Making Him Sweat

by Meg Maguire

  “Jesus, I hope so. If I can keep managing to channel my dad’s business sense, yeah, I think it may be possible. Plus it’s Tina’s decision. There’s no so-called board to take it to—she’s the final word when it comes to that stuff. She’ll just take a bit of finessing.”

  Jenna sighed, her adrenaline draining like bathwater. The reversal had happened so quickly. The possibility that the gym could stay was all at once real and glorious. That Mercer could stay, in her city, her life, her bed... She’d fight for that. Tooth and nail, kicking and screaming.

  “It doesn’t solve everything, though,” Mercer said. “Having the permission won’t fix a thing if I can’t manage to get the gym profitable again.”

  “No, but I have faith in you. And I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

  “Like screaming your lungs out when Rich and Delante clean up at the tournament in two weeks?”

  “As long as I can do that without actually having my eyes open for the carnage, then yes, absolutely.” She sighed, gazing around the party for a minute, collecting her thoughts. “Will you keep living in the apartment if the gym stays put?”

  “If you’ll have me.”

  “Now that’s a silly question. The real question is, which bedroom do we consolidate ourselves in?”

  He smiled and looked down at the table, suddenly cagey.

  “What? Am I being too optimistic?” she asked.

  “Nah, go ahead and be optimistic.”

  “What, then?”

  His smile deepened to a smirk. “We’ve been living together for a month, and sleeping together almost as long.”

  She nodded.

  “And we’re making plans to keep living together. Just seems kinda out of order. I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet.”

  She laughed, realizing it was true. “Well, we’ve both been busy.”

  “I can at least tell you I’m in love with you,” he said.

  Jenna blinked.

  “Before we’re officially shacking up in the same bedroom,” he went on. “I can at least do that in the right order.”

  Jenna tried to smile to keep from crying, different parts of her face fighting to be the one to express her happiness. “Wow,” she said, voice unsteady.

  “You surprised?” he asked.

  “Well, not entirely. I mean, I’m in love with you. I’d hoped maybe you felt the same way. I just... I didn’t think you’d be so easy to tease those words out of.”

  He shrugged. “I know when I’m beat. You win by submission.”

  She was grateful he was turning it into a little game. Now wasn’t the time to get all overwhelmed by the messy euphoria of her own blossoming romance. Business came first tonight. “We’ll talk more about this at home, Mr. Rowley.” She drained her glass and Mercer preceded her from the booth, giving her a hand as she stepped down.

  He scanned the crowd before checking his phone. “When’s this thing over?”

  “Ten. But I probably won’t be free to go until eleven.”

  “Hour and a half, then.”

  “Until you can finally escape my idea of a good time and get out of those clothes,” she teased.

  “Nope. Hour and a half until we can beat it home so I can rip that dress off you.”

  Jenna blushed. “Well. I’ll see if I can’t speed up the dismantling, maybe get it down to an hour and fifteen.”

  He kissed her, quick and firm. “Yeah. You do that.”

  14

  THEY GOT HOME LATE the evening of their first real date—dinner followed by drinks, the latter venue crashed by half a dozen of the guys from Wilinski’s, turning their quiet nightcap into an impromptu party.

  Mercer tossed his car keys on the coffee table. “Remind me never to let Rich in on my romantic plans. I may as well invite the entire gym.”

  “Aw, it was fun. Made me feel like an official part of the clan. Though I could have done without a couple of those rounds.” She set her bag down. “Especially since I’m dating such a teetotaler.”

  “Hey, I did a tequila shot with Rich. And I’ll be ending all that torture soon enough,” he said, meaning once the tournament wrapped come Friday.

  Jenna couldn’t wait for it to be over—so much was riding on Rich’s and Delante’s fights. Their outcomes would have very real effects on the financial future of Wilinski’s, and the suspense was killing her. But for now, she was relieved merely to be home after a long night—home with her man. She was still acclimating to the reality that he was staying, that he was hers for keeps. It had taken an awful lot of haranguing phone calls for Tina to come through with the official amendment to the Boston branch’s paperwork. Jenna wouldn’t have put herself above a bit of hair-pulling, had it somehow come down to that. Hanging around all these fighters was having some very odd—but undeniably useful—effects on her business bloodlust.

  She sank onto the couch with a huff. “Three more days.”

  “Don’t have to tell me—I’ve got a countdown clock in my head.” He bent to unlace his shoes.

  “I hope you’ve got me sitting in the nosebleed section.”

  “Instead of a section close enough to see all the bloody noses?”

  “Exactly. Though I think Lindsey might be up for that. I keep catching her on YouTube, watching MMA clips during her lunch break.” Specifically clips of Rich’s old matches, but Jenna kept that to herself. She only got to meddle in the love lives of people who paid her for the service...sadly.

  She yawned, already exhausted to know she had to be up in six hours to start another workday. So much for the post-first-date debauchery she’d envisioned, if Mercer was as wiped as she was. “You want the bathroom first, or shall I?”

  “No, stay comfortable. I need to get your opinion on something.”

  “Sure. What?”

  Mercer disappeared into his former bedroom—now a sort of catchall space, one day to be a properly decorated guest room. Curious, Jenna sat up straight on the couch.

  After a minute, the spare-room light went out and Mercer reappeared with a booklet in his hand. One of those college prospectuses? Jenna perked up, eager to hear about his plans once the tournament was through and he got a break from orbiting around Delante’s potential.

  He opened the booklet to a dog-eared page, passing it to her. “Tell me what you think of this.”

  Jenna’s breath caught. It was a slick, glossy pamphlet from a jeweler, and Mercer leaned down to tap a photo of a ring that had been starred.

  An engagement ring.

  “It’s gorgeous.” A simple design, with one larger diamond in the middle, three tiny ones bracketing it on either side.

  “Is it your style?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” she repeated dumbly.

  “It’s also insanely expensive.”

  “I’m sure. But we’ve been dating officially for, like, a minute. I love you, trust me, but why are you showing me this?”

  He laughed and took the pamphlet back, studying it a moment. “Because next spring I’m gonna compete in a pro tournament for the first time in three years, and when I win, I’m buying it. And proposing to you.” He met her gaze. “Then your hypercautious, by-the-book matchmaker brain will probably decide it’s too soon, so I’ll ask again the next month, then the next, and maybe a year from now, I’ll get you to say yes.”

  “Oh” was all she could muster at first. “That’s...that’s very...”

  His brow rose. “Deluded? Presumptuous? Romantic?”

  “Well, it’s you. It’s very you. And it’s a beautiful ring. I love it.”

  “You gonna tell me not to do all that stuff I just said?”

  She let the giddiness fill her from the floor up. “I’m nervous to watch you fight. But no, I won’t stop you from doing any of that.”

  His smile was slow and deep, mischievous. “You’re an easier sell than I expected.”

  She blushed. “Well, it’s a really beautiful ring.”

  Mercer laughed.

  “You’re
right smart to think I might be cautious, given the time frame.”

  He skirted the table to sit beside her. “I went my whole life till I met you taking or leaving all this romance nonsense. I always knew if there was a woman out there who was right for me, I’d know it when I met her. And now I know it. So no point beating around the bush. It’s you or bust. Plus your dad would murder me if I didn’t make a decent woman of you, after all these weeks of sullying.”

  She poked him with her elbow. “And you seem pretty sure you’ll win, huh?”

  He nodded. “I will. I’ll just remind myself that guy’s standing between you and me and that ring on your finger, and it’s a lock. What’s your ring size?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You got until March to find out.”

  She studied the photo again, boggled the diamond might be on her hand in less than six months. The “might” in that equation was all Mercer’s, though—if he proposed, she’d accept, no question. She beamed a smile at him and he leaned in, held her face with his free hand and kissed her.

  “I love you,” she said as they separated.

  “I love you. And I’m going to drive you absolutely bat-shit when I’m training, so just keep that picture handy so you know what you’re suffering for. Eyes on the prize.”

  “Oh, right. Will I be cooking a lot of steaks come March?”

  “That, and putting up with me spilling protein powder all over the counter, and swearing at the scale every morning, and quizzing you about everything that goes into whatever you make for dinner.”

  “For that ring, I’ll gladly put up with all your psychoses, darling dearest.”

  He smiled, leaning back and seeming supremely happy and relaxed.

  She gave his cheek a pat. “Don’t you look smug?”

  “It’s that shot. I’ve got no alcohol tolerance anymore.”

  “Cheap date.”

  “You could totally take advantage of me right now if you wanted. I’m awful vulnerable.”

  She laughed. “No sex for three weeks before your future match, right? Wouldn’t hurt to make up for that sadism, I suppose. And to keep perfecting all this sinful premarital nonsense, before you wreck it by proposing.”

  “Damn straight.” He was on his feet, Jenna swept up in his arms in a breath.

  She toyed with the zipper of his hoodie as he carried her to their bedroom and kicked her heels away. “Ding ding ding! Round one.”

  “Jesus Christ, how many rounds do you think I’ve got in me at two in the morning?”

  “Fine. One will do, then. Just knock me out cold,” she said as he carried her over the threshold.

  He dumped her across the mattress and unzipped his jacket, a wicked smile brightening his dangerous features, strong body silhouetted by the light leaking in from the hall.

  She sat on her heels, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt. “You’re a very interesting man.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Oh, that’s a wicked good thing.”

  “Hey, there you go. Your dormant Boston accent’s finally coming out.” Mercer peeled off his socks and joined her on the mattress, kissing her deeply. Jenna urged him onto his back, hiking up her dress to straddle his waist. She smoothed her hands over his chest, musing.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Do you think this all really would’ve ended if the gym had to close? You really think you’d be moving to Philadelphia in a few months’ time?”

  “Yeah, I think I would.”

  She frowned. She’d secretly been hoping for a love-conquers-all reply.

  “But I also think I would’ve found myself getting into my car at ungodly hours of the night, racking up speeding tickets and going broke buying gas to drive back up to Boston to see you.”

  “Oh.” She remembered that night he’d driven from Hartford, right when she’d needed him. “That’s a long drive.”

  “Six hours in a car would be nothing compared to lying alone in bed for, like, ten minutes, knowing I was in the wrong place.”

  She smiled at that and ran her palms down his exceptional arms. “You’re quite the romantic.”

  “Nah, you just see romance everywhere, because of your job.”

  “Maybe. But I like what I’m looking at right now.” She lowered onto her forearms to kiss him. “You’re the Mr. Right I’ve been picturing all wrong my whole life,” she mumbled against his lips.

  “Good. Always happy to prove you wrong. What’s my record now—like three and oh?”

  She brushed her nose against his and smiled. “Shut up, darling.”

  “Think you can talk to me like that, because you’re my boss and my landlady?”

  “No, I can talk to you like that because I’m your future fiancée.”

  “Damn. I thought you were all traditional. What happened to love-honor-and-obey?”

  “Like you really want that. Like you wouldn’t prefer I put up a good fight.”

  He made a happy sound, a soft growl that hummed against her lips as he kissed her. She traced his nose and jaw with her fingertips, fascinated as ever by the man she’d fallen in love with. So much nicer to be proven wrong. So much nicer to enjoy life’s surprises than for everything to go as planned. And all so strange and unexpected, this new life she’d inherited. If she managed to make her clients feel even half as wonderful as she felt, she’d be acing her job.

  “What?” Mercer asked after her fond preoccupation with his face had gone on for some time.

  “Nothing. Just admiring you. Thinking about how awesome you are. That sort of thing.”

  “Oh, don’t let me stop you. I mean, unless you could think all that stuff while we’re having sex,” he said, shifting beneath her and making his impatience plain.

  “I’m sure I could try.”

  She laughed as he flipped them over, straddling her in the dim room, grinning down at her. She stroked his bare arms, anticipation lighting her up.

  “Okay, then, Mr. Rowley. Show me what you’ve got.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of His First Noelle by Rhonda Nelson!

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Blaze story.

  You like it hot! Harlequin Blaze stories sizzle with strong, sexy heroines and irresistible heroes playing the game of modern love and lust. They’re fun, flirty and always steamy.

  Visit Harlequin.com to find your next great read.

  We like you—why not like us on Facebook: Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Follow us on Twitter: Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  Read our blog for all the latest news on our authors and books: HarlequinBlog.com

  Subscribe to our newsletter for special offers, new releases, and more!

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  1

  Six months later...

  DRESSED IN A courier’s uniform, newly minted security agent Judd Willingham made the short walk up the cracked sidewalk to the small front porch of the nondescript brick house. Twinkling Christmas lights with more burnt-out bulbs than working ones sagged from the eaves and a sad-looking wreath hung from a door in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. Dead weeds, their crispy skeletons all that remained from a robust summer, pushed up between the evergreen shrubs, crowding the flower beds on either side of the entrance, and a rusty mailbox hung drunkenly from a lone nail which was dangerously close to slipping from the mortar. Judd grimaced.

  This was the safe house? Really?

  Granted he hadn’t expected a mansion—the little town of Mossy Ridge, Mississippi, could barely afford its five-man police force, let alone a state-of-the-art safe house—but surely something a little more sound could have been made available. Considering this was the third time his target, Noelle Montgomery, had been evacuated due to another failed attempt on her life, no doubt their choices were dwindling.

  Honestly, when he’d been briefed on his first assignment for Ranger Security, Judd had expected something a little less grave than p
rotecting a key witness to a murder trial. After all, Jeb, his twin brother—older by two minutes and his exact mirror opposite—had merely had to find a jewel thief burgling a high-end retirement community. No life-or-death situation there. In fact, other than potentially getting run over by a motorized scooter, he hadn’t been in any danger at all. At least physically, anyway. Judd inwardly grinned. His heart was another matter altogether. Much to their equal astonishment, Jeb had found himself married at the end of his assignment.

  Having always enjoyed an almost supernatural twin connection, making sense of his brother’s feelings had been a little disconcerting. He’d picked up on a lot of awe, wonder, confusion and frustration. It wasn’t until Jeb’s, er, physical release—orgasms had never been a secret, a fact that had been quite embarrassing in their teens—that Judd had realized that his brother had fallen head over heels in love. Though he didn’t experience the sensations as strongly as Jeb—more shadowed and less profound than the original—he’d found himself a little envious of his twin.

  Not envious enough to want to permanently shackle himself to a member of the opposite sex though. He’d come damned close to that in his last year at West Point, a mistake he didn’t ever intend to make again. He smothered a dark chuckle.

  Fool me once...was enough. Lesson learned.

  Naturally he knew that all women weren’t faithless money-grubbing connivers, like the one who’d almost tricked him into an until-death-do-you-part, but knowing it and having it make a difference were two different things.

  Heather had studied him, understood his weaknesses and knew exactly what to say and do to appeal to his “hero” complex. In the end, his “damaged fragile flower in need of a protector” had been a two-time divorcée with multiple aliases and a rap sheet longer than the damned Declaration of Independence. And he’d nearly brought that viper into their family? His lips quirked.

  They already had one of those, thank you very much—his grandmother.

  The matriarch of the family and the formidable head of Anderson Enterprises, Twila Anderson was notoriously hard and could hold a grudge and her own opinion longer than anyone he’d ever known. She no longer had the ability to scare the hell out of him, but if he’d wanted to continue taking orders he would have stayed in the military. Though he could have gone to work for her, or any one of the company’s holdings, Judd had ultimately, once again, decided to follow in his brother’s footsteps.