by JJ Knight
“Hello, Colt,” he says. Then to me, “We meet again.”
The Cure clearly doesn’t do casual wear, even alone at home. His suit jacket fits him perfectly, charcoal and expensive. A red tie stands out brightly against a crisp white shirt, like blood on porcelain. He is still large and formidable in his retirement, broad shouldered with a face that is more rugged than handsome.
Colt doesn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Fifty thousand to Annie? Really?”
His father takes a step back. He hadn’t expected that as an opening line. He grasps the lapel of his jacket and snaps it sharply, as if it needs straightening. “Who fed you that bit of misinformation?”
Colt’s face is a mask of control. I know that if it snaps, anything could happen. Fight of the century, I think, then mentally smack myself for it. But still, heavyweight-boxing-champion father versus MMA-title-hopeful son? That would definitely be something to see.
The Cure chooses rather wisely to stay behind the desk. When Colt doesn’t answer, his father taps the top of the gleaming desk with a long finger. “There are some mistakes that fathers don’t want to see their sons repeat.”
Colt barks out a bitter laugh. “You just don’t quit, do you?”
“That girl was dragging you down.”
Colt pulls me close and wraps his arm around my waist. “And this one? Also dragging me down? I’m doing fine now. Fuck off.”
I squeeze Colt’s arm. I’m hoping they’ll actually talk, not just insult each other. I’m not going to go all spiritual and hope for healing or forgiveness. But I know what it’s like to not have a dad. Surely they can do better than this.
The Cure folds his hands together in front of him, as if he’s preparing to deliver a paternal talk.
But Colt gets in first. “I’ve already started separating the accounts,” he says. “I’m breaking out of the family corporation.”
His father nods. His eyes are full of resignation. “Probably time for that.”
“I don’t want you in any of my affairs. I’ll move my staff away from your gym as soon as I can find my own facility.”
“There’s no need to disrupt your routine.” The Cure taps on a button on his phone. “Elise, can you reprogram the locks to the gym so that I no longer have access?”
“Yes, sir,” a perky voice answers. “Just you or Mrs. McClure as well?”
He looks up at Colt. “Should your mother be able to visit you? Or are you cutting us both off to spite yourself?”
Colt lets go of me and lunges at the phone. He jerks it off the table and flings it at a bookshelf.
I jump after him. “Colt, no!”
The Cure sits back down in his leather chair. He’s back to his expression of annoyance. “Should we add a psychiatrist to the payroll?” He glances at me. “Perhaps I should be concerned for your safety rather than his.”
Colt slams his hands on the surface of the desk, knocking over a cup of pens. “The whole reason we’re here is for Jo’s safety. Did you know Annie joined Buster’s Gym? That she attacked Jo today at her own home?”
His father’s heavy eyebrows come together. “I sent her to the East Coast.”
“Well, she’s back. And apparently decided to take out what you did to her on Jo.” Colt pulls me close to him again.
“I always thought that girl was unstable. I was surprised she took the money so easily. When she practically snatched it, I got the sense you two were on the outs.”
My heart hammers. Annie said the same thing, that she was cashing in since a breakup seemed imminent. “Colt?” I ask. “Was everything okay between you two?”
He doesn’t look at me. “It was fine,” he says through gritted teeth.
“What are you looking to happen from this meeting?” The Cure asks. His elbows are propped on the arms of his chair, his fingertips pressed together.
“I want you to stop interfering. I’m separating our accounts, moving my team, and getting on with my life. You won’t tell me where to train. You won’t book my fights. You won’t negotiate my television deals.” Colt bangs his fist on the desk again. “And you won’t try to intimidate, pay off, or manipulate the people I love.”
I feel faint. Did Colt just say love?
Colt keeps talking in the same tone, but I can’t follow it anymore. Does he love me? He hasn’t said it. I haven’t either.
Maybe he means the past. That he loved Annie. And maybe there were others. The Cure said in the limo that there had been three women.
Three bruised cherries.
Doubt sweeps over me again. But even if the part about the virgins was true before — and who knows, since his father clearly will say anything to get his way — it couldn’t be true now. We’ve been together for weeks. I was only a virgin once.
But then Annie was probably once the same. And she lived with him.
“Come on, Jo,” Colt says. He takes my hand. “We’re going back to LA tomorrow. I’ll take my team there. We can work out at Buster’s.” He jabs his finger at his father. “I don’t really want to hear from you. But if anyone has questions about the division of assets, they can find me there.”
He walks us out of the office and back through the living room. Instead of going outside, though, we head into the kitchen.
“Where are we going now?” I ask.
“I’ve got my own car here,” he says. “We’ll take it to my place.” He unexpectedly halts by an enormous kitchen island with a stove and industrial sinks. “I’m sorry we’re having to go through this.” He pulls me into his arms.
Colt’s grip on me is crushingly strong, like he’s afraid I’m going to slip out of his grasp.
“It’s all right,” I say against his shoulder. “This is just not the sort of world I’m used to.” My life was pretty simple before. Minimum-wage jobs. Weekends hanging out with Zero. Juggling money to pay rent and bills. No powerful fathers, mansions, professional fighters, or angry ex-lovers.
Colt bends down to kiss me, his lips anxious and hungry, like he has to convince me to kiss him back.
I hold on to his back, my arms snaked beneath his. I try to convey that I’m here for the long haul, and this is just one part of a really big picture.
Eventually I start to fall into the warmth of his mouth and body. The kiss changes into something more familiar, catching fire. His tongue meets mine, and I respond with eagerness.
Colt’s breathing speeds up. Finally, he breaks away. “I need to take you home.”
He releases me and takes my hand. We run out the back of the house and along one of the paths to a building that turns out to be a garage. Inside are several cars, including the Mercedes.
But Colt chooses a little red Stingray. He opens the passenger door, and I slip into the leather seat. It smells of polish and pine needles. The inside looks like a flight deck. Each seat is in its own individual compartment with a wraparound dash.
I think Colt is going to look like a giant in it, but when he sinks into the driver’s side, he fits perfectly, like it was made for him. “Much better,” he says. The motor turns over with a rumble, then settles into a quiet hum. He punches a button to open the garage door behind us. “You ready for the next stage?” he asks.
“Of what?” I ask.
“Our lives. You’re not going back to that apartment,” he says.
“Where am I going?”
He reaches across the wide console that separates us to squeeze my arm. “You’re going to live with me.”
Chapter Nine
I’m pretty sure Santa Barbara is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I haven’t seen many, that’s for sure, but the streets are lined with huge pots overflowing with plants. There’s old-fashioned streetlamps and vines on every wall. Nothing looks dirty or worn out or neglected.
We pass through the main streets and into another residential area. This neighborhood is different from the one where Colt’s family compound is. Mothers push strollers along the sidewalk. Ordinary cars sit
in driveways and on the street. Yet the houses are beautiful, brick or stucco, with yards that are lush with plants.
Near the end of the street is a set of two-story buildings surrounded by a gate. With another press of a button, we’re inside and pulling into a covered parking spot. “It’s not much, but it serves me well,” Colt says, as if he needs to apologize that we’re not entering another mansion.
He kills the engine. I open the door, but the sunken seat plus my stiff muscles from the fight make it difficult to get out. I’ll have to really push hard to be ready for a fight on Friday. Diva Delaney is quick, and I’ll need speed to keep up with her. Right now I’m moving like a medicated sloth.
Colt comes around, extending a hand to help me out. We walk along a short path to a rustic red door. Like most of the houses, the condo is stucco and brick. Judging by the doors, each building has maybe four units.
When we step inside, I’m not sure why Colt called this “not much.” A stairway curves up to the second floor. The living-room ceiling soars with giant windows of embossed glass, like a cathedral. Stone tiles extend from the room into hallways beyond. The furniture is all brown leather.
“We might be here a day or two until I can get the team prepped to reinvade Buster’s,” Colt says. “Will it be okay?”
I’m completely overwhelmed by the rustic beauty of the room. I run my hand along the textured wall, a shade lighter than the floor. The smaller windows are all inset with stone ledges. I think it will require several days just to take in all the pretty details.
“It’s really beautiful,” I say. Then I feel a little guilty, because I think, Annie lived here. I can picture her on that sofa, looking out the window. Plus, she’ll know where to come.
Colt picks up the worn-out duffel bag I stuffed my clothes into back at home. My old home. “I haven’t lived here long. I rented it about three months ago. Still trying to sell my old place. Didn’t want to be there anymore.”
I’m so relieved I could dance around the room. Annie was never here!
“You want me to show you the bedroom?” he asks.
I turn around to face him, feeling like my heart is in my throat. “Yes,” I say. And even though it’s not quite dark yet, I add, “I can see the rest tomorrow.”
He drops the bag on the floor again and sweeps me up into his arms. “I’ve set a precedent for carrying you to bedrooms,” he says.
His shoulder bumps into a door off the main room and pushes it open. Shuttered light falls across an enormous bed with a wrought-iron frame. Four poles hold up a rectangle of intricate weaved metal. Sheer fabric is draped along it, fluttering with the breeze from a ceiling fan that silently whirs above.
“Kind of a girly bed for a fighter,” I tease.
He sets me down on it. It’s tall, so the mattress is waist level as he stands beside it. “It came with the place.”
Colt lifts one of my feet and tugs the red Tom off. His hand comes around my ankle, pushing away the hem of my jeans. He kneads the fine bone and caresses the skin. I relax back on the silky comforter, watching the draped fabric billow and fall with the movement of the fan. This might be the first time I’ve relaxed since I saw Annie by my door.
He removes my other shoe and massages the other ankle, snaking up my shinbone. “Kicking gets you right here, doesn’t it?” he asks. “It does me.”
I nod.
Colt leans over to unsnap my jeans. The hiss of the zipper breaks the utter silence. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears and feel its pounding in all sorts of soft places.
He lifts my hips to ease the jeans down. “She didn’t hurt anything else, did she?” He runs his hands down my thighs and along my knees as he removes the pants. He frowns over a bruise and bends down to kiss it.
“I’ll live to fight another day,” I say.
The jeans jingle as they drop onto the tile. “Mmm, pink,” Colt says and runs his thumb along the edge of my panties. “Never seen you in pink.”
My breathing has sped up.
Colt lifts the red sweater and tugs it over my head. He climbs up onto the mattress, kicking off his boots as he moves over to me. “I have to check for any other injuries,” he says.
“Not much light for that,” I say, but he puts a finger to my lips.
He lifts my right arm and feathers kisses from the inside of my elbow to my wrist. “This one seems okay.” His fingers dance across my ribs. “Nothing out of place along here.”
His hand slides under my back to release the hook of my bra. “This might need a closer inspection.”
He lifts the bra away. “Just as I thought,” he says, and closes one hand around a breast. “I’ll have to administer some expert care.”
Colt lowers his mouth to one nipple, and I arch up against him. His free hand slips down my body and eases the panties off my hips. The fabric whispers against my skin, and I’m so wet, so desperate. I ache for more.
Colt slides his hand between my thighs and gently pushes them open. He cups me, warm and firm. I almost pulse against him, my heart is thudding so hard. My breath catches as he slowly, ever so softly, dips one finger into the cleft. When it touches the tender nub, I lurch up again, crushing my breast into his warm mouth.
“Colt, God, I can’t stand it,” I say. I want him so desperately. I want to shut everything else out and fall into him.
“Mmmmm,” he rumbles, moving from one nipple to the other. “Patience, sweet Jo.”
When his finger slips inside me, I think I might go mad. I thrust against his hand. When I reach for him, to pull him over onto me despite his still being fully clothed, he imprisons both my wrists in a firm grip. “Mmm. In a hurry?”
He withdraws his finger from me, and my ache for him hits a peak. I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t want this, when I avoided men entirely. I live for Colt’s touch, for the way he makes me feel. “Please,” I whisper.
“I wonder,” he says in a low voice. “Can I make you come without touching you?”
He lifts my hands above my head and presses them firmly against the cool fabric. Then he’s leaning over me, our bodies touching only where he holds my wrists. I’m on fire, a burning need searing through me. After several seconds without any connection, any movement, I finally whimper.
“That’s my girl,” he says. He leans closer, still not touching, and blows a gentle puff of air against my nipple.
I jolt upward, ignited by this gentle sensation that sets off a frenzied need. I whimper again.
“More?” he asks. “Anything for my Jo.” He moves down and blows lightly across my stomach and just below my belly button, but no farther.
My hips rise to meet him, but he leans away. I can’t take it. I need him. My body is so attuned to every little thing that even the breeze from the fan sends shivers across my skin.
“Such a good girl,” he says, and shifts positions. His hand still holds tight to my wrists so I can’t move. But now his head angles down. “Open for me, Jo,” he says. “Open very, very wide.”
I can’t do anything but what he says. Only he can end this desperation that’s taken over my body.
I spread my knees as far apart as they can go, then exhale like I do in training and make them separate even more.
He’s so close I can feel the heat of his face. His mouth is right over me, hovering, so near. I know what is coming, but I don’t know when. I want it, I’m in misery just waiting. I try to hold still.
Then he blows, powerfully and long. The air caresses my folds, sending goose bumps across my skin. I’m so tense, so coiled, that when this finally comes, the release all falls together, and he’s done it, I’m lost in an orgasm that ripples out and through me. I drop my head back, letting it take over, too strung out to scream, too relieved to cry out. My body shudders, contracting in on itself, then relaxes down against the bed.
“Beautiful Jo,” he says, and rewards me with the lightest kiss of his warm lips against my swollen skin. The room is getting darker in the fading l
ight outside, so I close my eyes. Colt releases my hands and brings my arms back to my body. He curls my head into his chest, still wearing his shirt, still fully dressed.
I thought I belonged at Buster’s Gym, in the cage. I believed that those places where I had found myself, my strength, were home to me. But here, curled up with Colt, it doesn’t matter what four walls surround me. With him, I am exactly where I’m meant to be.
Chapter Ten
Waking up with Colt the next morning is sweeter than any of the other times. The fabric puffs and billows above us on the beautiful bed. The sun streams through a fancy scrolling set of window blinds framed by a curved window.
It’s like a castle to me. Everywhere I look there is something else to stare at and admire.
How did I get here? How did we make it to this amazing place?
I roll over, realizing I’m naked. I almost giggle, thinking about how waking up in such a state would have sent me into a panic just two months ago, before Colt. Before all of this.
He’s still sleeping, so I know it must be early. I snuggle in closer to his warm body. He’s become so familiar. I know the rise and fall of his muscles, the hard planes and rolling edges.
My fingers trace the tattoo on his right bicep. This must tickle, because he stirs and makes a cute little whining noise, like he’s about to ask his mother for five more minutes.
I try to picture Colt as a boy. Blonde-headed and probably a total rascal, running amok in the house, crashing into things. I doubt many of his toys lasted long. I can see him smashing them to the floor or stomping through like Godzilla ransacking a town.
His eyelashes are long and curve against his cheek. I’ve seen little boys with those lashes, their sly flirty looks when I waited on their families at the various places I’ve worked. I imagine another little boy, Colt’s boy, and what he would look like. My throat gets tight. I’ve never even imagined a life where I had a family of my own. I have no concept of what that can be like. I just had my grandma, then just my dad, then Retta and her son.
