Of course he was. He was guarding his heart.

  “Sorry, guess I’m tired,” he said.

  “Understandable after that long day yesterday and then last night…”

  Their eyes locked. He struggled to breathe.

  Blinking, she broke the spell and poured a cup of tea. “At least this whole fiasco will make a good story to tell my friends.” She paused, holding the cup to her lips. “Who would I tell?”

  “What do you mean?” He walked over to the tray and stabbed a crepe with a fork.

  “No one can ever know I’ve been moonlighting as Tatianna. It would be a career killer. Although, I have to admit, I kinda liked the attention yesterday.” She shifted onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t believe I said that.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s just me you’re talking to.”

  She smiled and glanced at the strawberry in her hand. He spoke like they were confidants, best buddies, which they weren’t. Were they? Hell, he didn’t know. But somewhere deep down, a part of him wanted to be her confidante and much, much more.

  An abrupt knock interrupted his self-analysis. He welcomed the distraction and cracked open the door. Bernie the driver stood in the doorway with an embarrassed expression. The knot of his tie had slipped halfway down his chest and a smudge of pink lipstick colored the lapel of his suit. He handed Jack the garment bag.

  “Well, look who’s here. You have fun last night?” Jack said.

  “I did okay. Heard you didn’t do so bad yourself.” He strained to peer into the room.

  A sudden flash blinded Jack. “What the hell?”

  “I’m a freelance photographer for the Wrestling Superstars and Finks blog,” a voice said.

  Jack couldn’t make out the face. His eyes were still trying to focus through the glare of white light.

  “There’s a lot of speculation about Tatianna’s real identity,” the photographer continued. “Some say she’s your ex-wife. We’d like to get a picture of her without the mask.”

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  “But sir, the fans want to know.”

  The jerk clicked off another shot of Jack, standing half-naked in his hotel room door. He shielded his eyes with his hand.

  “Get him the hell out of here,” he ordered Bernie.