Beautifully Dangerous

by Chelsea Kendall

  “Archer claims that for a moment after he was knocked down, that he couldn’t see. You were right down there with him before he got up. What was your take on it?”

  “I believe Archer,” I reply. “He was looking right at me, but he didn’t even know I was there. It was only after I began speaking he oriented his gaze in my direction, but I could see something was wrong even before he told me he couldn’t see me. What could have caused it?”

  “A concussion, probably,” the doctor replies. “He’ll have to withdraw from the two remaining fights tonight...and the rest of the tour of course.”

  “What?” Archer and I shout in unison.

  “That’ll ruin him!” I say.

  “So will permanent blindness,” says the doctor.

  “You cannot take away the only thing he cares about,” I argue. “Look, you’re never gonna persuade him to step out of the ring.” Then a thought strikes me. “Let Archer do this. Let him fight three rounds. If in three rounds he hasn’t knocked out his opponent, then he throws the fight.”

  Mad Max turns on me. “What the hell? You can’t ask him to do that. You see the way he’s been fighting tonight. No way is he gonna knock out his next challenger.”

  “I’ll do it,” says Archer standing up. “I’m fine now.”

  I turn back to Mad Max. “If we don’t get his doctor to sign off on this, he can’t step back into the ring anyway. And by the looks of the doc, this is the only way he gives us the green light.” I look at the doctor. “Am I right?”

  His doctor nods. “I’ll agree to those terms. But if it happens again, either Archer withdraws from the tour or I do. Understood?”

  “Yes,” I reply without thinking.

  “I’m talking to Archer. Archer, do you agree to my terms?”

  He doesn’t even hesitate. The man wants to fight.

  Archer’s next opponent is already in the ring when he shows up. His opponent has taken the name Flash, after the comic book character Flash Gordon. He is rumored to be the quickest fighter on the tour, and he’s looking to finish Archer off for good. It’s common knowledge that something is going on in The Archer’s camp, and the vultures are circling.

  The crowd is so loud I don’t hear Archer’s name, nor do I see him enter the ring at first. I’m looking through my camera on zoom and studying Flash’s face. Like the comic book character, he has blond hair, tan, and he’s wearing yellow and red trunks. I may not have seen Archer enter the ring, but I know from Flash’s face the second he did. I also know this man, Flash, is gonna lose.

  Many times, fights are decided before the first punch is even thrown. It’s a mental game, and if you can get inside someone’s head and mess with him enough, you can beat him before the fight has even started.

  I study his opponent and zoom my camera in on his face. I can actually see his pupils dilate. That’s actually an understatement, they are blown wide open with fear, and Flash actually takes a step back away from Archer and the middle of the ring before the ref drops his hand to start the fight.

  The old Archer would have glided around the room like a big cat, looking for an opening so he could pounce, but not for this fight. The instant the ref drops his hand, signaling the beginning of the slaughter, Archer is on the attack. He’s not going to finish the fight in three rounds, he’s going to finish it in three minutes.

  As Archer charges, the man takes one more step backwards and runs up against the back of the cage. The guy makes a half-hearted attempt with his signature left-right combination that probably would have laid out a normal man. Archer merely bats the blows away and follows with a right elbow to the guy’s jaw, followed by a left hook before striking the guy in the crotch so hard with his right knee he actually picks the guy up off his feet.

  Flash drops to his knees, and Archer drives his left elbow directly onto the base of the man’s skull. It’s a devastating blow, and combined with Archer’s weight transfer into the strike, it could be deadly.

  The attack lays his opponent at his feet, sprawled out on his face, motionless, and all it took was three elbows and a knee. I zoom in on Archer’s face and it makes me tremble in spite of myself. Archer has become an animal once again. I doubt he’s going to be suffering any more losses from now on.

  The sentiment of the crowd has changed as well. People are back to cheering for Archer. I pan around with my camera, and his name is on the lips of every single person there. Even after they have announced his next opponent, no one even bothers to acknowledge his presence in the arena.

  I look back to where Archer is standing in his corner with Mad Max and his doctor. I feel like I need to connect with the man on a human level before I start to fear him. As I zoom in, Archer suddenly becomes aware of my presence and looks right at my camera. I zoom in to where his lips are filling the screen. He is speaking. I can’t make out his all his words but I know he is speaking to me.

  I pan back a little so I can see his entire face. His blue eyes have softened, and whatever was there before that had terrified his opponent is absent now. Even though most of his words are a mystery to me, he is trying to tell me something; words that he would never be able to vocalize with me present. I catch my breath as my name forms on his full lips, then he places his hand over his heart.

  Suddenly I can’t breathe. He is still focused on me, tuning out the rest of the world. I whisper his name and place my hand over my own heart. He smiles, message received. He looks away and I can see his face harden as he focuses on his next opponent. Finally, I can breathe again. I have made contact with my man, and all is well.

  Archer wins his third fight in the first round as well. It’s so quick, even his fans don’t quite realize what they’ve just witnessed. The man is in rare form. The last two fights are so fast his opponent’s names don’t even register in my mind. I just know that he’s won.

  What should have been a wonderful evening’s celebrations are marred by a chance encounter I have with Koenig as I pass him in the hall on the way to the locker rooms. Koenig has also won his fights, two Saturday and two tonight, so there is no reason for the scowl plastered on his face. He is on the phone all but yelling at the person on the other end of the line. I would love to know what’s got him so worked up, but he’s speaking in fucking German.

  I glance down as I pass him and see that he's clutching the fighter bracket in his first. What could possibly be wrong? He won his fights and Archer turned his around. There is nothing the man could be so upset about.

  As I reach Archer’s locker room, I just can’t get the picture of the chart out of my mind. There is something there that I am just not quite grasping, and as I get deeper into this game, I'm not certain I want to either.

  Chapter 10

  Not the Other Woman

  “Come in.”

  It’s Archer’s voice on the other side of the door, but he sounds different. I swipe my key card through the slot and open the door. Archer is sitting on the end of his bed, holding a ceramic urn in his hands. He barely glances up to acknowledge my presence before returning his focus to the urn.

  He's a man deeply troubled. I can see it from the lines on his forehead and at the corners of his mouth. His whole body is tense. His giant shoulders are taught, looking like he’s in the middle of a shrug. I sit down beside him on the bed.

  He smells so good. My heart skips a beat as my nose is filled with his natural scent. His hair is still wet from the shower and he’s wearing a large towel around his waist. My attention bounces from his tanned muscular chest to the object in his hands, and back again.

  I’m not exactly sure what to do in these situations, so I just wing it. I place my hand on his forearm. I can feel the muscles there, as well as his bulging veins. You’re not born with veins like that. You gotta earn them. They come from hours spent in the gym while the rest of the non-corded vein population goes along blissfully unaware of how attractive forearms like that are.

  I look at my own forearms. No one’s ever accused me of
having good veins. I’m fit, no doubt about that. However, my fitness is more from good genetics than from exercise. Sadly, good genetics only get you to your forties. That means I still have 15 years of genes before I have to become one of those people who spend hours at the gym fighting mother nature; when they’d rather be in bed with a good book. That is, unless I wanna spend half my golden years in a nursing home.

  A wet droplet falls on my hand. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s a tear. I’m stunned. The old Archer would never have let himself be this vulnerable, not with anyone. I feel honored, and unworthy. What have I done to deserve this? I have just hung out and stalked the man with my video camera for days on end.

  I steal a look at his face. When some people cry, their faces become contorted and downright ugly. Not Archer’s. I watch him suffer in silence for as long as I dare, then look back down to give him privacy. We sit there for another ten minutes or more, until he gets up, walks over to the fireplace and puts the urn on the mantle.

  Despite the somber occasion I can’t help but wish his towel would choose this moment to unravel and fall to the floor around his ankles.

  He walks back to the bed where I’m sitting and holds his hands out to me. I hesitate for a moment, then place my hands in his—they dwarf mine. I rise as he gently tugs on my hands. I’m standing in front of the great and powerful Archer. I am so close to him my forehead rests against his chest. I am trying my hardest not to breathe fast. I’m trying to quiet my pounding heart. I don’t want him to know that just the close proximity to his body drives me mad with lust. I can’t let him know he has that much power over me, not at his stage of the game.

  I almost gasp as his arms slip around my shoulders and he gently pulls my body to his. I’m lost. My earlier protestations fly out the window, never to return. I’m a good person. I would never initiate this, not when he has a girlfriend a continent away. But he is starting it. He knows how I feel about being the other woman. I made myself very clear on that the other night. So it stands to reason that he has relegated her to “the other woman” status, and I am his woman now.

  His hands are moving along my back, and I can feel my skin respond to his touch. His fingers are leaving fiery trails up and down my back. I shiver. No man has ever made me feel this way from something that’s not even sexual. My turn.

  I place my hands on his chest and explore muscles that I have been drooling over from day one. I let my hands do the walking from his massive shoulders to the edge of his towel. I feel a hand underneath my chin, lifting. His lips meet mine. Our mouths open. Our tongues collide. That first kiss, that first passionate, lustful longing expressed with such a small part of our bodies, is sensory overload. I just want to be swallowed up as my mouth hungrily seeks his out, longing to be devoured.

  I just about bite his lip clean off when he takes the bottom of my tee and starts pulling it up. He stops for a second, then resumes when he feels me relax. And it’s done. My shirt is on the bed and his hands are fumbling with my bra strap. When he finally gets it undone, I lean into his body, not quite ready to have my breasts exposed.

  His mouth is on my neck now, sending delicious chills of pleasure straight to my nether regions. I can’t help it. I lean away from his chest, allowing my bra to fall between us. Soon as it drops, I press my breasts up against his muscular body, rubbing my sensitive nipples against his taut skin. It’s like there’s a pipeline straight from my nipples to my sex. The energy is surging back and forth, breasts to pussy and back again.

  I can’t stand this anymore. I have to have him. He has to possess me. I need to feel him inside me. I hook my thumbs in my sweatpants and slide them down over my hips and knees. What a perfect time to have gone commando. As I kick off my sweats, I feel the towel that was between us drop to the floor. The instant that barrier is gone and as our hips meet, I am lost in lust.

  Soon his mouth is exploring my thighs. Then I’m kneeling between his legs. His member is huge, hard as steel, pulsating and throbbing in my mouth. My ears are filled with his moans of decadent pleasure, my nose his musky sent, and my mouth, his indescribable taste.

  Now his hands are on my thighs, spreading my legs and exposing my sex to his urgent need.

  “Please…” I beg. “Please…”

  I feel his erection for the first time against my sex. He slams it home as our hips meet. His mouth finds mine as he thrusts like a jackhammer, so fast and so thoroughly deep I begin to orgasm almost immediately. He makes me respond. I have no choice, he has total command over my body and I love it. The next hour is a dizzying, pleasureful array of feelings, tastes, aromas, and textures as we experience one another’s bodies for the first time.

  When we are both equally sated, there is weariness in my body. It has been a long ride. He is lying on his back and I on my side with my head on his chest and my legs still intertwined in his. From the rhythmic sound of his breathing, I can tell he has finally found sleep.

  I wonder what tomorrow will bring. Will he acknowledge that things have changed between us, or will he just go about business as usual and expect me to do the same? I can’t do that. This was too fulfilling to pretend that our souls didn’t connect tonight. Whatever it was, I have never felt this kind of connection with another living being and I don’t want to lose it.

  As I lay on his chest, my mind keeps racing a million thoughts a second. His lovemaking gave me a shot of adrenaline that I have yet to come down from. I’m wondering, will I be the next Mrs. Archer? I don’t even know his real last name. At least I don’t have to sit at home wondering if he’ll call. I’ll be in his face 24/7 like usual, so he can't exactly avoid me. Will he take me on his vacation after Christmas, or will he be so sick of me by then he’ll need the two month break?

  Maybe he’s dreaming about me? I lift my head off his chest and look at his face. His lips are pursed and his jaw is tense. I look down and he’s clenching and unclenching one fist. Must be a bad dream. I lay my head back down on his chest and once more I feel like everything in my world is perfect. I have the perfect job and now the perfect man. Unless I’m just another conquest...Am I a conquest?

  When my eyes first open, I’m confused. Then I realize whose bed I’m lying naked in. I look around, but Archer is nowhere to be seen. The covers are all on the floor. That means when Archer got up he had all the time in the world to just look at my naked sleeping body and I couldn’t do a thing about it. Damn. I look at the clock. It’s almost seven. That means Archer has just finished breakfast.

  I throw on my sweats and head down to my own room. I need to get dressed quickly and get my butt down there before Archer starts thinking I’m going to take advantage of this relationship...or whatever you call it. I’m so focused on getting ready, I fail to notice the huge bouquet of roses on my table till I pass it the second time.

  My heart leaps in my chest and tears spring from my eyes like a fountain. I can’t believe it. There’s a single card attached to the vase. I open it and find five words scrawled in ink.

  “You’re not the other woman.”

  How did he know I would be thinking that? He may not say a lot, but the man misses nothing. I finish dressing with a spring in my step. I’m halfway down to the first floor when I realize I left my camera in my room. I get off on the third floor and get back on another elevator to go back up to the 5th floor. As I get off the elevator, Koenig is just getting on. I am just on the verge of giving him a big smile and warm welcome, but the look he gives me chills me to the soul.

  His eyes blaze with evil intent as he passes me by. His look is so wicked and cold, I feel like I need to protect myself from him now. I hurry to my room and grab my camera. I stop at the flowers and read the note again.

  I feel like I’m drawing energy from the note and the flowers. I feel a little less vulnerable now. What have I done to Koenig to warrant that look he just gave me? It takes a lot to hate another human; therefore, it must take a lot to make another person hate you. What could I have possibly do
ne to incur such hate? I really can’t ask Archer, either. No way will he believe that about his best friend. I will have to tread lightly and make sure I’m never alone anywhere with that man again.

  Mad Max is the first person I see in the gym. He comes over and gives me his customary pat on the shoulder, breaking out into a huge smile.

  “What is it?” I ask, confused.

  “Oh don’t give me that bull shit. Our man wouldn’t shut up about you at breakfast.”

  “Really, what did he say?”

  He smiles real big. “He said, ‘I like her’.”

  “What?” I ask, even more confused. “What exactly did he say?”

  “I like her.”

  “That’s it?” I ask. “He said, I like her?”

  “That’s all he said missy. He's not one for words.”

  I give Mad Max another hug and hurry off to find Archer.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Egyptians and the Israelites

  I’m seeing Archer from a whole new perspective. I used to just stand there filming, wondering what all those muscles might feel like under my fingers. Would he be a gentle lover or a rough one? Now I can say from experience that he is a gentle, knowledgeable lover, attentive to a woman needs.

  Our lovemaking last night has left me with a craving for more. I can’t wait to feel those hands on my body and his lips on mine again. These thoughts consume my mind as I film my man going through his paces with Mad Max.

  After an hour or so, Max turns Archer loose to stretch and he walks over to where I’m seated.

  “Ya mind a little company?” Max asks politely. I’m always happy to speak to him. Next to Andy, he’s always been the other person in this crew I spoke to the most. “Nice to get off my dogs for a bit.”

  We sit there in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before I ask a question that’s been bothering me for a while.