by Lori Foster
“Cannon’s earned it.” Few guys took as many fights as he did, sometimes on really short notice. If a fighter got sick—or suffered an injury, as Gage had—Cannon was there, always ready, always in shape, always kicking ass. They called him the Saint, and no wonder.
Gage glanced around at the young men who, just a few years ago, would have been hanging on the street corner looking for trouble. Now they had some direction in their lives, the attention they craved, decent role models, and a good way to expend energy. But the rec center was just a small part of Cannon’s goodwill.
Whenever he got back to town, he continued his efforts to protect the neighborhood. Gage had enjoyed joining their group, going on night strolls to police the corruption, to let thugs know that others were looking out for the hardworking owners of local family businesses. Actual physical conflicts were rare; overall, it was enough to show that someone was paying attention.
It didn’t hurt that Cannon was friends with a tough-as-nails police lieutenant and two detectives. And then there was his buddy at the local bar, a place where Cannon used to work before he got his big break in the SBC fight organization. The owner of the bar had more contacts than the entire police department. He influenced a lot of the other businesses with his stance for integrity.
Yeah, Cannon had some colorful, capable acquaintances—which included a diverse group of MMA fighters.
Saint suited him—not that Cannon liked the moniker. It wasn’t nearly as harsh as Gage’s own fight name.
Thinking about that brought his attention back to Harper. She watched the TV so he saw her in profile, her long lashes, her turned up nose, her firm chin.
That soft, sexy mouth.
He liked the freckles on her cheekbones. He liked everything about her—how she looked, who she was, the way she treated others.
He smoothed Harper’s hair and said, “Most women like to call me Savage.”
She snorted. “It’s a stupid nickname.”
Pretending great insult, he leaned away. “It’s a fight name, not a nickname. And it’s badass.”
She disagreed. “There’s nothing savage about you. You should have been named Methodical or Accurate or something.”
Grinning, he shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Well,” she muttered, “you’re not savage. That’s all I’m saying.”
He’d gotten the name early on when, despite absorbing several severe blows from a more experienced fighter, he’d kept going. In the end, he’d beaten the guy with some heavy ground and pound, mostly because he’d still been fresh when the other man gassed out.
The commentator had shouted, “He’s a damn savage,” and the description stuck.
To keep himself from thinking about just how savage Harper made him—with lust—he asked, “Want something to eat?”
She wrinkled her nose. “After those last few fights? Bleh.”
Two of the prelim fights were bloody messes, one because of a busted nose, but the other due to a cut similar to what Gage had. Head wounds bled like a mother. During a fight, as long as the fighter wasn’t hurt that badly, they wouldn’t stop things over a little spilled blood. Luckily for the contender, the cut was off to the side and so the blood didn’t run into his eyes.
For Gage, it hadn’t mattered. If only the cut hadn’t been so deep. If it hadn’t needed stitches. If it would have been somewhere other than right over his eye. If—
Harper’s hand trailed over his thigh again. “So, Savage,” she teased, and damned if she didn’t get close to his fly. “Want to help me bring out more drinks before the main event starts?”
Anything to keep him from ruminating on lost opportunities, which he was pretty sure had been Harper’s intent.
“Why not?” He stood and hauled her up with him.
They had to go past Armie who stood with two very edgy women and several teenagers, munching on popcorn and comparing biceps.
Armie winked at Harper.
She smiled at him. “We’ll only be a minute.”
The idiot clutched his chest. “You’ve just destroyed all my illusions and damaged Savage’s reputation beyond repair.”
Gage rolled his eyes, more than willing to ignore Armie’s nonsense, but he didn’t get far before one of the boys asked him about his cut. Next thing he knew, he was surrounded by wide eyes and ripe curiosity. Because it was a good opportunity to show the boys how to handle disappointment, he lingered, letting them ask one question after another.
Harper didn’t complain. If anything, she watched him with something that looked a lot like pride. Not exactly what he wanted from her at this particular moment, but it felt good all the same.
He didn’t realize she’d gone about getting the drinks without him until Armie relieved her of two large cartons of soft drinks. Together they began putting the cans in the cooler over ice. They laughed together, and even though it looked innocent enough, it made Gage tense with—
“You two hooking up finally?”
Thoughts disrupted, Gage turned to Denver. Hard to believe he hadn’t noticed the approach of a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound man. “What?”
“You and Harper,” Denver said, while perusing the food that remained. “Finally going to make it official?”
“Make what official?”
“That you’re an item.” Denver chose half a cold cut sandwich and devoured the majority of it in one bite.
Gage’s gaze sought Harper out again. Whatever Armie said to her got him a shove in return. Armie pulled an exaggerated fighter’s stance, fists up, as if he thought he’d have to defend himself.
Harper pretended a low shot, Armie dropped his hands to cover the family jewels, and she smacked him on top of the head.
The way the two of them carried on, almost like siblings, made Gage feel left out.
Were he and Harper an item? He knew how he felt, but Harper could be such a mystery.
Denver shouldered him to the side so he could grab some cake. “Gotta say, man, I hope so. She was so glum while you were away, it depressed the hell out of everyone.”
Hard to imagine a woman as vibrant as Harper ever down in the dumps. When he’d left for the camp in Kentucky, she’d understood, wishing him luck, telling him how thrilled she was for him.
But since his return a few days ago, things had been off. He hadn’t immediately sought her out, determined to get his head together first. He didn’t want pity from anyone, but the way he’d felt had been pretty damned pitiful. He’d waffled between rage at the circumstances and mind-numbing regret. No way did he want others to suffer him like that, most especially Harper.
He knew he’d see her at the rec center and had half expected her to gush over him, to fret over his injury, to sympathize.
She hadn’t done any of that. Mostly she’d treated him the same as she did the rest of the guys, leaving him confused and wallowing in his own misery.
Until tonight.
Tonight she was all about making him insane with the need to get her alone and naked.
“You listening to me, Gage?”
Rarely did another fighter call him by his given name. That Denver did so now almost felt like a reprimand from his mom. “Yeah, Denver, I’m listening.”
“Good.” Denver folded massive arms over his massive chest, puffing up like a turkey. “So what’s it to be?”
If Denver expected a challenge, too bad. Gage again sought out Harper with his gaze. “She was really miserable?”
Denver deflated enough to slap him on the back. “Yeah. It was awful. Made me sad as shit, I don’t mind telling you.”
“What was she miserable about?”
“Dude, are you that fucking obtuse?”
Stack stepped into the conversation. “Hell, yeah, he is.” Then changing the subject, Stack asked, “Did Rissy go to Japan with Cannon?”
Denver answered, saying, “Yeah, he took her and her roommate along.”
Merissa, better known as Rissy, was Cannon’s little
sis. A roommate was news to Gage, though. “If you have ideas about his sister, you’re an idiot.”
Stack drew back. “No. Hell, no. Damn man, don’t start rumors.”
Everyone knew Cannon as a nice guy. More than nice. But he was crazy-particular when it came to Merissa. For that reason, the guys all looked past her, through her, or when forced to it, with nothing more than respect. “Who’s the roommate?”
“Sweet Cherry Pie,” Denver rumbled low and with feeling.
Stack grinned at him.
Gage totally missed the joke. “What?”
“Cherry Payton,” Denver said, and damn if he didn’t almost sigh. “Long blond hair, big chocolate-brown eyes, extra fine body...”
“Another one bites the dust,” Stack said with a laugh.
“Another one?”
“Obtuse,” Denver lamented.
Stack nodded toward Harper. “You being the first, dumbass.”
“We all expect you to make her feel better about things.”
Confusion kicked his temper up a notch. “What things?”
Slapping a hand over his heart, Stack said, “How you feel.”
Striking a similar pose, Denver leaned into Stack. “What you want.”
Heads together, they intoned, “Love.”
“You’re both morons.” But damn it, he realized that he did love her. Probably had for a long time. How could he not? Priorities could be a bitch and he hated the idea that he’d maybe made Harper unhappy by not understanding his feelings sooner.
He chewed his upper lip while wondering how to correct things.
“Honesty,” Stack advised him. “Tell her how the schedule goes, what to expect, and leave the rest up to her.”
“Harper’s smart,” Denver agreed. “She’ll understand.”
It irked Gage big-time to have everyone butting into his personal business. “Don’t you guys have something better to do than harass me?”
“I have someone better to do,” Stack told him, nodding toward one of the women who’d hit on Gage earlier. “Butting in to your business was just my good will gesture of the day.” And with that he sauntered off.
Denver leaned back on the table of food. “We all like Harper, you know.”
Gage was starting to think they liked her a little too much. “Yeah, I get that.”
“So quit dicking around, will you?” He grabbed up another sandwich and he, too, joined a woman.
Gage stewed for half a minute, turned—and almost ran into Harper.
CHAPTER FOUR
GAGE CAUGHT HER ARMS, steadying them both. “Why does everyone keep sneaking up on me?”
She brushed off his hands. “If you hadn’t been ogling the single ladies, maybe you’d be more aware.”
She absolutely had to know better than to think that, but just in case...”How could I notice any other woman with you around?”
She eyed him. “Do you notice other women when I’m not around?”
Damn, he thought, did she really not know how much he cared? Worse, had she been sad while he was away?
The possibility chewed on his conscience. “No, I don’t.” He drew her up to kiss her sweetly, and then, because this was Harper, not so sweetly.
To give her back a little, he shared his own complaint. “You spend way too much time horsing around with Armie.”
Shrugging, she reached for a few chips. “I was trying not to crowd you.”
“What does that mean?”
While munching, she gestured around the interior of the rec center. “This is a fight night. You’re hanging with your buds. When I see you guys talking, I don’t want to horn in.”
Whoa. Those were some serious misconceptions. To help clear things up, he cupped her face. “You can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Horn in. Ever.”
Brows pinching in disgruntlement, she shoved away from him. “I just told you I wouldn’t.”
He hauled her right back. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, honey, I’m saying you can’t because there’s never a bad time for you to talk to me. Remember that, okay?”
Astonished, she blinked up at him, and he wanted to declare himself right then. Luckily the first fight on the main card started and everyone went back to their seats, saving him from rushing her.
This time, Gage had a hard time concentrating. He saw the fight, he cheered, but more of his attention veered to Harper, to how quiet she was now.
Thinking about him?
The fight ended in the first round with a knockout.
Instead of reacting with everyone else, Harper turned her face up to his. As if no time had passed at all, she said, “That’s not entirely true.”
Damn, but it was getting more difficult by the second to keep his hands off her. He contented himself by opening his hand on her waist, stroking up to her ribs then down to her hip. “What’s that?”
“There are plenty of times when I can’t intrude.”
She was still stewing about that? “No.”
Like a thundercloud, she darkened. Turning to more fully face him, she said low, “Yes.” Before he could correct her, she insisted, “But I want you to know that I understand.”
Apparently she didn’t. “How so?”
Leaning around him, she glanced at one and all to ensure there were no eavesdroppers. As if uncertain, she puckered her brows while trying to find the right words. “I know when you’re in training—”
“I’m pretty much always in training.”
She looked like she wanted to smack him. “There’s training and then there’s training.”
True enough. “You mean when I go away to another camp.”
“That, and when you’re close to a fight.”
Should he tell her how much he’d enjoy coming home to her—every night, not just between fights? Would she ever be willing to travel with him? Or to wait for him when she couldn’t?
He had a feeling Harper would fit seamlessly into his life no matter what he had going on.
Being as honest as he could, Gage nodded. “There will be times when my thoughts are distracted, when I have to focus on other stuff. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. It sure as hell doesn’t mean you have to keep your distance.”
The next fight started and though a few muted conversations continued, most in attendance kept their comments limited to the competition. Beside him, Harper fell silent. Gage could almost feel her struggling to sort out everything he’d said.
Again, he found himself studying her profile; not just her face, but her body, too. Her breasts weren’t large, but they fit her frame, especially with her small waist and the sexy flare of her hips. She kept her long legs crossed, one foot nervously rocking. She drew in several deep breaths. A pulse tripped in her throat.
By the second the sexual tension between them grew.
The end of the night started to feel like too many hours away. They had at least three more fights on the main card. Cannon’s fight would be last. It wasn’t a title fight, but it’d still go five rounds.
The current match went all three rounds and came down to a split decision. Gage no longer cared; hell, he’d missed more of the fight than he’d seen.
Around him, voices rose in good-natured debate about how the judges had gotten it right or wrong.
“What do you think?” Gage asked Harper.
She shrugged. “Depends on how the judges scored things. The guy from Brazil really pushed the fight, but the other one landed more blows. Still, he didn’t cause that much damage, and the Brazilian got those two takedowns—”
Gage put a finger to her mouth. “I meant about us.”
Her wide-eyed gaze swung to his. “Oh.” She gulped, considered him, then whispered, “I like it.”
“It?”
“There being an ‘us.’”
Yeah, he liked it, too, maybe more than he’d realized before now. “I missed you while I was away.”
She scoffed. “You were way too busy fo
r that.”
“I worked hard, no denying it. But it wasn’t 24/7. I found myself alone with my thoughts far too often.”
She forced a smile. “I’m sure at those times you were obsessed about the SBC, about the competition, about winning.”
“All that—plus you.” When it came to priorities, she was at the top. He’d just made too many assumptions for her to realize it.
She looked tortured for a moment before her hand knotted in his shirt and she pulled him closer. With pained accusation, she said, “You didn’t call.”
Hot with regret, Gage covered her hand with his own. “I was trying to focus.” Saying it out loud, he felt like an ass.
But Harper nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. There will be times when I need to stay out of your way so I don’t mess with that focus.”
He hated the idea of her avoiding him.
Almost as much as he hated the thought of ever leaving her again. Yet that was a reality. He was a fighter; he would go to other camps to train, travel around the country, around the world.
He’d go where the SBC sent him.
“You have to know, Gage. I’d never get in your way, not on purpose.”
He almost groaned.
“I’m serious! I know how important your career is and I know what a nuisance it can be to—”
Suddenly starved for the taste of her, for the feel of her, Gage took her mouth in a firm kiss.
But that wasn’t enough, so he turned his head and nibbled her bottom lip until she opened. When he licked inside her warm, damp mouth, her breath hitched. Mindful of where they were, he nonetheless had a hell of time tempering his lust.
Damn it.
The next fight started. Cannon would be after that.
In a sudden desperate rush, Gage left his chair, pulling her up and along with him as he headed toward the dimly lit hallway. He couldn’t wait a second more. But for what he had to say, had to explain, he needed the relative privacy of a back room.
Luckily she’d seated them at the end of the back row. In only a few steps, and without a lot of attention, he had them on their way.
