At the high-class restaurant, conversation flows smoothly. He tells me what he’s working on, a joint venture with a Peruvian company that will produce the products his company is known for. I’m happy for him and the world. He truly cares about improving the lives of people on this planet. To my surprise, we take the dessert to go. It’s only when we return to his hotel room and he strips me of my shoes that I’m allowed to eat the New York Cheesecake. And wash it down with the bottle of champagne chilling for us.
“Happy?” he asks.
“Very.” I nod.
“Good.” He hasn’t made any moves at all. Not even a kiss and frankly I’m wondering what this is all about. Is this his way of saying goodbye once and for all? Or is it something more?
“Sterling? Why did you bring me here? Why are you doing this?”
“We need to talk.”
I knew it. “Talk.” My mouth’s gone dry so I gulp down some of the champagne.
“Yes.”
I tremble with longing. All I want to do is make love to him, not talk. But maybe this is goodbye. Maybe he’s here to tell me he found someone else. “What about?”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“Lie?”
“You said you were leaving to go back to your boyfriend and that he’d found you a job.” He tucks an errant curl behind my ear. “But there was no boyfriend, no job.”
My gaze darts to his. Does he know the truth? Of course he does. With his resources it would be child’s play to reveal my made-up story for the lie it was, but he doesn’t know why I acted the way I did. So he’s come to New York to get that last piece of the puzzle. And when I tell him, he’ll walk out of my life forever.
“Caitlyn.”
“I …” Dear God, how much does he know? No matter, he deserves the truth, the whole truth. “When you refused the eye surgery, I visited Dr. Testa. I wanted to discover everything about it-the procedure, the risks involved, the likelihood of success. He was very candid with me. He said the procedure was very experimental, and at best there was a 50/50 chance you would see again. He’d tried to talk to you into it, but you refused to even consider it, because-”
“Because?” He prompts.
“He thought you’d become too dependent on me. I’d become your eyes, you see. And you were perfectly happy for it to continue that way.”
“Did he suggest you leave?”
“No. He never asked me to do such a thing. That was my idea.”
“I see. So you designed this plan all by yourself.”
I gulp. “Yes.”
“Did you for one moment think about what your desertion would do to me?”
“I thought you’d be upset. For a while anyway. But then you’d come to your senses and do the right thing.”
“Upset? Sweetheart, I was devastated by your betrayal.”
My heart bleeds at his pain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I would hurt you that much. But it turned out okay, didn’t it? You had your surgery. You can see again.”
“Yes. Dr. Testa called. He said it was now or never. Time had run out.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding for close to six months. “And you had the surgery.”
“Yes.” He threads his fingers through mine. “If you hadn’t left when you did, I might still be blind.”
“I’m so glad.” With my free hand, I swipe at my tears of happiness. Well, that explains everything. The massage and the dinner are his way of thanking me.
“Is that the only reason you left? So I would have the surgery?”
“What other reason could there be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You found me unbearable. I was too demanding, too needy. Bossed you around too much.”
His vulnerability peeks through, surprising me. Who knew? I shake my head and the curls I’d so carefully pinned up tumble down around my face. Before I can do nothing more than protest, he sweeps them from my face, captures my cheeks in his hands. “Tell me. I need to know.”
“Sterling.” I cup his hands. “I love everything about you.”
“Is that why you’re here today?”
“Yes. I don’t know why you arranged the massage and took me to dinner. Maybe it’s revenge for the way I left you. Maybe you enjoy having sex with me. I don’t know. All I know is I’m weak when it comes to you. And even though it will hurt once you’re gone from my life, I don’t care. I’ll stay with you this weekend and do whatever you want from me because I love you, Sterling. God help me, I do.”
“So you did it all because you love me.”
“Yes.” The word barely comes out so choked is my throat with tears.
He drops to his knees in front of me, cups my wet cheeks in his hands. “Oh, my beautiful Caitlyn. I love you too.”
A hiccup. “You do?”
“Yes, my darling. I do. I never knew what love was until I met you.”
A wobbly smile curls around my lips. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
“Do you feel better?”
“I’m glowing inside. Can’t you tell?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me or something?”
“Or something.” With that smile that goes right to his eyes, he picks me up and carries me to the bedroom where he shows me in the most primal way possible exactly what I mean to him.
Once we catch our breath, he says. “We’ll go ring shopping tomorrow. Tiffany’s, Cartier, Harry Winston, wherever you want, whatever you want.” He rubs his thumb against my bottom lip.
“Ring shopping?” I ask, seeking clarification. I don’t want to get the wrong idea about what he’s saying.
“Yes. And then we’ll drive around Central Park in a horse-drawn carriage, and I’ll propose to you.”
“But I thought-” I twist the ring in my hand. The one my mother gave to me on my 18th birthday.
“You thought?” he prompts
My gaze darts up to his. “I thought you wanted to marry someone from your own class?”
“I did, but I don’t want that anymore.”
“Are you sure? I don’t come from a privileged background. There’s no blue in my blood.”
“Darling. I don’t want that, not any more. All I want is you.”
“But-”
“Hush. Just say yes.”
“But you haven’t asked me yet.”
“You’re right. I haven’t.” Getting down on one knee, he grasps my hands, kisses them one after the other. And then he gives me that smile that makes mush out of me. “Caitlyn Marie Bennett. You are the best thing that’s happened to me. You brought light into my darkness, and laughter and love. Busy as I was building an empire, I had no time for such an emotion, nor did I see much use for it after seeing what love did to my mother. But you showed me the way. You taught me love means more than rolling like thunder under the sheets.”
“Sterling!”
“I was living in the darkness because I was too blind, too stubborn to see. I don’t want to live there anymore. Please marry me and let me bask in the warmth of your light.”
Tears swim in my eyes by the time he’s done. Too choked up to say anything, I can only nod.
“Does that mean you will?”
I gulp past the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
“Good. Good.” He cups my cheeks and kisses me so tenderly, the tears escape to roll down my face. “I want you to meet my mother.”
“I’d like that.”
“She won’t know who you are.”
“But I know her. She’s the one who gave birth to a wonderful son. What are her favorite flowers?”
“Yellow roses.”
“We’ll have to bring her some.”
“Yes. Yes, we will.” Curling me into him, he drops a kiss on the top of my head and breathes out a soft sigh as if he’s finally found the peace he’s sought for so long.
THE END
About The Author
Magda Alexander loves writing steamy
romances, such as the bestselling STORM DAMAGES series. All four books, STORM DAMAGES, STORM RAVAGED, STORM REDEMPTION and STORM CONQUERED, are available at your favorite etailer. A lifelong learner, Magda graduated from the University of Maryland where she majored in Business Administration (because her family had to eat) and minored in English (because she needed to dream). She’s lived in Maryland most of her life and now resides close to the Catoctin Mountains in a city whose history dates back to colonial times.
You can find Magda on several social media:
Website: www.magdaalexander.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MagdaAlexanderRomanceAuthor
Magda loves to hear from readers. You can email her at [email protected].
Split Decision
By
Wendy Ely
Chapter One
An ache spread across Rally Brewer’s cheek where a piece of skin had gotten caught between two pieces of the mouth guard. Rally flinched at the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and bit harder against the plastic mouth piece. He squinted his eyes with anger even though his opponent, Elliot Hudson, was Rally’s friend outside of the ring. Once the announcer yelled for them to start, all bets were off.
Elliot hopped away from his corner as Rally entered the center of the ring, ready for another round. The bald guy in front of him shifted his weight from one foot to another, his gloves raised and ready to take another hit at Rally’s already split lip. Sweat ran down Rally’s back and body odor assaulted his nose.
Rally’s trainer, Felix Manzi, waited ringside, twisting his hands with anxiety, no doubt. And Rally needed to end this showdown soon. He switched his lead foot and moved forward. A jab to Elliot’s stomach brought cheers from the Las Vegas crowd. Elliot guarded his face with his left glove, granting Rally full access to the other side of Elliot’s abdomen. One, two, three hits, sending Elliot bending forward, his arms losing the power to protect his face. A quick shot into Elliot’s cheek sent him flying backward. He bounced against the floor.
“One. Two,” the ref called out. “Three. Knockout.” The ref sauntered over to where Rally stood and raised Rally’s exhausted arm in victory. “And the winner of the match is Ralph ‘Rally’ Brewer.”
Rally wanted to wave his hand at the roaring crowd but fatigue even weighed down the corners of his smile. Elliot was one of the best and this match counted as a barnburner, an intense fight between the opponents. Rally just wanted to shower and head back to his hotel room for a quiet evening. He wiped a river of sweat from his face and turned toward his corner. Too bad for Elliot though. While the other guys from their gym were headed to the casino for a fun night out, Elliot would be headed to his room, too, to heal the pain. Rally knew because he’d been in Elliot’s shoes many times.
Rally climbed through the ropes and dropped his feet down to the cement floor. He high-fived a fan and caught the gaze of another. This time a female. With emerald green eyes and a smile that had the power to warm even the ice king’s heart. And she held a notepad in one hand a pen in the other. Fuck. A sports reporter. Were the magazines sending the pretty ones out to ensure a story? He rolled his eyes.
“Mr. Brewer,” she mouthed, but he couldn’t hear her voice over the crowd’s uproar.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, pointing to the exit.
A slow, burning smile spread over her pink lips. No, they weren’t sending the pretty reporters out to the field. They were sending the gorgeous women to do the job. And Rally needed to stay the hell away from her. The thought of his constant reminder of the last time he’d fallen for a pretty smile and breathtaking eyes made him walk a little faster toward the exit.
Rally pushed through the locker room door and slung the towel over his bare shoulder. A drop of sweat glistened on his skin above his top lip. He swiped at it with the end of the towel but missed some, the salty liquid hitting his split lower lip. He flinched. The good news was that he lucked out with only minor soreness to his biceps and hamstrings and a cut on his mouth tonight. The muscle aches were easy to fix by a masseuse and heated medicated lotion. The lip, on the other hand, would need to be cleaned and checked by the medic from their gym.
“Hey, Brewer,” Trent ‘Triple T’ McGibbon said as he stood from the bench and touched knuckles with Rally. “Nice fight. Wasn’t sure who’d win that one.”
“Me, either.” Rally chuckled.
Trent glanced at the open cut on Rally’s lip. “Elliot got you good.”
“You should see Elliot. I don’t think he’ll be going out with you guys tonight.”
Trent shrugged. “Probably not. Hey, you should go.” He put up his hand. “And don’t say no. We are heading over to a new club in one of the casinos. We’ll celebrate your win tonight and I’ll even buy you a round or two.”
Rally started shaking his head the moment the question had been posed. “I need to get a quick shower in before I head back to my hotel. Thanks for the offer though.”
“Turning us down again? We all aren’t usually at the same events. We lucked out with this one.” Trent was right. They had six guys boxing tonight. Two had won already, Rally being one of them, so there was a lot to celebrate.
Felix’s raspy voice raised above the fighters’ loud locker room chatter. “Trent, you’re up next.”
“Gotta go, man. Shoot me a text if you change your mind about the club.”
“Will do.” Rally wouldn’t change his mind though and Trent knew it too. He never went out with them anymore. “Good luck.”
They bumped fists again and Rally turned toward the shower.
*****
Grace Avery rushed through the cheering crowd and climbed steps that would get her out of the boxing auditorium. Excitement rushed through her veins as she nearly ran down the hallway. She hadn’t actually heard Mr. Brewer instruct her to meet him in the locker room, but he’d mouthed a series of words that resembled such. And he’d pointed toward the exit. She reached the corner of the hall, only a few feet from the locker room. The arena’s guard ushered other press-badged people through. She ran faster. Once that door closed, she probably wouldn’t be able to grab anyone’s attention long enough to get inside.
And she needed this interview.
The door started to close. “Wait!” she called, her notepad in the air as her heels clanked against the cold, gray cement floor. “Don’t go yet!”
The guard rolled his eyes as he held the door open two inches at the most. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Grace. Grace Avery from Boxers United Magazine.” She shoved her press identification toward the guard. “I’m here to interview Ralph Brewer.”
He pushed the door open a little farther for a closer look. The guard, a two hundred fifty pounds at the least, beast of a man shook his head. “Nobody gets in to see Rally.” He tapped his clipboard against the doorframe.
Grace tried looking around the bulldog but couldn’t see anything beyond his massive chest. “But Rally said to meet him here. He just did.” She pointed in the direction she’d came from. “Right out there by the ring. He said-”
“Sure, lady,” the bulldog growled, glancing down at the clipboard. Wearing a faked shocked face, he said, “Oh look. Your name isn’t here.”
Grace looked down one side of the hall and then the other in desperation for someone to magically appear to order the man to let her talk to the heavy weight champion. She had to interview Rally. Failing this assignment wasn’t an option. Not getting this story by her deadline meant not having a job at the magazine either. Not even as an assistant as she’d been for two years. “But-but I just talked to him after his match ended.”
“Like I said: Rally never speaks to anyone.” He let out a belly shaking laugh. “Since you’re such great friends with him, call him on the phone. Oh right. He’s not on your speed dial either? Have a great day, lady.”
And the door slammed shut. Grace tried the handle with no luck. One damn assignment to prove she could handle this position an
d here she stood. First insulted by a big bully with an enlarged ego and then a door slammed in her face. Maybe she should just forget about this. A warm bed for her jet-lagged body sounded better than standing in a cold, cement lined hallway anyway.
She sighed. Giving up on this assignment wasn’t an option. Doing so meant returning to Los Angeles to face her boss, Ray Dickson. He would call her incompetent. He would mumble how he shouldn’t send a woman to do a man’s job. And then he would fire her from the magazine. The ‘or else’ threat had been part of the deal when she’d begged for the promotion.
She turned toward the door and pounded until her knuckles burned. Then she pounded some more with the fatty part of her hand. After several minutes, she let out a big sigh and looked up at the ceiling. Why her? Why this assignment? Because Ray wanted her to not only fail but to fail big. It didn’t matter that her father had been their full time writer for over ten years and she wanted to follow in his footsteps. She counted the pipes running along the ceiling to take the focus off the tears pooling behind her eye lids. One. Two. Almost better. Three. Four-The door flew open and smacked her in the face, sending her backwards on her butt. Pain ripped across her nose and continued to throb against her cheek bones. No more blinking back tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks as she put her hand up to her nose. A sticky wetness coated her fingers.
“Oh damn! I’m so sorry,” said the gruff voice. She couldn’t make out the man’s features through her tear clouded vision.
She cupped her hand over her nose, knowing that the sticky liquid was blood. Moving her hand would free the dam that had the potential to ruin her new white blouse. “Do you have something to cover my nose with?”
“Is it broken?” The blurry figure crouched down next to her. “Let me see.”
“Blood’ll get everywhere if I move my hand.”
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he said softly. “Come back to the locker room with me. I’ll have Charity take a look. If she can’t fix it, she’ll at least clean you up.”
Of all the luck. She’d been trying to get back there to meet Ralph Brewer and the only chance she got was by some asshole breaking her nose. Who’d want to talk to her now? Certainly not Rally. Letting out a whimper, she wiped the tears away on the sleeve of her jacket.
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