He didn’t want to ruin this, because whatever silent understanding they’d agreed to as they ate, it was theirs. They could live here together, work together, and he’d try to keep his hands off her if she promised not to shoot him the death stare every time he fucked up.
They never uttered a word, but he understood.
She had sacrificed things for him. He got that. Her work. Her life. She’d put it all on hold. Here for the next four weeks, she was offering him not only redemption from his last loss, but a fresh start, and a healthy dose of self-respect.
Shit had gone down wrong at his last fight. Way wrong. It started heading south when R. L. told him about the bet he’d placed on the fight. Risky stuff if the boxing commission ever found out. He couldn’t fathom why R. L. would risk losing Stamina and ruining his reputation on an overseas fight. But now, seeing all the past due bills and miniscule bank balance, he knew shit had gone wrong way before he left for London. And betting on Jack was R. L.’s last hope of saving himself from the city that eventually wore everybody down.
But the promise of circumstances changing because of London was no better. The moment he got off the plane, the guy R. L. sent to act as his manager stole his passport, and shit kept going downhill from there.
As strong as he was, that trip changed him. His taste for boxing soured. And he doubted if someone as sweet as Daniella was going to change the flavor that sat so strongly on his tongue. So he picked out the best parts: the food, the cabin, and stealing looks at Daniella’s round ass. Maybe the best parts could make him hate himself a little less. Maybe the best parts were worth fighting for.
Or maybe, when shit went down and it opened scars so deep they’d probably never heal, remembering those best parts would be enough.
Chapter Eight
Daniella sat on the bed, rereading Jack’s contract while he put the last of the dishes away. Thankfully he didn’t talk to her during dinner. At least if he’d have brought the blonde, while still awkward, she would have given them both someone to talk to instead of just sitting and staring at each other.
Their current situation was weird, but necessary. Totally necessary. If she had any chance of rebuilding Stamina profitably, Jack had to win. And not only win, but win big. She looked up when his massive frame filled the doorway. “Just passing through,” he told her, and disappeared toward his bedroom.
“Wait.” She shuffled the paperwork around. “Have a seat.” His head poked in the doorway and she motioned to the spot on the bed beside her.
His icy blue eyes cut through the room to the place where her hand rested. “I’d rather sit out here, if that’s okay.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, of course.” Her posture straightened.
Great. Let’s just make a weird situation even more uncomfortable. Come on in. Sit on the bed, honey. Do me. Daniella: – 1, Professionalism: 0.
She bit her lip as punishment for suggesting something that could be misconstrued. If they were going to stay here together, she needed to do a better job of making sure there were no mixed signals. There was a line. A big one. And to ensure success of this entire plan, the line couldn’t be crossed.
She gathered her papers together and her tablet, and walked out of the bedroom. Her gaze traveled over to the sofa, the one they’d spent so many hours on the last time they were here, but he wasn’t there. Instead she turned her gaze to the cabin door. He’d left it open. Smart man. Outdoors was good. It was safe from past memories, and they could both use some fresh air.
She closed the door behind her and found him sitting on the porch steps. Walking down a few steps, she dropped down beside him. “This is who you’re up against.” She handed him her tablet.
He took the device from her and swiped his finger across the screen, moving from one photo to the next.
“That’s Ricardo ‘Boom Boom’ Cortez,” she said as he held the tablet and stared at it, presumably sizing him up. “He doesn’t look like much, but don’t underestimate him. He comes from the Elite Boxing Gym out of London. Those guys don’t mess around.”
A rush of air blew from his nostrils. She took it as if he were giving her a nonverbal We’ll see about that.
“Seriously,” she continued, and flipped to the next screen and played a video clip from his last fight, “he’s a brawler. A puncher. He’s got no footwork. No timing. And his left hook’s a mess.”
Glued to the video, he didn’t look up as he said, “Looks slow.”
She lifted her arm, reached across his body, and stopped the video. “He has more than twenty pounds on you. Your weight is what? Two eleven? He’s two thirty-five. And he takes a punch. He just stands there and lets his opponents beat on him. He’ll wear you down, make you tired until you can’t stand up, and then knock you out.”
He shot her a disbelieving look, and offered her the tablet back. “I can take him.”
“You can if you work hard. We’re going to work on your endurance, build it up. You’ll fight ten rounds, but we’re going to train for fifteen. If you knock him out, great. But you’re a boxer, Jack, and he’s not. Plan to win on points.”
His brow furrowed. “Points. That’s a pussy’s way out.”
She stood up. “What? You think you’re going to walk in there and knock his ass to the canvas? Keep dreaming. He’s tall, he’s got long arms. The man’s got a seventy-five inch reach.”
He didn’t react.
Oh my God.
It was as if she were talking to a wall.
She walked down the steps and started down the driveway. After a few lengthy paces, a pebble flew up into her flip-flop. Shit. She stopped to fix her shoe and Jack caught up to her. She lifted her foot, found the rock, and wiped it from the sole of her foot. Standing on one leg, she felt Jack’s hand wrap around her bicep to steady her.
“Thank you,” she said, lowering her foot to the ground as he removed his hand from her arm. They stood under a canopy of pine trees and she took in their gentle sway.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking at the trees.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to find one that’s as thick as your head.”
He looked away from her. “I don’t mean to . . .”
Her temper spiked. “To what? Second-guess me? Be extremely rude to someone who is only trying to help you? You need to win. We need to win. And winning starts with a plan. If you think Ricardo is eating McDonald’s and fucking his brains out when he’s got a fight in four weeks, you’re sadly mistaken.”
He shook his head. “It’s not about that.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Then what is it about?”
He shook his head again. Silent. “Wait a second. I have something for you.”
She felt her brow furrowing.
Jack quickly left her and hopped up the steps of the cabin. Disappearing inside, she waited for him to emerge.
“What is that?” She squinted at him when he reappeared in the doorway. Oh God. Was that her notebook from all those years ago? The one where she’d written down and analyzed every one of Jack’s punches, every exercise routine, every mile ran. God, what she wouldn’t give to have that thing right now.
“Thought you might need this.” He handed her the exact item on her mind.
“You saved it?”
Jack nodded. “There’s some really good stuff in here.”
Stunned, she didn’t know what to say, other than, “Thank you. I can’t believe you saved this.”
He shrugged. “It was the only piece of you I had left. I hoped one day you wouldn’t hate me so bad and I could return it to you.”
Hate him? She never hated him. Sure, he broke her heart, but he was the type of guy who would save her notebook. Maybe he’d never meant to hurt her after all . . .
She took a step closer to him, so close she could smell the sweat on his skin, and absorb the heat radiating off his body. How could one notebook, one symbol of their past, draw her to him l
ike this? His impenetrable wall of muscle and attitude sent a white-hot flash through her body. God, he was sexy. Yes, he was pigheaded, but when his stubbornness mixed with his thoughtfulness, it was one of the things that drew her to him. When he set his mind on something, he took it, and she remembered how her blood rushed when all he had wanted was her.
But now wasn’t the time to wrap herself up in nostalgia.
“You brought the notebook for a reason. Your last fight is tearing you up, isn’t it? What happened in London?”
He fixed his gaze on the landscape, giving her the silent treatment.
“Please. Tell me what happened, Jack.” She lowered her voice to a husky whisper.
A long pause stretched between them.
“Well, if you don’t tell me what went down, I’ll tell you what I heard.”
Still nothing. Silence. She was getting used to the quiet, so she continued. “I heard you flew to London, boozed it up in the clubs, and never went home alone. You showed up for the weigh-in hung-over. So dehydrated you could barely stand, and that’s when the opponent’s manager approached you with a little proposition, take a dive and fly home with a pocketful of cash. And you come back to the states and buy yourself a sweet new car, because your party boy ass agreed.”
He looked down at her. “Fuck you.”
“My father needed you and you let him down.”
“I never told him to bet on my fight. He jeopardized everything all on his own.”
“You knew and you didn’t stop him?” she yelled.
Jack perched both hands on his hips. “He told me after he’d already placed the bet. I was leaving for the airport. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
Fury welled up inside her. Her teeth gritted, jaw locked. She needed to leave before she started throwing punches.
“Win,” she said. Then taking a step away from him, Daniella turned around and walked back to the cabin. Alone.
Chapter Nine
Hours later, Jack lay in bed, eyes to the ceiling as Daniella’s words circled through his brain. That he took a dive—threw the fight—in order to get some cash. Sure, she’d have heard that by now. That’s what everyone thought. He flew home after losing a fight he should’ve won, bought a brand-new car, and word got out that he chose a payoff over a win.
Rumor. Innuendo. Bribery. That’s what his life had become. A scandal.
Just went to show him how fucked-up boxing really was and how little she knew about what went on before a boxer stepped inside the ring. She thought he was dirty? Fine. Let her think it. Hell, let them all think he was some kind of chump who could be bought. They could call him a stooge behind his back. It was better than the names he called himself. Of course he’d never scam R. L., his coach, mentor, and father figure. He was too loyal to make that kind of dick move on someone he cared for. He couldn’t change what people thought. Didn’t anyone get that? He wasn’t going to come home and whine about what happened like some candy ass. In his mind, he had lost the fight, and that was that.
Because he was the one who had to live with it.
He rolled over on his side and stared at the wall. The sheet twisted around his leg as if it were trying to hold him there and force him to think about the crap that went down in London.
He stretched, reaching for the fabric. Unwinding it from his leg, he threw it to the floor and then laid back down, only feet away from Daniella.
Tucking his pillow under his head, trying to get comfortable, the image of her crept into his mind.
Daniella.
Who did she think she was, anyway? A few videos on YouTube and a bunch of notes didn’t make her Don King. He’d have liked to see her try to make it out of London with a win. She’d said they needed a plan. There was never any plan. It was times like these he wondered if R. L. had set him up to fail. But then he thought of how much R. L. had risked, and nearly lost, and he knew he couldn’t have. All Jack wanted was to forget the whole damn thing. He wished he had known nothing. He would’ve given anything not to know R. L. had bet on his fight.
Daniella brought him to Tahoe to start over. And then she goes and starts digging up the past.
Screw it. There was no use in trying to sleep.
He got up and opened his door. Walking through the bathroom, he kept his eyes forward, not glancing at Daniella’s bed as he passed. He made it out into the living room, and his shoulders slumped.
There she was, sitting on the couch.
Her eyes followed his path to the sofa, and stared at him until he sat down with a plop. They sat in the dark. Together. The whole damn thing was weird.
“This was a mistake.” Her soft voice broke the silence. “I was foolish to think coming up here could get us through the next four weeks, but we can’t.” She paused for a beat. “There’s just too much history, and too much pain.”
He wanted to agree with her, but something deep inside him stopped him from saying so.
Daniella drew her feet up, tucked them underneath her body, and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “Going through dad’s papers, I found an eviction notice for Stamina. They want us out in thirty days.”
“What? We’re getting evicted?” His heartbeat raced.
She nodded, then gave a half shrug. “I think I can sell the cabin, pay everything off, the bills, your contract, and we can go our separate ways.”
“No, you can’t. You love this cabin. Well, I know you used to, anyway.”
“I still do. It was one of the few places I had my father all to myself.”
She fell silent after that. Hearing her talk about R. L. gave them both pause. Maybe she was right? She could sell it all and just be rid of the whole damn thing. Everything. All of it.
Go back to California.
That was what he wanted for her in the first place.
“I know it doesn’t matter, but I didn’t throw the fight.” He confessed into the darkness. “I never took that dive.”
“But you knew he bet on the fight.”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, and I tried like hell to win, but I couldn’t.”
The sounds of clothing moving against leather turned his gaze on her silhouette. Talking to him like this might make her uncomfortable, especially if she learned something she didn’t want to.
“I think that loss broke his heart,” she said eventually, the subject still focused on her father.
“He had you. His heart was never broken.”
She turned her head to look up at him, tears streaming. “I thought we could do this, we could build Stamina up again with this last fight, but it’s stupid. I was wrong. I’ve lost my dad, the gym, and I’m going to have to sell the cabin. I’ll lose the money I’ve saved to get us here.” She shook her head. “I can’t lose anymore. I can’t afford to lose everything.”
His stomach plummeted. He raised his arm and slid it around her shoulders. “We can do this.”
She shook her head. “No. We can’t. It’s just a dream in trying to save something that’s already dead, no matter what the reason is for saving it.”
“It’s not just a dream, though. We can save it. I win against Cortez, and the purse saves the gym. It’s that simple.”
“It’s that risky.”
He pulled her into him. Her body molded into his form and she placed a hand to his chest while she let the tears flow. He kissed the top of her head, soft, gentle, and let her cry, which was probably what she needed.
She cried as if she’d been holding everything back, and her emotions came out in a rush.
Daniella lifted a hand to wipe away the tears. She raised her chin. And her mouth was there. So close. So close to his that all he’d have to do was lower his head and touch his lips to hers, taking exactly what he wanted.
But he wasn’t going to be that guy. That opportunistic fuck. Not where Daniella was concerned.
Until she tilted her face upward. He felt as if her gaze were penetrating him through the darkness. Her soft hand rested on his jaw, and
the brush of her fingertips tilted his mouth down to meet hers.
Stretching up, she pressed her lips, softly, gently to his. Softly and so incredibly fucking sweetly she kissed his lips, taking his mouth to hers. He tried to hold back. Tried not to take advantage of her fragile state. But resisting her was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
She pulled her head back, just an inch, and said, “Kiss me, Jack.”
And that was all it took.
He crushed his mouth onto hers. Heat rushed through his body and he took her. Cradling her head in his hand, he kissed her until her sweet lips opened for him. A slight moan escaped her. At the sound, his tongue dipped inside, gently brushing hers, not forcing, simply tasting. Only taking what she offered.
God, he’d missed her. He missed them. Together. About the only thing in his life that he felt right about was when he was with her. With her he was home. With her he felt warm, and needed, and . . .
Greedy. He tasted her sweetness, driving his tongue deeper into her mouth, touching hers, showing her what he wanted.
Her.
It was all about her.
He pulled back, looking down into her dark eyes, and promised, “I won’t let you down.” He hugged her tighter as she gave a light sob. “We’ll do it your way. Make your plan.”
He didn’t know if she’d heard him because she didn’t stop crying, or say anything, as if his promise didn’t mean a damn.
Maybe it didn’t.
She rested her head against his chest. As the sound of her crying died down, he stretched back to lie down on the sofa, and brought her with him. He kept her nestled in the crux of his shoulder, and kept his arm wrapped around her tight, drawing in the scent of her flowery shampoo.
After a while in the dark and silence, her breathing evened and the heaviness in the air dissipated, leaving him in the calm, quiet dark. He held her while she slept. Thinking back, she was the only woman he’d held simply to watch while she slept in his arms. It was like he wanted to guard her, to protect her.
Fighting for It Page 5
