Hope swirled and bounced around her brain.
She tried relaxation. Shutting down her mind and focusing on something else didn’t work. Holding back became futile. Daniella reached across her bed and grasped the tablet. She clicked on the icon, taking her straight to the sports section of the Las Vegas Times.
And she read.
The current heavyweight champion, Alexander Sokoloff, was making a bigger name for himself. In the article, Sokoloff was quoted for putting together a list of contenders he wished to face in the ring. On the top of the list were two names side by side, Ricardo Cortez and Jack Brady.
Her pulse quickened. Flashes of heat ran though her body. She allowed her eyes to skim the column, and with each line, her temperature rose so high that if her body were made of anything other than human flesh, she’d have melted. Excitement about the article flooded through her.
Printed in black and white was Sokoloff telling the world he wanted to face the winner of Jack’s next fight. And with the right amount of luck and preparation, his opponent would be Jack.
“Jack,” she called out, “are you there?”
In minutes, his body ate up the space at her door, drenched in sweat. He moved into the room, gasping for breath. “What’s wrong? Need something?”
It was then she realized she had interrupted his workout. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known you were busy.”
His face scrunched up. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
“It’s, well, look.” She held out her tablet for him.
Jack took the device and read aloud. “In a bold move, the current heavyweight champion, Alexander Sokoloff, held a press conference and announced a list of opponents he wanted to see on future cards. Topping the list were Ricardo Cortez and Jack Brady, indicating that the reigning champion knows that the winner of the Cortez/Brady fight poses the greatest threat to his future title.” There was no inflection in his voice. He could have been reading an article about how to make animals out of bath towels with the interest he showed.
“Great. It’s great, isn’t it?” She gave a hopeful smile.
“I’m not sure I understand what’s so great about Sokoloff calling people out.” Jack grunted. “Seems like a dick move to me.”
“He called you out by name because he sees you as a threat to his title.” She let out a self-satisfied huff. “I’ll be surprised if I don’t get a call from Sokoloff’s camp ready to arrange a card the second you beat Cortez.”
“I guess that is good news.” Still, his excitement had yet to break through his baritone voice.
He placed the tablet on the dresser. “Shakes dropped off some crutches this morning. Would you like to go for a drive?”
She looked down at her throbbing ankle. Part of her didn’t feel like moving, but she knew she had two choices facing her: sit here and stew over a bum ankle, or get some air and stew. There wasn’t shit she could do about her immobility, but a drive with Jack was sure to cure her glumness over her foot. Air sounded like a good idea.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
Jack retrieved the set of crutches from the kitchen, and brought them around to her beside.
“Thanks,” she said, “but I hate using these things. They’re so uncomfortable.”
“I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you, caveman style.” He swept her up into his arms and lifted her off her feet.
“Put me down.” She cackled out a laugh. For a second she thought he might drop her, and felt her eyes widen.
He lowered her slowly to the floor. Reaching for her hand, he helped her to stand. “Maybe use the crutches today. We can have Shakes check your ankle later to see if it’s healed enough to stop.”
She agreed.
“How’d you get dressed this morning?”
“I hopped.” She smiled. “I hopped to the kitchen and made coffee, too.”
Nothing got in the way of her and coffee, not even a sprained ankle.
She placed the crutches under her arms, hobbled around the bed, and made her way through the door of her bedroom to the kitchen. Jack followed her until she stopped at the cabin door.
He passed her and opened it, and she limped out onto the deck, stopping at the steps. “For now, though, I think the carrying is in order.”
Before she could object, he hoisted her into his arms. She let out a yelp. Bounding down the steps, he leaned the crutches against the car, placed her onto the ground, and opened the door. They stood teasingly close to one another. The last time they’d been this close, body to body, he’d given her that kiss. The one that weakened every muscle inside her. The one he’d given her before he asked if he was less important than Stamina.
Of course he wasn’t.
She missed that kiss, and she wondered how much time would pass before they could share it again. Before she could find out, he quickly helped her inside and shut the door.
The car’s engine roared.
Together they drove through Tahoe, passing the diner with the killer milkshakes, a few shops, and some tourists. They started to loop back around toward the cabin, until Jack took a slight detour.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
A few minutes later the car stopped at the spot near the lake. Their spot. She took in the distance between the car and lake, noting the trees, sand, and underbrush.
“Jack, I can’t get through there like this.” By the time she objected, he had gotten out of the car. Her door swung open and he offered her his hand.
She took it and got out of the car. “What are you going to do? Carry me down there?”
“Yep.”
In a flash again, he cradled her. He made his way from the car, careful to avoid the canopy of tree branches, and plopped her down, lakeside. He sat on the ground beside her.
“Better?”
She paused, taking in the scenery. The calm blue of the sky and water washed over her, and she breathed. “Much.”
In the distance, a bird passed in front of them, and together they watched it fly against the mountainous backdrop littered with green trees.
In that moment, it seemed as if it were only the two of them on the lake. The way it used to feel when they were here together. Lake Tahoe was their private playground.
“Things used to be so good between us, Jack. It was the two of us against the rest of the world.”
He turned his head toward her. “It still is, Dani.”
She craned her neck in his direction. “You haven’t called me Dani in years.”
“Maybe Shakes is wearing off on me.”
She let it slide. Being under the same roof had bred a new sense of familiarity between them. She wasn’t going to let the name he called her when they were together work her up. Placing a hand on his knee, she said, “Thanks for taking care of me.” She gave his leg a light squeeze.
He nodded. “Well you’ve been a real pain in the ass over the last twenty-four hours. I’m not sure if I can take much more.”
Balling her fingers into a fist, she slugged him playfully in the thigh. “Jerk.”
He smiled.
They both turned their heads in the direction of the lake. Sunlight glinted off the water.
“Dani,” he said softly. “About London.”
“It’s okay, Jack. You don’t have to tell me.”
“I do.” He grabbed her hand and held it in his. “Shit went down I’m not proud of. But still, you should know.”
It was as if the sounds of nature went silent. Whatever had happened, she didn’t know if she wanted to know it or not. Learning what happened in London might ruin the relationship she’d work so hard to rebuild with Jack. She wet her lips and said, “Okay, what happened?”
He placed her hand down on his thigh. Still looking out on the lake, he started talking. “We landed late. After midnight. Nobody was there, even though the London promoter had promised someone would pick me up. So I went downstairs, got my bags, and this guy came up to me, said R. L
. sent him. Said his name was Jay Clarke. He was going to act as my handler for the fight. I called R. L. and confirmed everything. The deal seemed to be on the up-and-up, so I left with him. From the second I stepped outside the airport, shit went bad and it never got better.”
She looked over at him. “What do you mean?”
He squinted as if he were watching the memory play out in front of him like a movie. “First, Clarke started out being all chummy, like he was a long-lost friend or something. He wanted to take me out, show me the city, and stop for a few pints at the pub. But I wasn’t into that. I was there to fight.”
He paused to wet his lips, and then he continued. “Well, Clarke didn’t like that, and acted as if I’d offended him. Maybe I did, but I didn’t care. I was there to do a job and go home.”
“Of course you were.”
“So the next day, I discover my passport is missing. I tell Clarke. He says not to worry. Said he’d handle it, and told me to focus on the weigh-in that afternoon. I believed him.”
He paused again, and let out a long exhale.
“So Clarke joins me at the weigh-in, but looks disappointed when I make weight. He didn’t know R. L. had me reduce my water intake days before the fight to allow for the added water weight I’d pick up on the plane.”
He glanced down at her. “That night, as I’m in the dressing room getting taped up, Clarke comes to me with my passport. He says if I agree to go down in the sixth, the promoter agreed to double the purse. If not, well, he looked down at my passport, as if it might disappear again.”
“What did you do?”
Jack shook his head. “Fuck that. I was there to win the world championship and take home the title. I told him to go fuck himself and that was the end of it . . .”
“Until the sixth round,” she interrupted. “I saw the tapes.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I was looking good, feeling good, landed a shit-ton of punches and knew if I couldn’t knock the guy out by the end of the seventh, I’d win on points. But Clarke was working my corner, and between rounds he rinsed out my mouth and told me to swallow the water.”
“But Dad always said rinse and then spit. Never drink.”
“I know. When I spat he jammed that fucking bottle in my mouth and squeezed. I spit out most of it, but by the middle of the sixth round, my gut was in knots, cramping so hard. Dizziness clouded my head. My head was so thick I could barely stand.”
Her stomach plummeted. “Clarke spiked your water bottle.”
“Damn right he did.”
Oh my God.
She couldn’t have imagined something like this happening, although she’d heard stories within the world of professional sports. The Confederation of Brazilian Football and FIFA had suffered something similar in the World Cup match against Argentina back in the nineties, if her memory served. Her father had always been cautious about international fights for this very reason. No standardized sanctioning. Once things went overseas, all control was lost.
She and Jack could protest and file a complaint, but who would own the problem: the International Boxing Organization, or the World Boxing Council? Each could blame the other. Without one governing body establishing ownership over the problem, anything could happen. Or worse, nothing would.
After a moment she asked, “Once the fight was over, what did you do?”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “I got to the dressing room and vomited. Clarke unwrapped my hands, put me in his car, and I thought he was going to take me to a hospital. Instead he dumped me curbside at the airport like garbage.”
She lifted her hand from his leg, and grasped his hand again. When their fingers intertwined, he said, “I spent the night puking in the airport men’s room. The next afternoon I made my flight back to Vegas. I didn’t hear about R. L. until Mike picked me up at McCarran.”
“Did you ever hear from Clarke again?”
He shrugged. “No.”
Her stomach rolled. Sickness threatened to rise up into her throat. Never in her life had she expected a story so awful and so illegal.
“Did you report it? Isn’t there something we can do?” Her voice sounded strained. “What can we do?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? I can’t sit back and do nothing.”
“You have to. I’m not whining about what happened like a little bitch. If I knew what they put in the water or had a witness, I’d raise hell. I can’t, not without any corroboration.”
She hated this. The feeling of having her back placed against a wall ate a hole through her stomach. The situation left her with no other choice than to keep her mouth closed, which seriously pissed her off. She couldn’t imagine what this was doing to Jack. He’d been through so much in London, and after he’d been set up to lose, they’d made him look like a failure.
The corners of her mouth pulled down.
He squeezed her hand. Heat passed from his skin, soaking into hers. Warmth relaxed her.
Daniella’s mind raced. “If we beat Cortez, that sets the stage for a rematch for the title fight with Sokoloff.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But if we lose . . .”
“We’re a team. We won’t lose.” Her chin jutted out. Confidence welled inside her.
“We won’t.” He leaned in her direction and snaked an arm around her hips. Cupping her ass, he pulled her to him, and she allowed him to take her in whatever direction he wished. He squeezed her into him for a moment. She didn’t speak. She allowed her eyes to soak him in. She made note of each well-defined muscle in his arm, every dip and every teasing inch of skin.
He pressed her back against the ground, covering her body with his.
Slamming his mouth against hers. Oh God, how he kissed her. He pressed his tongue between her lips and she opened her mouth. She loved it, the weight of him hovering over her, and that phenomenal, mind-blowing tongue meets tongue kiss. She gave into him and he took what he wanted. Together they fought against so much. Friendship. Respect. Attraction. And the craving for each other that she knew she’d kept hidden for years.
His kiss was hard, yet tender.
And told her so much.
Light fingertips trailed down the side of her cheek, stopping at her jawline, pressing her mouth closer, deeper into his.
He kept taking, so she gave even more. Her heart raced. Their attraction was more intense than any workout, more exciting than any fight. God, she wanted him. She wanted him to be hers and only hers. To have his lips only kiss hers. Forever. She wanted not the way they were when they were younger, but the way they were now.
Together.
And so freaking hot for each other.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, and for a moment her heart pounded so hard she thought her chest might split open.
He looked down at her, and gazing into her eyes, he said, “Are you with me?”
She raised her hand and cupped the back of his neck. Before she brought his face down again to meet hers, she smiled and replied, “Always.”
Chapter Twenty
Jack never considered himself to be a pussy when it came to working out. His regimen, like a religion, took dedication. Yet in the days that followed their kiss at the lake, he found himself hanging around the cabin more. Like now, he grabbed his jump rope and took it outside. Skipping rope in the driveway was the same cardio workout as running half-mile sprints down the road. Sure, he told himself, he stuck close by in case Dani needed something. With that ankle of hers combined with how much she hated using crutches, another fall may mean a few more days of tape and ace bandages.
But her injury wasn’t why he chose to train close to home.
It was her.
All her.
He turned the rope over in his hand and started jumping in timed intervals, keeping a close watch on the front door in case Daniella appeared. Ever since he told her about London, it was as if a chunk of wall between them had crumbled. She’d allowed him to make her dinner,
and surprisingly didn’t raise hell when he made brown rice, a carb, to go along with their grilled fish and vegetables.
A warm sensation filled his body that had nothing to do with his workout. He liked how they’d made a little routine of sitting on the sofa together after dinner, before his evening workout with Shakes. She’d prop her ankles on his thigh, and he’d massage her good foot. They’d talk about the fight plan, and she’d unload her thoughts about the boxing world.
But they had more than that.
So much more. He had to press his lips tightly together to keep from smiling. He didn’t want to show her his contentment. He didn’t want her to know how happy he was. Not just happy. Elated, like some fucking teenager, but this was no puppy love. His heart hammered in his chest just to sit next to her. To talk to her. To kiss her, and run his hands on her body. But he couldn’t show her how he felt.
Because to her, their relationship was all business.
Sure, they’d kissed. Many, many times.
He chalked their attraction up to old time’s sake, and him just being a horny dog, because if he told her how much he liked being with her, taking care of her, training with her, she’d never believe him. No matter what he did or said, she’d always see him as the guy with too many women on his speed dial. Each one as meaningless to him as the next.
He stopped jumping rope, took a break, and walked in a circle, bringing down his heart rate. Wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hand, he took a few deep breaths before setting the timer on his phone for another go with the rope. He caught his breath, set the timer, and started another rhythmic round.
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