by EMILIE ROSE
Bella couldn’t help thinking about Kyle’s behavior in terms of a fight, now. Dodge. Feint. Keep your feet moving. Stay in motion. Don’t give anyone a chance to nail you.
“I got a call from Reta,” Kyle said, once the waitress took his drink order. “Shawnese’s doing a lot better. Her hands are going to take a while to heal, but she’s doing physical therapy. She’s staying with Reta for the holidays.” He filled Liz in briefly about their student from Touchstone.
“I don’t suppose she’s said anything about catching whoever did that to her?” Bella asked.
Maybe she’d given away too much because Kyle’s expression darkened. “No. According to Reta, Shawnese insists she fell into a pile of scrap metal.”
Of course, Bella understood what Shawnese was facing. Fear of retribution. Fear of being arrested. If she pressed charges, she’d be made to testify in court against her attacker, only to have her testimony put into question. Why should anyone believe a former prostitute and drug addict? It was probably as frustrating for Shawnese as it was for the cops, but what could she do? What could anyone do?
“Well, I’m glad someone’s taking care of her.” She made a note to call.
“I’m suddenly feeling beat,” Liz announced. “Kyle, would you mind driving Bella home?”
He nodded. “Sure. You feeling all right?”
“I think I overdid it today. Shopping’s hard work. Bella, if it’s okay, I’ll just bring your clothes in to work tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? I can go with you.” A ball of nerves rolled around in her gut. Was Liz plotting to leave her alone with Kyle? Surely the receptionist didn’t think they were an item. She hadn’t told her about the kiss ’n’ grope in the car.
The chemistry between her and Kyle wasn’t that obvious, was it?
“I’ll be fine,” Liz insisted. “You two enjoy.”
She left. Kyle and Bella sat alone in suddenly awkward silence. The screens showed a rerun of Dominic Payette’s most recent UFF fight, defending his belt for the fourth time since winning the championship title. Bella searched for something to say.
Kyle spoke up first. “Are you going home for Christmas?”
Bella set her teeth. Fulvio had made it clear he wouldn’t welcome her home unless she intended to stay. While she hated to miss the holidays with her family, she couldn’t let them drag her back to play the obedient daughter, nor would she sour the celebrations by ruffling feathers. Her temper was too much like Fulvio’s to keep the peace for long. “I plan to stay here,” she said. She didn’t want Kyle pitying her. “I’ve always wanted to see what a Christmas in the States is like.”
“You should go farther north where there’s snow. Funny, even though I grew up in California, I’ve always felt like there should be snow at Christmas. I blame TV.”
“I had enough snowy days while I was in college in Canada, thanks. I think it’ll be nice right here. The warm weather will make it feel like home.” Just not with any of the people who mattered to her the most.
“Will you be going to the UFF charity ball?”
Bella had almost forgotten about the event she and Ryan had been dress shopping for. She hadn’t been keen on going before, but realized Ryan had been right: she needed to network with more people in the industry, especially after her fiasco at the exhibition. She had to get out there and show the world she wasn’t beat. “I would if I could. But Ryan was the one with the invitation and the tickets.”
“Well, that’s no problem. You’ll come with me. I’ve got my invitation. You can be my plus one.”
“You mean, your date?”
His lips twitched. “Sure, if you want to call it that.” He took a long pull of his beer and fixed his attention on the screen.
A thrill raced through her, and she struggled not to smile too widely or even acknowledge the happiness wending through her. She shouldn’t think this meant anything more than a great opportunity to get her name out there and meet some MMA stars, but her mind was stuck firmly on the event now. And the dress she’d bought today would be perfect for the evening.
Oh, my God. I’m going on a date with Kyle Peters. The thought struck her between the eyes. As awkward as things were, she really liked Kyle. More than she should, really. He wasn’t worth the drama and the complications, she told herself. She’d seen him in action, seen him go home with innumerable women. If anything were to happen between them... Well, she wasn’t about to expect more than one night.
Kyle took her home after finishing his one beer. She’d insisted she could walk, but he refused to let her leave on her own. “I promised Liz I’d drive you home. She’d be pissed if I broke that promise.”
“And you’re scared of her?”
“She makes my coffee every morning. I have to keep her happy.”
The silence in the car wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but she remained ultra-self-aware. She was reminded of the other time he’d driven her home. After the big rainstorm, when he’d come up and ordered takeout. Things had felt easier then somehow. There’d been no pressure, only tension. And he hadn’t seen the worst of her back then.
Then there was the night after that mind-blowing kiss.... She closed her eyes. This was stupid. Any other guy and she’d have him at heel all the way up to her bedroom with the snap of her fingers. But here she was, paralyzed by her own uncertainty.
He pulled up next to the curb and killed the engine. She didn’t move.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked, stalling. “It’s still early.”
“Probably go home, maybe read.”
“You want to come up for a drink?” It was a crazy offer, but she couldn’t handle this weirdness between them anymore. She felt as though she was straddling an ever-moving line, and she had to keep dancing to avoid landing too firmly on one side or the other. The problem was she hadn’t yet decided which side she should be on.
You’re in the fight or you’re not.
He stared at her. Her heart bumped, and she lowered her gaze to his lips.
“I shouldn’t,” he managed in an almost strangled voice.
“That’s not a no.”
She knew what she wanted. She wouldn’t be coy about it anymore. They’d danced around each other long enough.
A gust of wind made the convertible’s canopy ripple. He echoed his frustration with a blown-out breath. “We can’t.”
“Kyle—”
“I can’t do this, Bella. I’m your coach and your boss.”
Something inside her tweaked at the hard line he’d drawn. She sat up straighter. “I’ll be gone in four months. And we wouldn’t be the first people to step outside of an employer-employee or coach-trainee relationship.”
He ran his palms over his face. “Look, it’s not you. I think you’re great—”
“Well, don’t lay it on too thick, Coach.”
“—but I can’t put either of us in a compromising position. It wouldn’t be good for your career or mine.”
“What we do outside of work is no one’s business.” She softened her voice. “This tension between us isn’t nothing, Kyle. I’m not saying we should go and get married. All I want is a chance for us to make sure it’s just tension.”
His jaw jutted, the muscles in his cheekbones flexing as he stared out the windshield. She sensed the inner struggle radiating off him.
“Is this because of what happened with Karla?” she ventured. His whole body stiffened.
“That’s none of your business.”
She sighed. “Okay.” She popped her seat belt. “Look, Kyle. I’ll admit it. I like you a lot. Even though I probably shouldn’t. Even though it goes against my better judgment and everyone else’s advice. But at least I’m not afraid of my attraction to you. Can you say the same about me?”
He didn’t respond,
which was all the answer she needed.
She got out of the car and slammed the door shut.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HADRIAN STARED. He couldn’t begin to describe the jaw-droppingly horrendous turn of luck his fighters were experiencing. Craptapulously efftacular was the closest he could come.
Burton had decided to bow out of his fight. The man had said he wanted to spend more time with his family, but Hadrian had a feeling Burton couldn’t handle the pressure of being featured as the main event. His wife, who was also his manager, had already complained that her husband wasn’t being paid enough to risk brain damage, but Burton wasn’t exactly a superstar the way Dominic Payette was. And he’d proved it by backing out of his match.
People were expecting something big for the anniversary event—heavy hitters and title matches. But Dom had absolutely refused to fight because his wife, Fiona, was pregnant with twins and due that week. Others were avoiding the card outright, turning him down for one reason or another. People were calling the event cursed.
Hadrian looked at the calendar. Christ. It was less than three weeks to Christmas, and only ten weeks to the anniversary fight. He had enough problems worrying about the monthly cards to promote.
“If you’re thinking of breaking something else I’ll have to replace, think again, Hadrian,” Mrs. Hutzenbiler warned sharply as she entered his office. His P.A. had used that same tone back when he was eight years old and she was his babysitter warning him not to jump off furniture.
“What am I going to do, Mrs. H.?” He rested his chin on the blotter and clasped his hands over the top of his head. “If I cancel the anniversary card, what does that say about me? About this sport?”
“It’s not your fault. Things happen. Besides, you won’t cancel. You’re too stubborn to give up. You’ll find a way to fill the card.”
“With who? At this rate, I’ll be forced to put amateurs on stage. It’ll become a freakin’ sideshow.”
“You never know what’ll come out of disasters,” Mrs. Hutzenbiler said brusquely. “Remember that young basketball player everyone fell in love with? The one that became really popular when his team was doing so poorly? They put him in out of desperation.”
“I’ve already used up all my subs, Mrs. H. Besides, that was a one-in-a-million shot.”
“And you’re in a sport where a million different things can happen.” She sat primly in the visitor’s chair. “Let me tell you a story....”
Hadrian groaned. “I really don’t have time—”
“Hadrian Alexander Blackwell, you will make time to listen to your elders and learn from them.”
He winced. He still hated it when she yelled at him.
She settled in her seat, her color subsiding. “Back when I was a girl, my younger sister and I wanted to bake a cake for our mother’s birthday. We had a recipe, but as we started making it, we realized we were missing ingredients. We used only one egg instead of two. We didn’t have vanilla or cream of tartar. We accidentally poured in baking soda instead of baking powder. Our frosting was made with granulated sugar instead of powdered sugar. It was an awful mess.”
“Let me guess. Your mother loved it anyhow.”
“Goodness’ sakes, no. She spit it out, rinsed her mouth and threw the whole thing away.”
“This isn’t making me feel better.”
She glared down her nose at him. “I’m not here to make you feel better. Stop interrupting my story.”
He waved at her to continue.
“My mother asked us what we did to the cake recipe that it turned out so wrong. We told her, and she laughed at us. She asked, ‘Why didn’t you make me a pie instead? We had enough ingredients for that.’ On top of which, she’d shown us how to make pie crust before, which was easy. But we were so focused on that birthday cake, we didn’t even consider our limitations. We’d never even baked a cake before.”
“So you’re saying I should make pie,” Hadrian concluded.
“I’m saying you should work with what you have and consider some alternatives.” She got up. “Cake isn’t the answer to everything.”
With that, Mrs. Hutzenbiler left him alone to stare at his computer. His email was open so he skimmed the dozens of messages. None from Quinn. She hadn’t been in his bed for nearly two weeks. This latest round of fighter cancellations was probably keeping her occupied at work. She’d barely needed to interview him—the fighters’ camps were being quite candid about the “cursed” UFF anniversary card.
He opened a message from one of his directors of marketing who was trying to console him about the latest news. He’d added a link to a YouTube video at the end with the note, “Hang in there. We can turn this around.”
The video was of the reigning GRRL Fights featherweight champion, Ayumi Kamino. She was trapped in a painful-looking armbar, one that would have ended most other fights. Her opponent twisted and twisted. Hadrian cringed. Kamino’s shoulder looked like it was about to pop out of its socket. The referee hovered, ready to call the match. But a look of sheer determination was carved on the champ’s face.
Finally, something gave and in a sudden burst of power, Kamino rolled to her side, snaked her legs around her opponent, flipped her over and reversed their positions. The challenger tapped out, and Kamino stood triumphant to the roar of her fans.
Hadrian wanted to cheer with them. Mixed martial arts was all about surprises like this. A fight could turn on a moment’s notice....
And that’s when he decided he was going to change the UFF forever. “Mrs. H.!”
His P.A. walked calmly back into the room, an expectant look on her face. “You bellowed?”
“Get me the number for Ayumi Kamino’s people. Then I need a list of all the female fighters who fight in her weight class.”
* * *
KYLE’S STRONG ARMS wrapped tight around Bella’s middle and squeezed. She pushed out all of the sensations racing across her skin and said to the class, “It’s important not to panic. Your attacker will have the element of surprise, of course, and your instinct will be to pull away, but then he’ll have the advantage.”
The young women giggled as Kyle picked her up off her feet. She kicked uselessly at the air, blandly saying, “Help. Help.” She grinned at the class. “If this happens, what do we do?”
The girls emitted an ear-piercing shriek that filled the room and reverberated through her bones. Nice and loud and uninhibited. Getting the girls to vocalize their distress when attacked was an important lesson in self-defense.
“Good. And if you can turn and scream right in your attacker’s ear, maybe bite it off, you go for it. Don’t let him drag you off. Don’t wait to fight. Raise hell and get away.”
“I’m going to need an aspirin after this,” Kyle groused quietly as he put her back on her feet. She smirked and continued, enjoying his undivided attention. Normally, Wayne played the part of attacker, but he’d come down with a migraine, so Kyle had filled in for him in this new women’s self-defense class, much to the students’ delight.
One young college-aged woman put up her hand. “What if he has your arms locked up?”
Bella slipped her arms to her sides and let Kyle clasp them tight. She said, “Go,” and they reenacted a real struggle as he dragged her backward into an imaginary alley.
Reaching behind her between Kyle’s legs, she pinched the flesh of his inner thigh tight and twisted. Kyle yelped and jumped away, and she swung around in a defensive position.
The ladies all sat stunned, then broke out in laughter and applause as Kyle glowered. “You wouldn’t have done that to Wayne,” he complained.
“Only because Wayne’s ticklish. You’re much better at this. Now go put on the suit.”
He grumbled as he went to don the padded suit Wayne wore for the end of the class, when the students
got to throw their hardest kick or punch at a fully armored opponent. But before he got halfway across the room, one girl shouted, “I wanna see you two spar!”
“Yeah!” two younger ladies chimed in. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Bella put her hands up. “You know the rules. No horseplay.”
Kyle cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”
“Ooh,” the girls taunted.
Bella planted her hands on her hips as the class chanted, “Fight, fight, fight,” until she silenced them with one raised finger.
“If I spar with Kyle, I’m making you all do twenty extra burpees next week.”
“Do it, do it, do it!”
She shrugged and started to limber up. Kyle called Tito in to officiate. The class moved back, giving the pair extra room to maneuver.
“This is only a demonstration,” Bella warned. “There’d be a lot more danger if we let loose, which is why Tito’s here. Everyone understand? Don’t try this at home.”
“Get on with it!” Tito cajoled with a laugh.
“You ready?” Kyle asked, cracking his neck and stretching his forearms.
She didn’t answer, sending him a wide, toothy smile. Tito inserted himself between them. “I want a nice clean match. And try not to kill each other.”
“Do or do not,” Kyle said in a perfect imitation of Master Yoda, “there is no try.”
He must have planned to make her laugh, because she wasn’t ready as he crouched and sprang for her the moment Tito shouted, “Fight!”
She caught him barely in time to put a guard on him, but he was already halfway to cutting the corner, and he was a lot stronger than she was.
She slipped beneath his arm, cinching it between her breasts and keeping him snug against her so he’d have no way to back off. Then she threw her legs around his waist and wrenched all her weight to one side, throwing him off balance. But because his center of gravity was already quite low, her scissor takedown only made him stagger.
Now they were awkwardly posed, with her legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to his one arm, while his other remained locked beneath her thigh. Neither was willing to let go and give the other the advantage. Kyle’s strength would eventually wear out, but Bella couldn’t hang on forever, either.
