by Tia Lewis
I watched as he pulled up his shirt, giving me a nice view of the side of his torso in the process. On his ribs was a scorpion, the tail curling near his armpit and one of the pinchers resting against his hipbone with no boxer brief line in sight. Oh my god.
“It hurt like hell the next day, but I had my name.”
I swallowed, not because his story had surprised me so much as the fact that he was going commando under those oh so snug jeans. Now that was enough to dry out a woman’s mouth. “I, um, great tattoo?”
Paul lowered his shirt much to my disappointment and shrugged. “Yeah, well if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t be so damn stupid.”
I couldn’t help but wonder myself what else he had hidden under that shirt. The last time I had seen him fight, he had worn a tight sleeveless shirt, hiding his firm torso underneath. Now I wanted to go home and google the hell out of him. “Well, we all have done something stupid in our lives.”
Paul threw some bills on the bar and stood, his brow furrowed. “I’m outta here.”
“Please,” I said, grabbing his arm. His muscles bunched under my grip and I felt the movement all the way to my toes. “I will resort to begging if I need to. I need you in that match.”
He shook me off. “As much as I would enjoy you on your knees in front of me, I still don’t trust you.”
Crude but hot. Why did he have to be either? Why did he have to be so darn stubborn? “You can trust me,” I said softly. “Come by the office tomorrow. I will have half of the money waiting for you.” I didn’t know why he was being so speculative about me, but whatever the reason was, I couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
“Tomorrow,” he said, his gaze narrowed.
“Tomorrow,” I repeated. I would have to make a lot of phone calls, but I could make it happen.
He rubbed a hand over his face, and I was glad to see the indecision in his eyes. I was wearing him down. “What if I put it on the line?”
“What?” he asked roughly, his eyes flaring in surprise.
I pointed to the pool tables in the corner, swallowing hard. “If I beat you at a game, you have to say yes.”
“A game of pool,” he repeated.
I lifted my chin, giving him my best smile. “Yeah. Are you game or what?”
Paul looked over my head and blew out a breath. “You get one game darling, and when I beat that ass, this business between you and me is over. Got it?”
I smirked, sticking out my hand. “Done.”
He reached over and shook it, tiny flames of need shooting up my arm. “Done.” He then turned back, signaling to Jim behind the bar. “We need a set of balls.”
I kept my smile on my face as he retrieved the pool balls and we walked over to the table, wondering what I was getting myself into. I was a decent pool player, one of the many things I learned in college that only held my interest for like a month or so. Never would I have thought I would be using it to barter with a hot fighter.
Paul racked the balls as I selected a pool stick, tapping my feet to the music. Despite that I was putting my entire event on the line, I was having fun. It was rare that I went somewhere I was comfortable, somewhere that did not have to do with a family function. Here no one knew who I was.
Paul came to stand beside me, and I sucked in a breath, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. He was gorgeous, his arms rippling as he took one of the sticks and tested its weight. I might lose this game solely on the premise that I was distracted by a hot guy.
7
Paul
She was so fucked. I held my grin as I watched her walk around the table, wondering why in the hell she would pick this game to be her saving grace. I was a fucking master at pool, and if I couldn’t run her off with my crass comments, then I was going to have to whip her ass.
“You break,” I said confidently, leaning on the pool stick. Maybe she would knock in the eight, and we would be over before we got started. Despite being pissed off that she had tracked me down here, I was having fun. I watched as Sarah lined up her shot and let her stick fly, inwardly impressed at the amount of force she used in her break. “Solids,” she called as a few of the balls rolled to the pockets.
“This isn’t your first time, is it?” I asked woodenly as she made her next two shots. She looked up at me across the table and shook her head. “I play to win Paul. I always do.”
Shit. She was sinking them in like it was kid’s play. Frowning, I walked around the table, mentally calculating how many balls she had left. If I didn’t do something soon, I was going to be at her mercy.
She leaned back, and I braced my hands on either side of her, leaning close. I could feel her ass nestled up against my cock, a warmth spreading through my body like wildfire. I heard her sharp intake of breath and felt the same way, wondering what the hell had I gotten myself into with this one.
“W-what are you doing?” she asked, her hands trembling slightly on the stick.
“I’m just looking for the next shot. You don’t mind, do you?”
“N-no,” she said, knocking the stick into the ball. I chuckled as the ball only rolled a few inches, backing off. There. I was about to run the table with this one.
Lining up my shot, I sent the ball flying into the pocket, my adrenaline turned up to ten. I also played to win, but I didn’t play fair. Whatever it took. The streets had taught me that.
I ran the next two balls into the pocket with no problem, grinning as I walked around the table. This was like taking candy from a baby now.
As I bent over to line up my next shot, I felt the slightest brush along my arm before a stick ran up my leg, throwing off my shot and sending the ball into the corner, the eight ball teetering against the pocket before falling in. Dammit. I turned around to see Sarah grinning at me innocently. “You fucking cheated.”
She laid the stick on the table, wiping her hands together. “Well, turnabout is fair play Mr. Watts, but you lost.”
I let out a growl as she went to walk away, turning back to look at me. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I watched as she walked away, angry that I had just been played by an amateur. Damn, she had roped me in and spit me out.
What the hell was I doing? I found myself asking well, myself that over and over again as I looked up at the tall building before me, contemplating turning around and walking away. But that would mean I was leaving fifty grand on the table, and I couldn’t do that. I needed that money. Matt needed that money. This wasn’t just about me anymore; this was about ensuring that my brother stuck around for the next fifty or so years. I wasn’t about to let him down.
Drawing in a breath, I smoothed down the dress shirt I had pulled out of my closet, hoping that I had gotten most of the wrinkles out from the dryer tumble this morning. If I was about to sign over my life for a few weeks, I might as well dress the part. Hell, maybe I should have shown up in my gym gear to piss her off. After last night’s little stunt, I had spent the rest of the night drinking, waking up with a fucking hangover and a hard on this morning because of her.
I walked through the revolving door and yanked my sunglasses off, tucking them in the open collar of my shirt. I might put on a dress shirt for this, but not a tie. The elevator was sleek and glass, taking me to the sixth floor in a matter of seconds. As I stepped off the elevator onto the plush carpeting, I almost turned around. This was going to be over my head. I wasn’t cut out to be nice. I was cut out to be a fighter. That I could do really well.
But that was only going to be part of this. I rolled my shoulders and walked over to the desk, where a striking blonde wearing a headset sat, typing away on a slim laptop. She looked up, and I gave her a grin. “Hi.”
“Hello and welcome to Gilden Enterprises. Do you have an appointment?”
All business. That’s the way I liked it. I leaned onto the desk, flashing her another grin that I knew to be fairly effective on beautiful women. “Depends. Do you want an appointment?”
She blushed, an
d I inwardly gave myself a high five. I needed to release some pent-up energy and Daisy was going to be the perfect one to do just that.
“Mr. Watts!”
Hell. Her voice caught me off guard, and I straightened too fast, my arm knocking over the vase of flowers that had been sitting on the top of the desk, sending the flowers and water all over the carpet in an instant. As I looked up, I realized it wasn’t just the carpet that had gotten wet. Her silky blouse was clinging to her top half, showing off an impressive rack, with an outline of a lacy bra from where the water had landed. Damn. I had no idea.
“Ms. Gilden!” the receptionist cried, jumping out of her chair. “Are you alright?”
“Of course, Daisy,” she sputtered, crossing her arms over her chest in an effort to hide her wet blouse. “I’m fine. It’s just a little water.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, my eyes unable to pull from the damp area. My cock twitched hard against my pants, and I changed my stance so they wouldn’t see the massive hard on. Shit. It was like someone had switched on the blood flow to my cock. Apparently, last night hadn’t been just a fluke.
She waved her hand at me, turning back toward the hallway. “I have a change of clothes in my office bathroom. Daisy, will you show Mr. Watts into my office, please? Make sure he’s comfortable.”
At one time, I would have made some private joke to Daisy about how comfortable she could make me, but my eyes were glued on the woman walking down the hall, her nice rounded bottom straining against the material of her pants. My attention was elsewhere, no matter how much I wanted to ignore the fact. I had a raging hard on for a woman who had done nothing but vex me for weeks until she had finally found the one thing I couldn’t turn down. Money. I needed it, lots of it.
“Right this way,” Daisy said, beckoning for me to follow her down the hall. I did, painfully I might add, to an office with a wall of windows behind the modern desk. Abstract art covered the other wall or at least that was what I thought it was called. The scribbled lines were apparently pretty popular these days.
“Have a seat and Sarah will be with you shortly.”
I eyed the chairs before the desk, overstuffed and inviting compared to the rest of the sleek office and settled into one, tapping my fingers on the arm as I looked out the windows, the river off in the distance with the sun glistening off the water. This was a type of place I would never see otherwise, a place that my fucker of a father probably worked at or owned. When I was little, I asked a lot of questions about him, but the older I got, the more I realized we were an embarrassment, a dirty little secret in his perfect life. I never met the man, my mother extremely careful never to mix her family with the man who lined her pockets. And it wasn’t a hell of a lot of money.
“I’m so sorry,” Sarah said as she entered the office, causing me to turn to see her. She had changed into a short sleeved blouse that was dark in color, with no chance of me spilling water on her for another glimpse. Damn. It had been the highlight of my day so far.
“It was my fault.”
She stepped behind the desk and gave me a little smile. “Well, don’t feel bad about it. It could have been a great deal worse.”
I wasn’t so sure what she meant by that, so I didn’t reply, clearing my throat instead. Now that I was more in tune to this Sarah Gilden in front of me, I was paying more attention to her looks, the way her eyes sparkled and how rosy her lips looked today. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t want anything from this woman besides her money. I had to keep it that way. I had no intentions of entangling myself with a woman who could easily give up fifty grand like it was nothing. “I’m here to get my money.”
Her smile dimmed, and I forced myself to remain bitter about the whole thing. She wasn’t doing me a fucking favor other than the money. If I didn’t need it for Matt’s treatment, I wouldn’t be here. “Of course,” she said, tucking a free strand of hair behind her ear before sitting into the chair behind the desk. “I have the paperwork right here.”
I leaned forward as she pushed a stack of papers toward me, complete with the pen already on top and ready for my signature. “What am I doing? Buying a damn house or something?”
She let out a giggle before she covered it with a cough. “Trust me you want all of those words in there. This covers both of us in case something happens, and the charity event is unable to take place.”
I looked up at her, attempting to ignore the fact that her damn eyes were sparkling again. “What do you mean?”
“You know in case of a natural disaster or something,” she answered, settling into her chair. “I have no intentions of screwing you over Mr. Watts. You will get your money today regardless and then the other half after we pass the event date. The only thing I won’t cover will be if you decide to back out at the last minute.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” I muttered, thumbing through the pages with little interest. Though, I really should read all the pages; I found myself trusting her. It was an unusual thing for me, to trust anyone.
“I have,” she said. “I take these events very seriously, Mr. Watts.”
“Paul,” I grumbled.
“What?”
“Call me Paul.” I couldn’t stand the formality. I’d never done anything formal in my entire life. Grabbing the pen, I found the places marked for me to sign, scribbling a signature before pushing it toward her. “There. I’ve signed over my first born and all of my organs.”
Sarah laughed huskily as she put the packet of papers to the side, the sound causing my cock to rise excitedly once more. I had to get out of here soon. She was putting off this vibe I was starting to be concerned about. “Thanks. I promise it will be as painless as I can possibly make it.”
I grunted, mainly because she had no idea how painful it was at the moment. “So, do I just show up or something?”
She pushed a paper toward me. “This is your requirements in terms of press and appearances. I need to market this baby pretty heavily, so I will need some head shots from you. We will do those tomorrow. Any expenses are on me and not included in your money. That is for you to do whatever you want with.”
I looked at the list, my gut churning at the thought of attending a black-tie gala, which was listed on the page. I was a fighter, not a pansy boy. I was not the type of guy who could carry on polite conversation or eat hor d’oeuvres. I was a beer and greasy cheeseburger kind of guy. I didn’t even own a tux.
But this was fifty grand that would get my brother the treatment he needed. I couldn’t back off just because of a damn gala. “Fine.”
“Great,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow for the head shots. Should I come to your place?”
My head shot up, and I shook it. I wanted her nowhere near my place. “The gym. I’ll be there.”
“Alright then,” Sarah replied, sticking out her hand. “I look forward to this partnership Paul. You won’t regret it.”
I already was.
8
Sarah
“I hear you landed a fighter for me.”
I chuckled and shut off the engine, holding the phone up to my ear with my shoulder. “Yes, I did brother. I hope you have been training extra hard.”
“I’m not scared of Paul Watts,” Jarred growled through the phone. “He’s washed up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Keep thinking that and you might believe it. He’s going to kick your ass and then you will be writing me a big fat check.”
“Say what you want,” he said into the phone. “I’m gonna kick his ass.”
I climbed out of the car, straightening my dress skirt in the process. “I hope you have been training Jarred. I’d hate to see your pretty face be smashed in.”
“Just bring your pansy boy fighter to the gala,” he said before clicking off. I tucked the phone into my skirt pocket, a grin on my face that I could not contain. Sure, I didn’t want my brother to be seriously injured, after all this was just a charity match, but t
he thought of winning was a great boost this morning. I couldn’t wait.
I walked up to the gym and pushed open the door, the sounds of a normal gym meeting me, even though it didn’t look like one on the inside. There was a place for weight lifting and cardio, but the majority of the building was occupied by massive cages, the black metal only giving a glimpse of the blue mat on the other side of it.
“Can I help you? Please say I can help you?”
I turned my attention to a tall, grinning man in front of me, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, hey Sarah.”
“Benji,” I answered, giving the cute fighter a smile in return. I had really wanted Benji Lomns to be in the match, mainly because he was so darn cute and the women loved him, but he had turned me down and for good reason. He was still actively fighting, which maybe was the best for my brother. Benji would take him down in like ten seconds flat. I did find it interesting that now that I was working with Paul, my heart didn’t go pitter-patter as it had been when I had met with Benji. Interesting and wholly scary indeed. “I’m here to pick up Paul.”
Benji crossed his arms over his chest, his grin never faltering. “So you roped him into it. Good for you, Sarah. I know this event means a lot to you. I hope Jarred is ready. I have a golf game with him the next weekend. He better not use the ass beating as an excuse.”
I laughed. “It really does. I’m so glad he accepted. I would have been sunk otherwise.”
The fighter laughed, flexing his arms. “There are other fighters around Chicago, Sarah. You could have found any of them to do it.”
“Perhaps,” I answered, giving him a wink. “But none are as popular as ya’ll are.”
“Touche,” Benji said with a grin. “I’ll go get Paul. Hang out here for a moment.”
“Thanks,” I said as he walked away, my face burning as I checked out his rear end as he did so. I was so shameless, but with all of these good-looking, muscular men around, one’s hormones tended to take over every once and a while. Hey, a girl had to get it when she could.
