Fighter's Heart: A Hot Sports Romance (Crown MMA Romance)

by A. Rivers

He grins. “Maybe we should be. It’s only fair that you spill all your secrets if you want to know mine.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not an interesting story. The opposite of yours, actually. Grew up rich, refused to settle down with a nice boy like my parents wanted, paid my own way through college, and now I live in a tiny apartment I can hardly afford because I’m drowning in student debt.”

  “Huh.” His brows draw together. This clearly isn’t the story he expected, either. “But you look so”—he waves a hand at me—“put together.”

  A laugh-snort escapes me, and I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, my God.” I can’t believe I just made that sound in front of him. I might actually die of humiliation. “I only look put together.” I keep my face in my hands. “It’s my job to appear that way.”

  “So others trust you to make them look good, too?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Lena.” He touches my chin with a slight but firm pressure. “Look at me.”

  I raise my head and find him watching me intently, hunched forward so his gorgeous eyes aren’t far from mine. “Yeah?”

  “Your laugh is fucking cute.”

  I laugh-snort again—a nervous reaction—then groan. “It is not.”

  “Is too.”

  Straightening, I try to preserve what’s left of my dignity. “We should stop arguing like kindergartners over something that doesn’t matter.”

  His gaze pins me to the spot, and I’m unable to move. Hardly able to breathe. “I know you’re not a kindergartner, Lena.”

  Why does he keep saying my name? Does he know how crazy it drives me?

  Danger zone. Get back to business.

  Shaking off the effect of his statement, I raise my glass, only remembering when it touches my lips and his pupils dilate that he’s just been drinking from it himself. Forget danger zone, I’m heading into the territory of screwed beyond redemption.

  “So…” I say slowly, gathering my wits from a puddle on the floor. “What else do you do with your spare time? Is there anything I need to worry about coming out of the woodwork?”

  Jase draws back and continues eating his second salad. I’d think he was ignoring me, except his brow is furrowed in thought. “You shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” He polishes off the salad in a few massive mouthfuls and moves to the third, which looks like a mound of seasoned potatoes. “I used to be a party boy, can’t deny that, but I didn’t get to where I am by being that guy. I rarely drink anymore, don’t do drugs, and don’t fuck around indiscriminately. Haven’t done that for a couple years.”

  My mind catches on that last part. “I thought all MMA fighters fucked around. Isn’t that part of the code, or something? All those hot girls throwing themselves at you must be hard to resist.”

  His gaze flickers up and locks on mine as he chews. When he’s finished, he swipes my water and drinks, his throat pulsing. “Didn’t say I always resist, but I don’t jump into bed with just anyone.”

  I have a feeling I won’t like hearing what comes next, but I need to know anyway. “Elaborate.”

  “I have a few girls I hook up with when I’m not in fight camp.” He shrugs. “They use me, I use them, and we all leave happy.”

  For some insane reason, the thought of these anonymous girls being with Jase makes me want to hunt them down and scratch their eyes out. He must read something in my expression because one side of his mouth hitches up.

  “Pull your claws in, kitty. I don’t have sex during fight camp, so I haven’t been with anyone for a couple of months.”

  I gape. A couple of months? For a guy like him, that’s an eternity. I expected him to have a different woman in his bed every weekend. Jesus, he must be wound tight. I bet all it would take is a few well-placed touches to make him desperate… and the thought of having this big man under my power is seductive as hell.

  Not appropriate. He’s a client, and a fighter. He’s not for you. Keep your hands to yourself.

  “Why?”

  “Superstition. Most sportsmen have their share of idiosyncrasies. Surely you know that.”

  “Yeah, but the spoiled football players I usually deal with wouldn’t go a week without a woman. If they could score two or three at once, they’d yell it from the rooftops.”

  “Football players.” He pulls a face. “That’s who you usually work with?”

  “Football players, hockey players, and the odd basketball player.” None of them remotely as unsettling as Jase.

  He grins. “I bet they don’t have a clue what to do with a girl like you.”

  I smile back. “They like to think they could try.”

  Jase reaches over and envelops my hand with his, his thumb drawing swirls on my palm. “If I had the chance, I’d know what to do with you.”

  I gulp. I don’t doubt it for a moment, but I shouldn’t encourage him, either. Even if he’s a decent guy for the most part, he’s still capable of violence, and what’s more, the company has a policy against fraternizing with clients. Considering it’s our job to protect their image, engaging in intimate activities with them is out of the question.

  “So.” My voice comes out as a squeak, and I cough to clear it. “What do you do when you’re not training?”

  Reading my cue to back off, he resumes eating. “I watch fight videos with my brothers for research, and coach the kids at my old community center.”

  “I didn’t know you had brothers.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I call the guys at the gym. They’re the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had.”

  My heart melts a little at that. “Sweet.”

  “Sweet is the last thing I am, cutie pie.”

  Somehow, I think that’s a lie. “You coach at a kids’ program?”

  “Yep.” I’ve barely finished my meal while he’s just demolished the potatoes. “I set it up at the community center in my old neighborhood. Just to give the kids an outlet for their anger, and someplace to go for a while where they don’t have to worry about anything other than giving me their full attention, you know. There’s no financial or racial divide in my group. It’s a safe space for them.”

  Much as the idea of an MMA class being a “safe place” is bizarre, I can see it. I bet the kids adore him. And this is exactly the sort of thing I can use to dig him out from beneath the steaming heap of dung Erin piled on him.

  “That sounds wonderful. They’re lucky to have you.” I can’t believe how much I totally misjudged this guy. I suppose he was right, I wanted him to be a loser so I could write him off. “When’s your next class? I’d like to come.”

  He scowls, forking the last piece of potato a little too violently. “I guess you want to take photos of me with the kids and get them to say how great I am, or some shit like that.”

  Gritting my teeth so I don’t cuss him out for referring to my job as “some shit like that,” I say, “Yes, that’s about the sum of it. So, when is it happening?”

  “Tomorrow. Five-thirty. At the Alderton Community Center.” He shoves away his final plate. “But I don’t want you exploiting those kids. They’re vulnerable, and they come to the center for an escape.”

  I hold up my hands. “I won’t exploit them. Promise. You can okay anything I write ahead of time, and you have veto rights.”

  His shoulders heave as he exhales. “Okay, then. Sounds like we’ll be seeing each other again tomorrow.”

  My stomach fills with butterflies at the prospect, and I try to ignore them. The waitress returns with our bill and hands it to Jase. I grab my purse, but he signs something and sends her away.

  “What was that about?” I ask.

  “Taking care of dinner,” he says. “You’re my plus one, so you’re covered under my sponsorship.”

  Nuh-uh. I wave my purse at him. “You’re my client, not my date. I pay my own way.”

  “Not today, cutie pie.”

  “But—”

  He stands, and the squeal of chair legs on the floor cuts me off. “Jus
t give me this, Lena. You can pay next time.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time,” I mutter, hoping to God his paying for my dinner doesn’t have anything to do with my confession about being broke. I’m no one’s charity project.

  “You tell yourself that.” His hand lands in the small of my back as he guides me outside. “Where are you parked?”

  I gesture up the street. “Over that way.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “Not necessary.”

  He grabs me by the shoulders and spins me to face him. My brain ceases to function. I can’t process even the most basic thought with his hands on me like that.

  “Babe, when a man wants to see you safely to your car, you let him. Unless he’s a creep, which I fucking hope I’m not.” His face dips closer to mine, and he’s trying to catch my eyes but I’m having a hard time looking anywhere other than his lips. “I want to show you how much I appreciate you believing in me, so can’t you just let me get you dinner and walk you to your ride?”

  He appreciates me? Well, you know what? I appreciate him, too. I appreciate the breadth of his shoulders, and the sexy edge of his jaw, and most of all, the way he smells so wonderfully delicious. With his hands on me, and his face so near to mine, it takes very little for me to close the distance between us and press my lips to his. I’ve had a lot of bad ideas in my life, and this has to be the worst. He’s so wrong for me, and kissing him could jeopardize my job, but with him so intoxicatingly close, I can’t bring myself to care.

  His entire body stiffens. I flick my tongue out. Mm, he tastes as good as he smells. A low rumble works its way up his chest, and then he’s grabbing me tightly, his hands dropping to my ass and hauling me into his body, where a very impressive ridge grinds into the V at the top of my legs. I want him closer, so I go onto my toes, letting him take most of my weight, kissing him with everything I have. It’s rough and wild and out of control. I can definitely believe this is a man who hasn’t been with anyone in months. His lips clash, teeth gnash, and then he’s trailing open-mouthed kisses down my neck, stopping to nip at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I gasp, and sigh, and clutch him.

  “Fuck,” he swears. “Lena, cutie pie, you feel so fucking good.”

  I rock into him, loving his ragged breaths, and the groan that rips from deep in his throat. He’s big, and hot, and demanding, his hands journeying up my body and touching, squeezing, plumping my breasts, fisting in my hair and pulling my head back so he can latch onto my neck. His stubble is rough against my skin, and his teeth graze over the pulse that’s throbbing furiously. Moaning, I try to yank him closer, impossibly closer.

  Then a wolf-whistle pierces the air.

  My befuddled mind can hardly comprehend it, but Jase shifts, shielding me from onlookers with his body. After a moment, he draws back, still panting, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s swollen from my kisses, and I imagine mine looks much the same.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he growls. “It’s unfair.”

  Seems perfectly fair to me. He’s distracting me just by existing. Turnabout is fair play.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “I’m gonna walk you to your car, then you’re going to sit your hot little ass in the driver’s seat and go home. Understood?”

  I nod, because he’s right. That’s what needs to happen, for both our sakes. Then, once I’m home, my vibrator is going up to its maximum setting, and I’ll lie back and pretend we didn’t do the sensible thing.

  “I’m totally with you.”

  9

  Jase

  My balls have never been so fucking blue in my life. My cock is hard for the entire drive home, and I have to unzip my jeans to give it a little breathing space. It’s only when I’m finally alone in my bedroom that I take it in my hand and stroke. I imagine Lena’s fingers wrapped around me, pumping up and down, ticking the bottom of the shaft. Pre-cum oozes from the tip and I smooth it over the head, picturing Lena dropping to her knees and taking me in her mouth. It’s a tight fit, because I’m big, and despite her fiery attitude, she’s a delicate woman.

  “Fuck.” My balls draw up tight as she swallows around me, and my hips jerk, fucking her face. I squeeze my eyes shut, back against the wall, jaw clenched. “Fuck. Lena. Baby.”

  I come hard, shuddering with the force of it, spilling all over my goddamn legs. I milk every last drop and flop back, breathing heavily. Minutes later, when my legs are no longer jelly, I clean myself up in the shower. But as I’m soaping, the image of taking Lena against the wall fills my mind, and though I’m raw and sensitive as fuck, I jerk off again, wishing it was her little pussy wrapped around me rather than my own coarse hand.

  I remind myself of the rules. No sex before a big fight. But shit, I’d like to make an exception for her. If that dickhead hadn’t wolf-whistled at us tonight, I might have dragged her into the nearest alley. And while I’d have had no problem screwing her anywhere I could, I have a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate alley sex. She’s classier than that. Even if she’s broke.

  And shit, I wasn’t expecting that either.

  We both misjudged each other, and though we may have started out on the wrong foot, I’m going to fix it.

  For the first time I can remember, I’m impatient to leave the gym. I’ll be seeing Lena tonight at the community center, and it’s all I can think of. I’m excited the same way I was about losing my virginity, with a kind of schoolboy eagerness that’s fucking embarrassing.

  Fortunately, none of the guys seem to have noticed. Today is the last hard sparring session before the fight, giving me a week and a half to recover and be in top shape. In accordance with tradition, I have to face off against my brothers for one long, torturous round. Every minute, they swap out, so I’m constantly facing someone fresh while growing wearier, but I keep my hands up, stay light on my feet, and drag them to the ground at the first chance I get.

  The ground is my turf. Where I’m most comfortable. And they all know it. None of them are stupid enough to give me the opportunity to take them down easily, except Devon, who’s completely nuts and has a death wish. It doesn’t seem to matter whether he’s winning, losing, or getting his face smashed—whatever the case, he grins like a freaking maniac.

  That’s why he’s the brother I’m most wary of. Gabe is technically proficient and cold as hell, but he’s always in control of himself, whereas Devon is a loose cannon. Half the time, none of us have any clue what he’s about to do, which makes his fights the most fun to watch. He’s whacked in the head, in the best possible way.

  Finally, Seth calls an end to the torment and my leaden legs carry me from the cage. I lower myself to the floor and catch my breath, then go through my stretching routine. As I remove my gloves, I sit through a classic Seth-style pep talk—which basically involves a grunt and a pat on the back—then I limp to the shower.

  “Bro, how come you’re so fired up to get out of here?” Devon asks from the adjacent stall. “Got a hot date?”

  “Got class at the center tonight,” I reply, running a wet cloth over my face, neck and shoulders. “Don’t want to be late for the kids.”

  “You sure it’s got nothing to do with a certain redhead?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Seriously, man?” He makes a sound of disappointment. “Thought you had more game than that.”

  “It’s nearly fight week.”

  He sighs. “You and your stupid rule.”

  Tell me about it.

  I finish showering, towel dry, slip on a clean set of MMA shorts and a T-shirt, grab my gloves, and head for the center. Several of the kids are already there when I arrive, and I high-five each of them in turn. There are no outcasts in my class. The kids are a rag-tag collection, aged from four to seventeen, and belong to both genders. They’re white, black, Hispanic, Asian, and everything in between. They listen to me pretty well, as I knew they would, because not many people give these kids opportunities.


  After ordering them to skip for five minutes and delegating responsibility to one of the older girls to lead them through a warm-up routine, I sort them into partners and remind them how to throw a jab and a cross, then get them practicing on pads. Their equipment is the best. I bought it when I first started taking lessons here and realized there was no way they could afford their own, and nor could the center. They treat the gear like it’s precious, which is sweet, but also really fucking sad because few of these kids own anything of value themselves. That’s part of why I started contributing to the grant. To help kids with promise but no cash make something of themselves.

  I’m correcting little Carlos’s form when I feel eyes on my back and know she’s here. Lena. Even though I haven’t seen her, the weight of her gaze is like a caress. I can sense it on my body, and I want to go to her and shove her against the wall and pick up where we left off yesterday.

  Cool it, man.

  I’m here for these kids, and she’s here for a job. Hauling in a deep breath, I try to tune her out, knowing we’ll talk later.

  Lena

  Watching Jase interact with the twenty or so children in his class shouldn’t get to me, but it does. They clearly adore him, and he’s heart-wrenchingly patient with them, not concerned about repeating instructions a second—or even third—time. The older boys vie for his approval, while the two teenage girls both have hearts in their eyes. I don’t blame them. Seeing him in action is softening my heart in a way I can’t afford. It seems that Jase Rawlins is one of the decent guys. After exchanging a few words with the man who runs the center and assuring him of my good intentions, I snap photographs of Jase with the kids, making sure not to capture their faces because I promised him I’d keep their identities private.

  Jase holds pads for a tiny girl who can’t be more than four, and beams at her in encouragement when she hits them. Snap. That’s the money shot. All I can see of the girl is a dark ponytail, but it’s Jase’s expression that really sells it. Zooming in on his face, I take another, and something melts deep inside me. He’s making this so easy. If only he’d told me everything up front, we could have skipped a day or two of being at odds with each other. But I suppose I can understand why he clammed up. What reason did he have to trust me? Especially when I’d made my opinion of him clear from the get-go.