by Lori Foster
Smiling, she said, “I feared that you were drawn to me because I was most familiar to you. I had taken you from everything you knew and dropped you into a situation that few would have been able to accept.”
“You’re here.” He covered her breasts with his hands. “That’s all that matters to me. The rest is just backdrop.”
“I feared that I would lose my identity and that I didn’t know how to do anything other than be a warrior.”
His brow went up. “Oh, trust me, babe, you know how to do other things.”
Laughing aloud, she said, “You are a very sexual man. That pleases me.”
Before he got totally off topic, Mallet said, “I want you to go on being Claviger for as long as you enjoy the job. You’re damned good at it.”
“I will do that for you, if you will do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Do not change.” She put her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Keep being protective of me and everyone else. Keep influencing my people—now your people—with your outrageous attitudes. Continue helping us to train and improve. Tease my mother, care for my sisters, and make love to me every day so that we can procreate and make a family.”
Emotion got a stranglehold on him. “It’ll be my pleasure.” He started to kiss her with all the love he felt.
And Hauk said, “You have twenty minutes kiddies, and then your mother wishes to make an announcement.”
Mallet laughed. “Can I give Hauk back?”
“No.” She tightened her legs around him. “But you can show me again the details of the quickie. And afterward, we will face everyone together.”
“Always.”
EPILOGUE
DREw Black couldn’t believe it when he found Dean and Simon sitting with their heads together on a bench in the locker room. In an hour or so, the preliminary fights would start and they both needed to be out front, schmoozing the crowd and racking up the publicity.
Instead, they were playing show-and-tell with photographs.
Walking beside him, Harley asked, “What do you have there?” He joined them at the bench, took one look at the photos, and grinned. “I’ll be damned. He looks great, huh?”
Scowling with curiosity, Drew walked over to them. “Why aren’t you guys out front? The crowds are screaming for you.”
“They’ll wait,” Dean said, and then he handed a photo to Drew. “Check that out.”
The photo showed Mallet with the slim, gutsy blonde he’d met at the hospital. They were waist deep in a big lake, the woman’s upper body shielded behind Mallet as she wrapped her arms around his neck and peeked over his shoulder. Her hair was slicked back, her eyes were bright with laughter.
Damn. When Mallet had disappeared, they’d all wondered where he went, and why he’d left with only a note as farewell. The little broad had gotten to him in a very big way.
“Here are a few more.” Simon handed him several photos. They showed Mallet and the woman lounging in some odd chairs, riding some weird looking cycles, and one was even of them sparring. Each picture was a scene of pleasure. “Seems his legs are fine now.”
“Must’ve been one hell of a progressive hospital,” Dean added, “to be able to get him completely healed.”
“She’s cute,” Harley said. “And he sure looks sunk on her.”
“Yeah, he does.” Drew flattened his mouth. “Guess I fucking well better give up on the idea of him coming back.”
“He said he’s not.” Dean handed over a note, and explained, “He’s married now, happy where he’s at, and he just wanted us all to know he’s okay, given the funk he was in when he left.”
Simon lifted his brows. “It’s nothing short of a miracle, I say.”
“I’m damn glad she found him, or he found her,” Dean said. “However it worked out, it worked out for the best. I can see that.”
Harley finished reading the note himself and nodded. “You have to admit, he sounds like his old self again.”
“Strange envelope, though.” Simon held it up for all to see. “It was delivered special courier to the gym, without a return address, by some jumpy fellow who was there one minute and gone the next.”
Drew took the envelope and looked it over. It was all too fucking strange, if you asked him.
“But it’s definitely Mallet’s handwriting on the note,” Dean pointed out. “And he does sound pretty damned content.”
Drew read the note, had to agree with the others, and then smacked it down on the bench. “Now where the fuck am I going to find someone to replace him?”
“It’s been months,” Simon pointed out. “You were still counting on him to commentate?”
“The fans think of him as a hero.” Rubbing his head, Drew said, “So yeah, I was holding the position.”
Harley slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, Drew. You always do.”
“And when he does,” Simon said, sotto voce, “he’ll find a way to make a fortune off it.”
Drew ignored that. “Mind if I hang on to these for a while?”
Shrugging, Simon said, “I can get them from you later. No big deal.”
Dean, Harley, and Simon headed out of the room, talking to themselves, all obviously happy for their friend.
Drew again looked at the photo of Mallet and the woman in the lake, and he shook his head. “Damn it, you lucky SOB, you do look deliriously happy.” Grinning, he tucked the photos and note back into the envelope, concealed them inside his suit coat pocket, straightened his designer tie and, said to no one, “Where the hell am I going to find another fighter like you?”
FAR, far away, in a different time and place, Mallet smiled as he turned off the viewer.
“They have no more need to worry about you.” Kayli hugged up to Mallet’s side.
“Satisfied?” Hauk asked.
Mallet kissed Kayli. “You heard Drew. I’m more than satisfied. I’m deliriously happy.”
Don’t miss the next
SBC Fighter Romance featuring Drew Black
Following is a special excerpt from this
upcoming novel from
Lori Foster
Coming soon!
GILLIAN Noode stood against the back wall of the popular bar, Roger’s Rodeo, where many fighters hung out. She was close enough to observe him, but not close enough to get noticed. Yet. At least, not by him. Plenty of other men had already given her the once-over, showing appreciation for her trim black skirt, her low-scooped white blouse and strappy sandals. A few had even tried to strike up a conversation. She’d politely declined.
She’d come here for a reason, and Drew Black was it.
Dressed in well-worn jeans and a comfortable black T-shirt bearing the logo of the SBC fight club, the president of the sport sat at the polished bar. Currently, he was holding close conversation with two long-haired young women whose bloated busts defied believability. No woman that slender had breasts that large.
But Drew showed no signs of disbelief. Like a king of his own making, he ogled with commitment to the boob ruse.
From the many interviews and television spots she’d watched, as well as her current scrutiny, Gillian surmised he had a fighter-type physique, not quite as shredded as the actual fighters, but sculpted with muscle, strong and capable. Obviously his ego demanded he stay in shape since he was often surrounded by younger men in their prime, elite fighters with rock-hard bodies and astounding ability.
Drew Black intrigued her beyond the job at hand.
As an entrepreneur he showed great intelligence; no one could have accomplished what he had without smarts. He’d taken a mostly dead sport, banned in many states, and turned it into an astounding success.
And motivation? The man had it in spades. He couldn’t possibly sleep more than six hours a night given his enthusiastic workload and insane social calendar.
Good looks, great body, intelligence, enthusiasm and money … Drew Black would be quite the catch if
he wasn’t such a sexist foulmouthed jerk with the tact of a goat.
Her external analysis complete, Gillian moved closer, just a short ways down the bar. She could now hear Drew’s deep voice—not that she expected much enlightenment from his conversation.
But Drew surprised her.
“Will you call me?” Bimbo One asked him with a pout.
“No.” His laugh was low and mellow, but lacking malice.
Look-alike Bimbo Two said, “How about me?” She toyed with his ear in a way that made Gillian twitch. “I can promise you a good time.”
“I bet you can.” Drew took her wrist and moved her teasing hand away. “But I’ll pass.”
Gillian raised a brow. She’d expected him to suggest a threesome, and instead he’d rejected them both.
Interesting.
The bimbos combined their whining complaints and attempts at persuasion until Drew sent them away. “Girls, what the fuck? C’mon, I have shit to do and it doesn’t include having my ears ring. Go find something—or someone—else to do, okay?”
“We waited a long time to get to talk to you.” Bimbo One sulked in a juvenile fashion.
Drew leaned around the woman to eye his male companion. “A little help here?”
The man, who Gillian recognized as a fighter, held up big, capable hands. “Sorry. I have a girl waiting at home.”
“We aren’t at your home, Brett.”
He smirked. “Yeah, well, Sarge doesn’t like to share me.”
Drew pulled back. “Sarge? What the fuck kind of name is that for a female?”
“The kind that suits her.” Unruffled by the implied insult, Brett finished his drink. To Gillian, it looked like juice. She gave Brett points.
“Look,” Drew said to the closest bimbo, “you’re too fucking young and frankly, too pushy.”
“We have to be pushy to get near you. You’re just so popular—”
“How about I give you a couple of tickets to the next SBC fight instead? Good seats. How’s that?”
The girls bounced with enthusiasm. Gillian couldn’t take it. She asked the bartender for a martini. By the time she’d been served and taken a few fortifying sips, Drew was alone at the bar with Brett.
“You’re brutal, Drew.”
“Did you see those girls? Not only were they phony from head to toes, the damn giggles were wearing on my nerves.” He worked his shoulders, as if releasing tension. “Jesus, I do have some standards you know.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“You want the whole list, huh? Well, it doesn’t apply here, but she has to be less than forty. Older broads are too independent.”
Brett laughed. “The two of them together weren’t forty. So what else?”
“She has to be childless, because let’s face it: The whole kid thing is a pain in the ass. No way am I fucking anybody’s mother. And before you say it, yeah, I know, those two are still children themselves.”
Brett saluted him with juice.
“On top of being good-looking and sexy, she has to have some intelligence—at least enough that I can carry on a conversation with her. And no squealing. God, I detest broads who squeal.”
Brett commiserated. “They were squealers.”
“Can you imagine how they’d be in bed?” Drew laughed. “I’d need fucking earplugs.”
That mouth of his. Gillian shook her head. It was a sexy mouth, but the things he said, the crude language he used, was not befitting the force behind the fastest growing sport in history. That mouth had gotten him into trouble, whether he realized it yet or not.
It was her job to clean up his act, and to make him a more presentable figurehead for the SBC franchise.
Daunting, but maybe not impossible.
The trick would be to beat him at his own game, to always keep the upper hand, and to grow a skin so thick that her feminist core wouldn’t be damaged in the process.
She’d also have to remember that he was a jackass, albeit a sexy one, so it would behoove her to keep her emotional distance.
Sadly, he was the first man she’d found exciting in a very long time.
He was the last man she could ever get involved with.
Picking up her glass, Gillian moved down the bar, took the vacated seat beside him and crossed her legs. While watching him, she removed the olive from her drink and ate it.
Both men stared at her, not so much because of her looks, which she knew to be average, or her figure, which was a little more voluptuous than currently popular. But because she’d invaded their space—and was now staring back.
Drew turned on his stool to fully face her. Without a word, he looked her over, lingering on her legs, her cleavage, and her mouth. When his gaze met hers, he said low, “Hello there.”
Oh, men were so easy. Gillian held out a hand. “Hello.”
A very warm, firm hand, twice the size of hers, enveloped her fingers—and held on. “I’m Drew Black.”
“Of course you are.” Smiling, she retrieved her hand from his. “Gillian Noode.”
“Nude?”
Of course he wouldn’t let that one slide. With a chastising look, she spelled, “N.O.O.D.E.”
His mouth quirked. “Hell of a name.”
“Yes, and I’ve heard every joke there is from every school-boy out there.” She reached beyond Drew to the fighter. She’d heard Drew use his first name, but she liked proper introductions. “And you are?”
He took her hand gently. “Brett Bullman, ma’am.”
Unlike Drew, who shaved his head, Brett had shaggy brown hair a little too long, a little too unruly, and gorgeous green eyes.
He also had a name familiar to her. “I’ve read about you. You’re touted as a self-taught phenomenon taking the fight scene by storm.”
He shrugged with indifference, and shared a friendly smile that had surely melted many female hearts. “So they say. But I haven’t been really challenged yet.” He gave a nod at Drew. “We’re working on that.”
“And I’m interrupting. My apologies.” She stood to leave. She could wait for their business to conclude. “Congratulations on your recent success.”
“Thank you, ma’am. But please, don’t leave on my account. We’re all talked out. I was just finishing my drink.”
Drew agreed. “I’m all yours, so why not park your pretty ass back on the stool? We can get acquainted.”
Gillian’s teeth locked, but her smile didn’t falter. To Brett she said, “Call me Gillian, please.”
He nodded. “All right, Gillian.”
“When do you fight again?”
“It’s still being set up. After that last win, I got recruited by a team, so I’ll train with them for a while before I fight again.”
“No more going it alone?”
“I started out that way because I didn’t know how to get in a good team.” He shrugged. “I’m always open to learning from more experienced guys.”
Drew lounged back, elbows on the bar, and copped an attitude over being ignored. “After some promotion, I’ll give him a main fight on a pay-per-view.”
“I find it fascinating how this all works.” Gillian turned back to Drew, but did not reseat herself. “So. I suppose we really should talk.”
“You heard Brett. I’m all talked out.” His brown eyes challenged her. “But hey, you got anything else in mind, count me in.”
Gillian might not have an extensive social background, but neither was she obtuse. Drew was sexually interested. “I’m sure nothing more than talk would interest you.”
A brow went up. “The hell it wouldn’t.”
This time her smile was snide. “But I don’t meet your many requirements.”
His gaze went over her again, slower this time, lingering in places in a way meant to discomfort her. “Honey, I think you fit the requirements just fine.”
Rather than be offended, Gillian felt … warmed. That annoyed her. So he had a type of raw sex appeal. It was so raw as to be dangerous.
S
he put an arm on the bar and propped her chin on a fist. “But Drew, I’m forty-one,” she lied. “That puts me beyond your age stipulation.”
His mouth twitched into a grin and he took up the game with practiced ease. “You sneaky broad. You were eavesdropping on us.”
“Yes, and on top of being ancient, I have five … no, let’s make that six children.”
“You’re a terrible fibber.” He turned his head to study her waist in the snug skirt. “I’d put you at no more thirty-three. And any idiot can see those are not the hips of a childbearing woman.”
Brett coughed, then made a point of looking at the ceiling.
Gillian leaned in closer to Drew. “Perhaps you’re right. But why do you think I’d lie?”
“Modesty?”
Gillian pursed her mouth. “Or maybe I stretched the truth to deliberately place myself on your list to avoid your personal interest.”
Drew got closer, too, looking at her mouth. “So you assumed I’d be personally interested?”
“You did suggest certain things you’d like to do.”
“Yeah. They involve getting naked and sweaty. You interested?”
“Ah … no, I’m afraid not.” For her own peace of mind, she moved away from him again. “You were probably too hasty in sending away the groupies who, I’m sure, would have been more accommodating.”
“They didn’t interest me.” He made a face. “Too artificial for my tastes.”
“The laughs?” she guessed.
“The boobs.” He gaze veered to her cleavage and stuck there. “I like things a little more natural.”
Gillian fought a blush. “I don’t see much difference between breast implants and the bright red lipstick I’m wearing. Both are meant to make a woman more attractive.”
“Yeah, but one is surgery, and the other”—he closed the space between them again—“can be licked off.”
Shocked both at his audacity and her innate response to it, Gillian straightened away. The man had no shame, no boundaries. She was out of her league, so she’d have to play it a little safer.
“Now don’t run off,” Drew said. “Things were just getting interesting.”
Gillian shook her head. “You might be willing to bend your rules, but I’m not. And mixing business with pleasure is considered my number one no-no.”
