Play Hard

by V. K. Sykes

  His eyes flared with fire. “Once we have the expectations and obligations clear, then we can discuss me going down on you.”

  Kat nearly choked. Setting the cup down, she pushed that image out of her head. His dark head bent… No. “Not interested.”

  He sat back, studying her. “I Googled you, Kat.”

  All her interest and wanton excitement chilled into a lump of dread and anger. “You’re just full of mad skills.” What was she to him, a curiosity? Did he get off on freak shows?

  “It was a fairly vague newspaper account of the attack you went through years ago. Cops found you unconscious. Never found your attackers. Since your limp didn’t come from the carjacking attempt, I’m assuming it’s from that attack.” He shifted and went on, “As well as the panic attacks. The reason you were afraid of me.”

  She disconnected, pulled away. It was one of her techniques to cope and protect herself. She focused over his shoulder at the painting of a dancer’s form done in bright yellow. “As impressive as all your research is, this isn’t going to work, Sloane.” She laid her hands flat on the table.

  He covered one with his warm fingers. “I have something, besides sex, that I can give you.”

  His touch seared her, not with the sexual vibrations of earlier, but with some need she couldn’t name. She yanked her hand away, clutching it in her lap. Keeping focus on the picture over his shoulder, she said, “And what would that be?”

  “I can teach you to fight and defend yourself.”

  Those nine words slammed into her and stirred her very soul. Roused a drive in her, a deep longing, she hadn’t even known she possessed. She turned her entire being to him. For one second, one blip in time, Kat imagined herself whole again. Strong.

  The kind of woman a man like Sloane Michaels would want.

  But the ache in her leg, and her memories, told her otherwise.

  Trying to regain her composure, she honed in on the yellow dancer’s form on the wall and told him the flat truth. “You don’t get it. I’m fine in my shop, or when I’m working. But otherwise, stressful situations can cause panic attacks.” She glanced at him. “Sex causes panic attacks, or it did last time I tried it. So this deal? Not happening.”

  She shoved to her feet, turned and walked away.

  Anna looked up from the tray of fresh cookies she was arranging. Her eyes widened behind her glasses.

  Kat just shook her head and went through the swinging door to her kitchen.

  Her safe zone.

  Cold industrial steel and the warm scents of baking surrounded her. Familiar and comforting. She put her hands on the end of her long stainless-steel work table in the center of the room. She lowered her head and dragged in a breath.

  Safe. It took her a year of working back here, pouring herself into baking, decorating, learning the difference between all the fancy classes she’d taken and the real world of running a bakery. A year before she’d finally been able to go out that swinging door to the front of the shop without panicking.

  The air in the room changed. Shifted.

  Charged with crackling tension.

  She should have known. Anna was no match for the will, the force, of Sloane.

  She kept her gaze on the scrupulously clean table beneath her hands. “You’re not used to being told no, are you?”

  “I’ve grown accustomed to getting what I want.”

  She heard him move nearer. Felt the fine hairs on her neck twitch. She knew he was close behind her, yet he didn’t touch her. Instead, he laid a thick, cream-colored business card on the table between her hands. SLAM Inc. Sloane Michaels, CEO was blazed across it. All the usual information. His hand vanished.

  “You already have my private cell number in your phone. Here’s the rest of my contact info.”

  His voice was so close to her back, she shivered. “Why are you pursuing me?”

  “Because I want you.”

  This wasn’t making sense. “Didn’t you hear what I said out there? It’s not happening.” He was scaring the shit out of her. As if he could peel back her skin and see her, all of her, not just the parts she chose to reveal.

  “I heard you. I also saw you crawling across the ground to get to your friend on Saturday night. You told me to get out of your space at the hospital. You have pink streaks in your hair.”

  “Lavender streaks.” Swear to God, she knew he smiled without seeing his face. Could picture the way his lips kicked up at the edges, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the man beneath the hardness.

  “Whatever, the streaks are hot. I want to pull that band out of your hair and rake my fingers through the strands. It’s distracting as hell. I’m barely working, not sleeping and not focusing enough on my training.”

  He thought her streaks were hot? Wait… “What training? I thought you were retired?”

  The silence tightened her neck. “I do exhibition fights.”

  For the first time, she had the sensation that he had shaded the truth. But what did she know? She’d barely spent any real time with him. She looked back.

  His gaze captured hers, searing her very cells.

  “You still fight.”

  “For charity, usually.”

  “And when you find thugs carjacking a woman so terrified she froze and let her friend get stabbed.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Kat.”

  She turned away. Needed to break that electric contact shimmering between them. “The hell it wasn’t. I froze. I saw the knife, but the guy’s back was facing Kellen. I could have warned him. Done something.”

  She stiffened when Sloane stepped closer, his chest brushing her shoulder blades. His arms came around her, his hands resting on the table next to hers. “I’m offering you the chance to learn how to fight back.”

  “But my panic—”

  “Fighting is as much mental training as physical. We can get you past your panic, Kat.”

  Shock vibrated through her. It was more than just the man surrounding her. Even before the attack, her parents had been protective and worried about her. Kat was different, artistic and not as academically focused as they had wanted, like Marshall her older brother. He was a genius like them, while Kat had disappointed them with her oh-so-average intelligence and desire to create. And since her injury, they believed her all but incompetent. Even Kellen was protective and cautious with her. The idea that she was capable enough to actually defend herself? That was astonishing.

  “Fight back.” She tasted the words, the sense of power they invoked in her.

  “I can teach you.”

  Teach her to be stronger.

  “But I’ll have to touch you.” He cupped his hands around her wrists and drew his palms up her arms in a slow stroke.

  Her skin pebbled, her nipples tightened, her reaction so strong she clenched her thighs. Not fear. Lust. Hot, bone-melting lust.

  “And, baby, I can’t put my hands on you…” he pressed his hips to her lower back, the hard ridge of his erection branding her, “…and not strip us both to our skin and fuck you until you’re screaming in pleasure.” His warm mouth brushed her neck. “No fear, just pleasure,” he whispered, teasing her tender skin. “I’m ready now.”

  Her panties were damp and snug against her aching cleft. How did he do this to her?

  He let go, stepped back. Cold air swirled in to replace the warmth of Sloane’s touch.

  “Call me when you’re ready.”

  Then he was gone, leaving her with clenched thighs and digging her white-knuckled fingers into the cold steel table.

  Chapter Six

  Thursday night, Kat arranged the store-roasted chicken and cold deli salads on a plate and took it to Kellen. Diego had meetings tonight, Kel’s parents were exhausted, so she was on duty. She handed him a bottle of water that he braced between his thigh and the arm of the recliner he sat in. “Need anything else?”

  “What, after you slaved on this gourmet meal?”

  He was working cranky like a secon
d skin today. Kellen wasn’t good at being sick. “I brought brownies. One more crack about my lack of cooking and I’m giving them all to Diego.”

  He curled his lip. “I can’t eat brownies if I’m not working out. You’re just torturing me.”

  “It’s what I live for.” She went back to the kitchen, got her plate, bottle of water and extra napkins. She settled on the big couch, tucking her bare feet under her.

  “Sorry. I want a brownie. I love your brownies.” Misery clouded his eyes.

  “That’s cuz it’s your mom’s super-awesome recipe. Everyone loves those brownies.” His parents had excellent recipes and had happily shared them with Kat. She used some of theirs, some of hers, and some were a combination of both their ideas.

  He ghosted something that might have been a smile. “I am sorry.”

  She waved her fork at him. “I tell you to fuck off and die when you’re pushing me in a workout. This is nothing.”

  “I hate this. I have to go on disability for a few weeks, I was already in huge debt, and with medical bills…” He trailed off, gazing at the movie he had playing on Netflix.

  Kat repressed her own wave of guilt. This wasn’t about her, but about Kel and his issues. “Diego is not Brian.” Kellen had been in a bad relationship with a man and endured escalating violence. Brian always blamed it on Kel’s lesser income and growing school debt, and somehow that had stuck in his brain. If he didn’t pull his financial weight, he’d get hit and be despised.

  “I know.” He looked up from his plate. “I do. Really. I just have too much time to think right now.” He forced a smile. “Tell me what’s going on with you. So you’re going to Marshall’s engagement party a week from Saturday?”

  Her stomach clenched at the reminder of the party for her brother and his fiancé. “Yes.” She rubbed her forehead. “David made a point of reminding me that he’d be there.” Of course he would. Marshall and David had been best friends since high school.

  Kellen’s face flushed with anger. “I’m going with you. I might have to sit a lot, but it’s better than you facing the weasel ex alone.”

  He would too. She knew he would, no matter how much pain he was in. But she wasn’t going to risk his recovery. “No you’re not. I handled David in my bakery, I can handle him at the party.” She hoped. She made herself eat some chicken as if she didn’t have a worry. It tasted like sawdust.

  “You’re getting tougher. Keeping the streaks in your hair?”

  That lifted her spirits, and she couldn’t resist grinning. “I’m told they’re hot.”

  “Not from David, I know that much.” Kellen set his fork down. “Spill it.”

  Kat debated telling him, but then she couldn’t hold back and burst out with the story of Sloane coming in the bakery the day before. Finally she stopped talking and took a drink of water.

  “Plus-one proposition.” Kellen flashed his killer dimples. “That’s not even the interesting part.”

  He was really enjoying this too much. “No?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. The fascinating part is that he figured out how to entice you. Not with the usual promises of clothes, jewels, vacations…no not for our Kat. You walked away from that world. You’re more interested in the latest industrial mixer and upscale baking chocolate. But he didn’t go there either.”

  “What makes you so sure he’s actually enticed me?”

  “Oh, he has, Kit Kat. Your voice changes when you talk about him.” Kel smirked at her. “He’s figured you out. And he’s offering you the one thing that scares you as much as it tempts you. Learning to fight back, to get stronger.”

  Her stomach clenched. “But what if I can’t do it?”

  He regarded her and asked softly, “What if you can?”

  She closed her eyes, trying to get a handle on the waves of worry, fear, longing.

  “I was scared too with Diego. You know that.”

  Yeah, she did. “Not the same thing. Sloane isn’t looking for a relationship.”

  “Are you?”

  Her guts burned. “No.” Never. She didn’t have that kind of trust in her anymore. Wouldn’t ever have it. “At least he’s honest about what he wants.”

  “What do you want?”

  She set her fork down. “I want to get stronger, Kellen. I don’t want to have a damn panic attack when I’m out of my safe zone. I’m so tired of being afraid.” It was a relief to say it. “But I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Just like recovering from your surgeries, and me learning to trust Diego, you take baby steps, kiddo. Start with one thing.”

  That made sense. She didn’t have to jump into this whole thing with Sloane in one leap. “A lesson in self-defense.”

  And, baby, I can’t put my hands on you…and not strip us both to our skin and fuck you until you’re screaming in pleasure. Taking this step would inevitably lead to the next. Excitement burrowed in her stomach, and lower. She didn’t remember any man ever having such a profound and visceral effect on her.

  Gathering her courage, she grabbed her phone off the coffee table, and before she lost her flash of bravery, she scrolled down to Sloane’s number. It was getting close to nine p.m. so she probably wouldn’t hear back from him tonight, but that was okay. She typed a text. Not exactly ready, but willing to try a self-defense lesson and see how it goes. She hit send.

  Maybe she wouldn’t have to face David alone at the party. She might have a plus-one after all.

  ***

  Late Sunday afternoon was usually a thin crowd at the gym. Sloane had just returned from a quick Vegas trip to talk to promoters about a fight next year. While he was there, he’d checked out a couple potential sites to build another gym.

  Back home now, he’d chosen the SLAM gym closest to where Kat lived for her first self-defense lesson. He went in, carrying his gym bag, and headed for the locker room. After changing into shorts and a T-shirt, Sloane stored his clothes then checked his phone.

  Nothing from Kat. He wondered if she was going to show. He knew what she was doing, testing the waters with a self-defense lesson. Trying to gage if she could trust him.

  It’d been a hell of a long time since he’d gone to this much trouble for any woman. But then Kat was different. Normally, his plus-ones were society women who enjoyed being seen with him and the luxuries he could afford. It was all effortless on his part.

  Kat sparked something in him, besides lust, that he hadn’t felt in a long time—she was a challenge.

  He walked out of the locker room and went over into the heavy-weight area toward the back.

  “Sloane.”

  “Vengeance.”

  “Michaels.”

  The guys greeted him by his various names. Vengeance had been his fighting moniker. In seconds, Sloane automatically shifted into training mode. Everything else slid away.

  Most of the cardio equipment was upstairs, but he got on a downstairs treadmill used for quick warm-ups or circuit training. He walked for a minute, then broke into a steady jog. He was only warming up, so five or ten minutes would do it. In the meantime, he studied the parts of the gym visible from where he was. Clean, and equipment appeared in good working order. Trainers were on the floor, watching and guiding.

  He turned to Ethan finishing his stretches. Sloane had hired Ethan Hunt as his driver and put him in his guesthouse. It was all part of his agreement to sponsor Ethan’s training with some personal attention. But that meant the kid had to be available when Sloane had time. And he had needed a job. Working as Sloane’s driver was a good solution.

  John Moreno came over.

  Without breaking his stride on the treadmill, Sloane nodded a greeting.

  “Saw Drake today. Hospital said they’ve done all they can. He needs hospice.” John leaned against the wall next to where Sloane ran.

  Fuck. There was no place he could go to escape the pain of Drake’s cancer. Keeping his gait loose and even, his breathing regular, he looked at John. “The specialist I had review h
is case this week said the same thing. Assholes.” Like they would let one of theirs go to an institution and rot away. He didn’t give a shit how good hospice was supposed to be—in his view it was still a fucking place to die, not live surrounded by the people who belonged to you.

  “So? Your place or mine?” John asked. “He’s welcome to come live with me, Sherry and the kids.”

  Sloane knew John meant it, but he rejected the offer. “My place. Drake likes the ocean. I’ll have Ethan hire nurses and whatever else he needs.”

  “Tell you what, let Sherry do that. She loves Drake. She’ll make the arrangements.” John glanced over at Ethan as he started the circuit of training on today’s agenda. “He’s a good kid, got potential.”

  Slowing to a walk now that his muscles were warmed, he pulled one arm over his head and began stretching. “He’s got the heart of a fighter. That’s why I hired you to train him.” Sloane would work with him too, but his time was limited. John’s full-time job was training fighters.

  “Yeah. No matter what I throw at him, he does it. Even if he has to crawl out of here.”

  Remembering his own bouts with indescribable physical agony at the hands of a trainer, Sloane smiled. “He loves the hot tub at my house.” It sat on his deck overlooking the ocean. He stopped the treadmill and wiped the towel over his face.

  John straightened. “See those chin-ups he’s doing?”

  Sloane checked out Ethan’s excellent control, steady lifts up to his collarbone, and then down without hunching his shoulders. “Yeah.”

  “Go demonstrate how to add weight.”

  Just like that, adrenaline flushed his system. Stepping off the treadmill, he reached behind his head and stripped off his shirt. He walked by the weights, grabbed a fifty pounder and went to show the kid how it’s done.

  Not only would it help the kid, it’d give Sloane the chance to vent his worry over Drake. And best part of all? Maybe he could wear down enough to touch Kat and not lose control.