by Lori Foster
What a relief. “So.” She hobbled over to the coffeemaker to prepare a fresh pot. “Tell me about the fight.”
“I’ll tell if you will.”
She glanced back in question.
“You walk like someone who went five rounds with a Muay Thai kickboxer. I walked like that once, after I’d been slammed in the thigh about a dozen times. From my knee up I was black-and-blue for days.”
Wow, such a graphic picture he’d painted. “I had a similar experience.”
“Yeah?”
Nodding, she said, “I went sixty minutes with an elliptical machine.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound. “Pushed it a bit much, huh?”
“Probably fifty-nine minutes too much.”
“Exercise virgin?”
“Afraid so.” While the coffee perked, she studied his face. “Stitches?”
He touched the small patch under his right eye. “Caught an elbow and it swelled enough to split the skin. Seven stitches.” Standing, he lifted the edge of his T-shirt to show off colorful ribs. “These are from a kick.”
“Uh-huh.” Cat stared at some impressive abs. The bruises were bad, but the abs were badass. “You fighter types sure are ripped.”
“Not all of us.” He sat again. “Some of it is selective gene pool. Some is hard work. But I know some guys who work at it just as hard as Leese and I do, and they still have soft middles. It’s just not in their DNA. Doesn’t make them lesser fighters.”
“Probably makes them lesser studs though.”
His lips curled into another crooked smile. “I’ll take your word for that.”
When the coffee finished, she asked, “You want a cup?”
“Sure. Black, please.”
She poured both, then joined him closer to the bar. By the minute she felt more comfortable. “So why you?”
“Why me, what?” He sipped and said, “Mmm. Strong, the way I like it.”
“Why did Leese ask you to babysit me?”
He looked her over, cocked a brow and said, “You’d have rather been alone?”
She’d have rather Leese didn’t go, but clearly that hadn’t been an option. “I guess not.”
“So you needed company, not a babysitter.”
Okay, she’d buy that. “But why you specifically?”
Miles scratched his chin. “I’ve known Leese for a while now, back to when he was still a shithead with a lousy attitude. We’ve gotten close, so he trusts me.”
No way. She stood a little straighter, full of disbelief. “You mean Leese wasn’t always perfect?”
“Perfect?” That cracked him up. Miles laughed, caught her frown and laughed some more.
“Why,” Cat asked, “is that so funny?”
“Let’s just say Leese stumbled into our group by default after using some pretty poor judgment. He corrected what he could, then he stayed and now he’s one of us.”
“Us?” she asked.
“Fight camp. It’s where a bunch of us train at the same gym. We’re as much like brothers as friends. Several of the guys married recently and the ladies are all tight too.” He gave her a sideways glance. “For some reason they’re extra close to Leese. Cannon and Armie don’t mind much, but it makes Stack and Denver a little nuts. Stack’s wife, especially, is cozy with him, like he’s a confidant or something. She was pretty broke up when he left fighting to be a bodyguard. But he usually gets back to town every other week or so, and we all get together then.”
Cat blinked at that outpouring of unique names and detailed information. She hadn’t even needed to coerce him to spill his guts. She appreciated how easy he’d made it, but... Leese was friends with the ladies? Close friends? The thought of that made her neck hot.
To cover her reaction, she asked, “What about you? Not married?”
“No.” Appalled, he leaned back in the seat as if distancing himself from the very idea. “Not interested, thank you very much.”
Tone dry, she said, “I wasn’t personally asking.”
“Still, it’s never good when hot ladies bring up marriage.”
Oh, nice. “You think I’m hot?”
He gave her a mocking don’t-be-coy glance. “Yeah, I do.”
She damn near preened. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He went back to drinking his coffee.
Deciding to go with her gut, Cat stopped worrying and instead came around to join him on the other bar stool. “Tell me more about Leese.”
Eyes warming, he asked, “What do you want to know?”
* * *
THROUGH THE OFFICE WINDOW, Leese barely lifted a curtain and peered out. He could just see the driveway, the front yard and a part of the stoop where two men, gazes shifty, looked up and down the street, then went to work on the door.
Only two. Good.
They’d parked a noticeable black sedan at the curb. Idiots. The slick, polished car stood out against the minivans, hatchbacks and compact vehicles.
One man was dark, his hair cropped short. The other had brown hair. Both wore suit pants and long black coats.
Way to announce yourselves, assholes.
Two he could handle—piece of cake. No need to sneak out the back, Leese decided. He wanted to know who they were and why they were here.
No sooner did he have that thought than he overheard the men muttering to each other.
“She’s turning into a major pain in my ass.”
“We’ll have her soon.”
“Won’t be soon enough for me. I hope she’s made to pay before she’s taken out. Bitch deserves it.”
A gruff laugh. “Yeah, this hasn’t been the cakewalk I expected.”
Fuckers. Every muscle in Leese’s body tensed before he forced himself to relax again. Invested rage, he knew, wasn’t a benefit. He needed a cool head. He needed to be detached.
Damn near impossible, but he’d manage.
Being less efficient than him, it took the goons a full minute longer to pick the lock, and by then Leese was in the living room, behind the door. More than ready.
They continued to rumble to each other, voices low and testy. Yes, it was bitter cold outside. Yes, the wind howled.
No reason to cry about it.
When the door quietly opened, Leese released a breath, and both men stepped inside. Being obtuse as well as assholes, they started to close the door before finally noticing him.
Surprise had them fumbling, and by then it was too late.
He didn’t want to destroy Cat’s house, so he didn’t play around. The closest guy got a kick in the temple that stiffened his entire body. Eyes rolling back unevenly, he collapsed into his darker, bulkier friend.
Before the muscle man could draw his gun, Leese lifted his own. “I’d really hate to cause a ruckus,” he said. “In a neighborhood like this, the cops will come swarming in.”
“That’d be a problem for you too,” the man said, his gaze calculating, seeking an escape.
“Not so much.” He was legit, so he’d deal with the cops just fine if it came to that. Using his foot, Leese nudged the door shut. No reason to advertise this conflict to the neighbors.
“Make this easy on yourself.” Shifting in a way that his coat moved away from his hip and exposed a holster, the thug said, “Give up the girl and we can go our separate ways.”
“Yeah? And what do you plan to do with her?”
“Not your concern.”
Leese stared into his black eyes. “There’s where you’re wrong. She is very much my concern.”
The man laughed. “Bullshit. She isn’t involved with anyone. She hasn’t even dated for a year. Cut your losses before it’s too late.”
Leese ignored most of that. “Are you the one wh
o planted the bug?”
The near infinitesimal flaring of his eyes showed his surprise.
While he gauged the situation, Leese asked, “Who do you work for?”
“You’re in over your head, man. Back off.”
That brief conversation took only seconds, yet it felt so momentous it should have been an hour-long interrogation.
“With two fingers,” Leese instructed calmly, “take out your gun and set it on the table. Do it slowly.” When he started to move, Leese added, “Understand, I won’t hesitate to end you.”
One palm up in the universal sign of surrender, the intruder carefully removed his weapon and gingerly placed it on the table.
“Back up.” Maintaining his aim, Leese waited for him to move, then took the relinquished weapon, stuck it in his own pocket and withdrew nylon cuffs. “Fasten your friend’s hands.” The downed man wouldn’t stay out much longer. “Now.”
Going to one knee, he did as told. “You are making a big mistake.”
“Not over his coat,” Leese said with impatience. “His bare wrists.” Once they were nice and tight, Leese said, “Good. Now lie on your stomach, hands locked behind your neck.” Without taking the gun off the intruders, Leese flipped the lock on the door.
Thinking he was distracted, the darker man rolled fast to his back and grabbed for his friend’s gun.
He wasn’t fast enough.
Leese kicked out, sending the gun to skitter across the floor and probably breaking the man’s hand in the process. Dropping a knee to his chest, Leese used his left hand to slug the man in the jaw twice. He wanted to hit him more. He wanted to annihilate him.
But the asshole had already blacked out.
Damn. Hard to question unconscious men, but how was he to know they both had glass jaws?
“Shit.” Tucking his own gun away, Leese flipped the man back to his stomach and bound his hands behind him, drawing the nylon cuffs tight enough to stifle circulation. For good measure, he went ahead and bound their feet as well, then searched them for any additional weapons.
In total they’d had three guns, a big blade and a Taser.
When Leese imagined men of their ilk ever getting within speaking distance of Catalina, icy rage slid through his veins. He took a few seconds to think about what to do, then made up his mind.
Minutes later, as both men came around, Leese lifted the razor-sharp blade and smiled in evil anticipation.
* * *
DRESSED IN COMFY flannel pants and a sweatshirt, seated on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn and a Coke—something Leese would have frowned over, if he’d been there—Cat watched the screen. Every couple of seconds she had a question, and each time Miles patiently answered.
Who knew MMA was so exciting?
As one sweaty man twisted another man’s arm to the breaking point in some complex, pretzel-like move, she lifted the bowl to hide her eyes. “What is he doing?”
“Kimura,” Miles said. “It’s a double joint armlock, used to get your opponent to tap.”
“Oh my God, so why doesn’t he tap already?” She was so tense, it felt like her own arm was being twisted in that unnatural way. “Tap, tap, tap,” she insisted.
Miles laughed. “Why would he tap when he can get out of it? Watch.”
Reluctantly, she peeked over the bowl, and seconds later, somehow, the positions were reversed. “That’s absolutely amazing.”
“For every move,” Miles said, “there’s a counter. It’s just remembering it, being strong enough or agile enough to do it and doing it at the right time to make it work.”
It all sounded very complicated. She tried to imagine Leese in that type of fight. Picturing him in the shorts was easy enough. Such a nice visual. But the rest... “Did Leese ever get in those awful positions?”
“Those and worse, sure. Happens to every fighter at one time or another.”
Sympathy made her wince. “It looked really painful.”
“Because it is. But pain is temporary. Losing is forever.”
That was about the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. “Pain is pain.”
“I guess. But there’s pain that just hurts, and then there’s pain that causes damage. Most fighters learn the difference. If something just hurts, you fight through it. If you know a bone is going to break, or you’re going to tear cartilage, then you tap and plan to come back better prepared the next time.”
Imagining the snap of a broken bone, she shuddered. “Why did Leese quit? Do you know?”
Rolling one shoulder, Miles said, “He’s good, but he decided he’d never be a title contender. That’s the main reason he switched up careers. Being second best doesn’t suit everyone, and only a select few fighters can be the best. Leese still stays in shape—”
“Yup.” He most definitely did.
“—but from what he’s told me, he doesn’t regret quitting the fight scene.” He turned to face her. “Next time I see you, I’ll show you some of Leese’s fights if you want.”
He figured on seeing her again? Cat wasn’t sure how that would happen, since she didn’t even know how long she’d have with Leese. Not that she’d go into all that with Miles. Sharing a portion of her secrets with Leese had been difficult enough. “You’ve recorded his fights?”
“Most fights are recorded. That way we can go over them again, see where we messed up, what we need to work on, stuff like that.”
“I’d love to see them, thank you.” They’d already gone through two whole competitions, but she could have watched for hours more. Unfortunately, when the next fight ended, so did the MMA. The sports channel moved on to football.
How much longer would Leese be? It was past dinnertime already, and she could really use another whirlpool.
Miles caught her rubbing a thigh and asked, “Still uncomfortable?”
Being truthful, she admitted, “Not as much. It’s easing up.” She no longer felt like Frankenstein when she walked.
“You should have taken an ice bath right afterward.”
Appalled at the idea, she gasped. “Not happening, ever.”
A devilish light entered his green eyes. “So you’re not only an exercise virgin, you’re a wuss?”
“When it comes to ice?” She shuddered. “Absolutely. I don’t do cold. I did lounge in a hot whirlpool though.”
“Wrong. That should’ve been after the ice.”
Pointing her Coke at him, Cat said, “I don’t want to hear that word again.”
He twisted toward her and gave her legs a quick survey. “Massage helps too. Want to stretch out?”
“Um...” Nervous tingles ran up her spine. “No?”
He took the drink and bowl from her hands and set them on the coffee table. “I’m not going to make a move, promise. But there’s no reason for you to sit there and be uncomfortable when I can help.”
“But...” He was Leese’s friend, not hers, and while Leese might trust him, she didn’t know him. Sure, he seemed okay, as harmless as Justice, but he was still a stranger and anything was possible. He could be working for Webb, he could—
Miles caught her ankles and, ignoring her yelp, pulled her flat on the couch. Before she could totally shift in the usual fight-or-flight mode, he flipped her over so that her face was in the sofa cushions.
“Now just relax. This’ll ache a little at first, but it’ll feel better quick.”
Eyes wide, hands flattened at either side of her head and her body light-years away from relaxed, Cat prepared to launch away.
Then she felt his large hands begin kneading her calves.
Oh, heaven.
She drew a shaky breath, but couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Okay?” Miles asked, still working on her muscles through the flannel pajama pants.
> “Mmm,” she replied, going all squishy inside. She’d had massages before, but none had ever felt this good.
With a grin in his voice, he murmured, “I have no idea why Leese didn’t already do this.”
She sighed. “He’s resisting me.”
“Yeah?” Miles’s fingers went higher, to the backs of her thighs, but remained impersonal as he worked her muscles. “How come?”
She felt too lax to reply.
“Did you fall asleep, Catalina?”
“No.” Another deep breath, and she managed to put some words together. “He doesn’t want to take advantage of me.”
“Ha!”
Well, that sounded rude. When she started to turn to him he stilled her by holding down her legs.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to laugh.” He dug deeper into her muscles, making her groan. “You just don’t strike me as the timid type who can’t speak her mind.”
“No,” she murmured, “I’m not.” She was just the type who got in over her head with ruthless murderers.
“Seems to me that if Leese is saying no, you haven’t presented your case very well. I mean, it could be a firing offense for him, right? You’d need to make it worth his while.”
A firing offense? She twisted to frown at him. “Why would he get fired if I was willing?”
“He’s your bodyguard. Pretty sure sex with a client is a no-no.”
Grumbling, she relaxed again. “Maybe bodyguards should worry more about pleasing the client instead of protocol.”
She could hear the grin in Miles’s voice when he said, “And maybe you need to spell it out.”
She considered that. “I could promise to explain to his boss for him.”
Miles outright laughed. “Probably not a good idea. Leese wouldn’t like that. But you could explain that your interest isn’t about you being grateful just because he’s protecting you. I assume that’s his biggest conflict, the reason he thinks he’d be taking advantage of you.”
It wasn’t easy to think while Miles turned her muscles to mush. “I suppose.” Apparently Leese thought she was fragile and weak and didn’t know her own mind.
