Prepared to Fight

by E. J. Shortall

  Cassie was driving me into Grasse to meet with a local architect who would be taking over from me to see Nate’s building project through to completion. As a Brit, there was only so far I could take the project, and without the relevant French licences, or being part of the relevant governing body, I had to give over my plans and hope someone else would approve them.

  “Nervous?” she asked, looking over at me with a smile.

  I bobbed my head and continued staring out the window. If I said anything, I thought I might be sick. Nate had wanted to attend, in fact he was severely pissed off that he couldn’t, but duty called and he’d had to stay home to train. Later, he would be meeting with a journalist and photographer from some men’s fitness magazine. It was times like this that I had to take a step back and appreciate who Nate was. On a day to day basis, to me he was just Nate, part time personal trainer, business owner, fitness freak, friend and my occasional lover. To the world, he was Nathan Oakes, superstar. King of the cage.

  Slowly, the scenery around us changed. Areas became less fields, more houses until we were driving through larger towns. I took it all in. In some ways, each one was just another town, not so dissimilar to home. In other ways, the air around us seemed to vibrate with culture and uniqueness. On more than one occasion, I had to stop myself from screaming for Cassie to stop the car so I could whip out my phone to snap a few photos.

  Eventually the GPS navigated us through the streets of Grasse into a small business development of modern, low-rise, nondescript buildings. Had it not been for the stunning backdrop of mountains in the far distance, I might have been disappointed by the lack of character the brick buildings offered.

  We pushed through the doors welcoming us into the offices of Monsieur Perryn Rondeau. At least I presumed it was a welcome message that the bronze placard was displaying. My concept of the French language was definitely of the ‘I have no idea’ variety. That is why Cassie had accompanied me. Not only was she an excellent masseuse, a fantastic fighter and trainer – that detail had surprised me when I’d learned of her amateur fighting record – and generally lovely lady, she was also fluent in French.

  “Ready for this?” she asked, as we waited to be greeted by the receptionist.

  I took a deep breath. “Yes. Let’s hope all my research has paid off and everything in here,” I held up the cylinder containing Nate’s plans, “is okay. I know Nate is keen to get everything agreed so he can move forward with the project.”

  Cassie gave a brief smile and then spoke to the receptionist. My eyes darted back and forth between the two as I tried to work out what they were saying. It was useless though, I really didn’t have a clue. A few minutes later, we were shown into an office and a short, plump man with a balding head stood to great us. Cassie held out her hand, introducing herself, and then gestured towards me.

  “Madame,” the guy, who I presumed was Monsieur Rondaeu, indicated for me to take a seat at a small conference table tucked into the corner of his office. I sat and looked around the room, analysing and appraising the artwork on the walls. Each piece was an architectural drawing beside what looked like a photograph or painting of the finished building. Some were beautiful, others had me wondering what I could have done better.

  “Liv?”

  I blinked in Cassie’s direction and then heat shot into my cheeks when I realised I’d zoned out of the conversation I hadn’t been able to understand anyway. I cleared my throat. “Sorry?” I gave Monsieur Rondaeu an apologetic smile.

  “Monsieur Rondaeu would like to see the plans.”

  “Oh, right, sorry.” With shaky hands, I fumbled with the cardboard cylinder until, eventually, the papers spilled out onto the table. With the papers laid out neatly, I stood tall and took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe how ridiculously nervous I was. In reality, the meeting should have been fairly straight forward. I’d hand over the plans and Rondaeu would do the rest. I was just anxious that everything went smoothly for Nate.

  We spent the next thirty minutes looking over the plans, with Cassie translating queries and discussions for us. When we spilled back out into the car park, my shoulders slumped as I exhaled a deep breath.

  “Thank God that is over. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so nervous,” I said.

  She laughed. “At one point in there I thought you might pass out on me.”

  “I thought I was definitely going to pass out,” I grumbled.

  “You did great, Liv. Monsieur Rondeau seemed impressed with your plans, for a woman.”

  “What?” I shot around, slamming my hands on my hips. “For a woman? What the fuck? A woman is not capable of being creative in this field? I bet he thought I was Nate’s PA, sent to present on his behalf. That’s what the funny looks were for, weren’t they? He didn’t believe I’d done them, did he? Well fuck that.”

  Cassie held a hand over her stomach as she laughed. “Yes, he was shocked, Liv, but I don’t think he saw you as the pretty assistant. Your integrity remains intact.”

  “Well that’s all right then,” I grumbled, striding towards the car. “So we are all good?”

  She held up the remote to unlock the car. “We’re all good. He said everything is fine and Nate should be able to start building in a few months.”

  I tucked myself into the car, smiling. Mission accomplished.

  ***

  Fame, it was a whole new ball game. I was fast learning that being rich and famous wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. With only two days to go until the fight, we had packed up our stuff and returned to the splendour, glamour and luxury of Monaco. I immediately missed the peacefulness and solitude of the countryside. The Monaco we had left behind weeks before was not the same place we returned to. Apparently, Nate’s fight was a huge deal. All around there were posters, billboards and flyers, all publicising the highly anticipated rematch between Damián ‘Dark Destroyer’ Sanchez and Nathan ‘Golden Boy’ Oakes. The place was buzzing with MMA fever and everyone wanted to be a part of it.

  After only six hours of being back, I’d learned it would be nearly impossible for Nate to go outside of the hotel without security. I’d begged him to go for a walk with me as night fell and the walls of the giant suite seemed to hem me in. I missed our evening stroll down to our rock and had already begun to feel claustrophobic. We hadn’t even made it beyond the hotel lobby before loyal fans were clamouring for his attention.

  Autograph books, napkins, photos and even a voluptuous chest—I was glad he politely declined that one—were all pushed in Nate’s direction with the demand he sign them. I found myself being pushed further and further back until I could no longer see him in the throng of people hotel security was having trouble containing. In the end, I gave up and strolled into the bar. At least there I could sip on a sparkling water and watch in amusement the circus taking place in our regal surroundings.

  I caught the bartender’s attention and ordered my drink, propping myself up on a bar stool. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I checked for messages. There was a long, drawn out voicemail from my mum which I couldn’t help but listen to. She was as crazy and eccentric as ever, telling me about the latest plant she had purchased. I did get a tear in my eye though, when she said she couldn’t wait for me to return home, how proud she was of me and how she hoped I’d learned a lot, but she wanted me home. She missed me. I swiped the tear away and scrolled to my text messages. There was one from Adam.

  Still worried about you. Wish I was there. Miss you.

  I sent a quick reply telling him to stop being so silly. I was fine and would be home soon. Nate still had a crowd around him, so I opened my browser, deciding I’d do a little bit of research on what I should expect from the fight. I’d seen boxing matches on TV, and had caught glimpses of the fights they’d shown on the screens at Golden Oakes when I first started going, but I had never really watched an MMA fight before. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I had scoffed at the manliness of the men tumbling around on the gym TV screen. Having witn
essed first-hand what Nate was capable of, my view of the sport had somewhat changed and I was eagerly anticipating the fight. Pulling up a site detailing this latest contest, I began reading about the apparent feud between Nate and Sanchez. It explained how Sanchez had not taken his previous defeat well and was determined to win this time. There was a small article alluding to the fact that this was some sort of personal grudge match for Sanchez. The details as to why were unclear, but it had something to do with the death of his father. I remembered the incident outside the club when a reporter had mentioned something similar and wondered how Sanchez’s father was mixed up in all of this.

  Wondering if he knew anything about the story, I lifted my gaze, and instead of finding Nate, I noticed an unknown man watching me. The next thing I knew, I was blinded by a bright, white light. And then another, and another.

  “That is her… Miss Buchanan, I have a few questions. What is your relationship with Nathan Oakes?”

  “Miss Buchanan, is it true that Nate had a breakdown during his training camp?”

  “What are your thoughts on Sanchez’s allegations?”

  “Is it true Mr. Oakes plans to build an illegal, underground fighting arena?”

  My eyes darted around the small bar area as more lights began flashing and more reporters joined the foray.

  “Miss Buchanan…”

  “Olivia…”

  My breathing became laboured and my heart hammered a relentless frenzy in my chest. I began backing away, desperate to distance myself from the piranhas looking to get to Nate through me. My head shook frantically as I moved backwards.

  “No comment,” I managed to croak. “I have no comment.”

  When the backs of my knees brushed a chair, I lost my balance, falling backwards and landing hard on the unforgiving tiled flooring.

  “Get the fuck away from her,” Nate bellowed, rushing into the room and knocking a reporter out of his way. Without another word, he scooped me up into his arms and rushed out of the room. The shouts and camera flashes continued, following us until the doors of the elevator closed behind us. I rested my head against Nate’s shoulder, trying in vain to control my breathing. It had been an intense experience, one I had no desire to ever repeat. Yet I knew, whilst I was around Nate— especially while he was so high profile, we wouldn’t be able to escape the fans or paparazzi.

  Lowering me to my feet, he held my face in his palms, searching my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I should never have let you be alone.” His voice sounded strangled with fear and regret.

  “It’s not your fault. I was forced back. I was fine until they cornered me in the bar. Should they have even been in there?” I replied softly.

  Unable to break eye contact, Nate shook his head. “No, security should have been able to stop them getting in,” he breathed, inching in closer.

  The elevator slowly ascended towards our floor but we barely noticed. It was like we were stuck in the moment, paralysed by the emotions raging through us. Nate’s hand skimmed around my neck and buried into my hair. “I need to kiss you,” he said, edging his face towards mine.

  The moment the warmth of his lips touched mine, my eyes closed and I sagged against him. The adrenaline of the scene downstairs drained away, leaving me powerless to resist. Not that I wanted to. His hand sank into my hair and gripped whilst his body leaned into mine, restraining me against the wall while his lips moved across mine, firm, insistent and beseeching.

  The elevator doors opened on our floor. Without breaking the kiss, Nate walked us the few steps across the hallway to our suite, fumbling with the swipe card until the door finally swung open. Inside, we stumbled until my back hit the wall. My heart pounded with the overwhelming need for Nate consuming me. He twisted his other hand into my hair and deepened our kiss, exploring the caverns of my mouth as if he needed to commit everything to memory. His posture shifted as he groaned a low, sexy sound from the back of his throat.

  Breaking the kiss, he lifted me off my feet, wrapping my legs around his waist. He kept his forehead resting against mine, our eyes locked, as he silently walked us into his bedroom. Tenderly, he laid me back on his bed. We hadn’t spoken a word, but we didn’t need to. The raw magnetism between us said everything, as did the unified pounding of our hearts.

  With slow, sensual ease, Nate removed my clothing then stood staring down on my body. He’d seen me naked before, but this time, with the look of hunger and wonder in his eyes, I felt more exposed than ever.

  “You are so fucking beautiful, Liv,” he said quietly, removing his own clothes.

  “What, even my big fat butt?” I laughed.

  “Especially your butt,” he said climbing on to the bed. “From the moment I first saw you, I knew there was something about you. I tried to deny it, I tried to fight it but it was inevitable. We were meant to end up right here, right now.”

  I sighed in pleasure as he stretched out along me, feathering kisses along my neck and collar bone. Fisting the sheets beneath me, I felt powerless against his advances as slowly, he coaxed my body and mind into a frenzy with soft lips and gentle fingers.

  Moving above me, he supported his weight on his forearms and looked down, bright grey, intense eyes searching mine. “I want you, Liv. All of you. Just me and you.”

  I swallowed hard, knowing what he was asking for. The power of his gaze spoke of his longing. Staring into the deepest recesses of his beautiful eyes, I debated the moment. We’d spoken about using protection, but I trusted that he was clean. He had, after all, been through several pre-fight check-ups. With a nod, I shifted position, allowing him to settle in between my thighs, and with his eyes burning into mine, he slowly sank himself inside my body until there was no distance between us, no gap. We were one. I was him and he was me. Together. Perfect. Feeling overwhelmed by the moment, I sucked in a deep breath, filling my lungs with air and slowly exhaling. Nate was tender, passionate, generous and caring as he moved inside me, never once breaking the connection of our eyes. He wasn’t fucking, not this time, this time we were making love. We were laying our hearts on the line and hoping the other person scooped it up and cherished it. At least, I hoped that’s what it was because I was lost; lost to the moment, lost to the pleasure, lost to him.

  His movements were strong and in control, keeping a regular, slow and sensual rhythm. My orgasm crept up on me, washing over me with such power it stole my breath. I could do no more than gasp and hold on, soaking in the feelings, as the tremors rippled through my body. Nate sucked in a deep breath, his mouth opening without words as he thrust into me one last powerful time, trying to bury himself inside as deep as possible before dropping his forehead to mine and stilling over me.

  “Olivia Buchanan, I fucking love you,” he whispered, and my heart stopped beating, replaced with a million butterflies taking flight in my chest. I love you too. I wanted to say the words back, but my throat was too clogged with emotion.

  We continued staring into each other’s eyes, wonder and awe evident in his gaze as much as I could feel in mine. In that profound moment of pleasure, I knew my life would never be the same again. Nate had taken me mind, body and soul. It was the moment I knew I’d lost. I could no longer deny my feelings. Whether he knew it or not, Nate had won my heart.

  ~CHAPTER NINETEEN~

  I awoke with a smile. Even knowing what lay ahead of us over the next few days, I couldn’t shift the memories of the previous night from my mind. There was no way of telling what it meant for Nate and me, only time could determine that. In my heart though, I knew I loved him. I wanted to be by his side, to support him through his struggles, the expansion of his businesses, to watch as my designs became his reality and to see what he would make of the opportunities he was creating. I wanted it all. But I knew that it would all have to wait. Beating Sanchez had to be his focus.

  Beside me, Nate shifted in the bed, moving closer and throwing an arm over my body. I giggled when he mumbled something in his sleep and relaxed. It felt
good to know he seemed to need me as much as I needed him.

  My smile faded when my fingers ran across the outline of the tattoo on his chest. We hadn’t spoken any more of his revelations the day we’d been kayaking. I knew he’d tried to brush the impact of his childhood off, making out that he was unaffected by the cruel acts of his parents, but I was livid for him. How anybody could abandon their own children was beyond me. Still, he had come through it all. He was strong, confident and successful in everything he did. In many ways, I wished his parents could see what a fine man he had turned into. I was proud of him, even if his own flesh and blood hadn’t been.

  I remained cuddled against his body, enjoying the image in front of me and the feel of his warm skin against my cheek. I’d been here before, watching him sleep and enjoying the view. This felt different. This time it felt deeper, like I had some new-found connection to him. Awake, he consumed me with his power and masculinity. In slumber, he cloaked me with peace and calmness.

  Nate’s eyes fluttered open. “Hi.” He smiled a sleepy grin.

  “Hi yourself.” I returned his smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Waking up next to you? Never better.”

  I sighed, happy and content, as his lips trailed kisses along my shoulder. “You’re wrong you know,” he whispered in my ear, trailing a finger over the confused furrow of my brow. “You won! I’m the one who lost.”

  Realising I’d spoken my thoughts aloud the previous evening, I buried my face in his shoulder, embarrassed.

  “Hey,” he murmured, tilting my chin to look at him. “Nothing to get embarrassed about, JB. It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead and then swung his legs out of the bed. He sat there for a moment, his shoulders slumped and his head dropped. “Liv, what happened last night… I need you to know that it meant everything to me… I’m just… With my past, I’m… I’m not sure where we go from here.” Pulling himself to his feet, he turned to face me. “Tell me where we go from here.”