Against the Ropes
Page 5
fake smile as the lie slides off my tongue with a healthy dose of drool.
“I’ll have to take a rain check on your kind invitation.”
Dr. Drake’s eyes soften. “I’m free on Monday. I’ll arrange for
IT to look at your computer while you’re away from your desk.” He
gives Torment a dismissive glance before weaving his way through the
crowded waiting room, seemingly unaware of the sighs and flushed
cheeks he leaves in his wake.
“What the hell was that?” I yank open my desk drawer and grab my
purse. “You almost got me fired.”
Torment scowls. “He won’t fire you. He wants you too much. He
probably wouldn’t even accept your resignation if you tried to leave.”
“Are you crazy?” I round my desk and pull up in front of him.
“He’s never paid any attention to me until today.”
“You just haven’t seen him. I know his type.” He pauses and his
voice takes on a deeper, cutting edge. “Are you going to have lunch with
him on Monday?”
“None of your business.” I am righteous in my indignation. “And
what’s this about lunch today? Usually, if you want to have lunch with
someone, you call and ask if it’s convenient. I only have half an hour.
It’s barely enough time to go to the cafeteria.”
“You left so quickly I didn’t get a chance to ask for your number.
I have your paycheck, a picnic, and a proposition for you.” He squares
his shoulders and raises my hand to his lips. “If it is convenient, would
you care to join me for lunch, Makayla Delaney?”
This is just like the movies. Entranced, I just stare and smile, like
the vacant fool I am.
Torment chuckles. “Makayla?
I shake my head. “Um. Yes. Lunch. Good. Picnic area. Outside.
For staff.”
Oh, God. Someone, please put me out of my misery, or at least
cover my mouth with surgical tape.
“Lead the way.” Torment picks up his pack and jacket, and I lead
him through the hospital to a grassy outdoor quadrangle dotted with
picnic tables, flower beds, and leafy trees.
“What’s the proposition?” I glance over at the feast of testosterone
walking beside me. Really, who needs lunch?
“I need a medical professional at the events urgently. Two more
guys had to go to the hospital last week, and I’m concerned someone
is going to tell the CSAC about the fights. We’ve heard rumors on
the underground circuit that if an event is restricted to club members
and a doctor is present, they’ll look the other way provided the
fighters are not given any compensation. We’re okay on the com-
pensation side. I’ve always given the money we collect at the door
to charity. But we can’t get a ring doctor, and I haven’t been able
to find anyone with first aid experience willing to commit to being
at every match. We usually have matches once or twice a week on
the weekend.”
“Oh.” My heart thuds into my stomach. He just wants me to work.
Not that I don’t need the work with Sergio now in the picture, but it
would have been nice to be wanted for something else.
His face falls. “You can’t do it? I’ll pay you anything you ask.”
“No. I mean, yes, I’ll do it.”
“You will?” His face brightens. I slide into a picnic table under a
shady tree and Torment takes a seat across from me. “Could you come
tonight for an orientation? It’s the only time I have free.”
“Sure.”
He beams. “I wasn’t sure if you would agree because of your vio-
lence issues.” He pulls two wax paper packages from his pack and slides
one across the table.
“I need the money, and if I stay in the first aid office and only come
out when I’m needed, it shouldn’t be a problem.” I take the sandwich
he offers, and peek inside at the one-inch thick piece of cheese slathered
in what appears to be half a tub of margarine. Horrors.
“I made it myself,” he says. Pride shines in his warm, brown eyes.
Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I smile. “I love cheese.”
Torment opens a steel container and places it between us. Chopped
veggies. Very healthy, but not very delicious. I select a baby tomato
and bite down. Tomato juice shoots across the table and hits Torment
square in the chest.
Damn. The Clumsyosaurus strikes again.
“I’m so sorry. Obviously, I don’t get out much. Nor do I eat many
vegetables.” I reach over the table and dab at Torment’s tomato-juice
stained chest with a tissue. He sucks in a sharp breath.
My eyes follow his gaze into the gaping maw of my unbuttoned
shirt. My cheeks heat. “Enjoying the view?”
“There wasn’t anywhere else for me to look.” Amusement flashes in
his eyes and he gives me a cocky, toe-curling smile. “And even if there
was, I thought it would be impolite to turn down the invitation.”
“You could have closed your eyes.” I sit back down and feign
annoyance but he is too cute, and too happy, and I can’t help but smile
back. Plus, I’m quite proud of my girls.
“That would have been worse.” His voice drops to a low, sensual
rumble. “My imagination might have run wild.”
My heart thuds in my chest. Me? The object of Torment’s wild
fantasies? Really?
Torment takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth. He kisses my
fingers one by one, and then brushes his lips down my palm. Electricity
shoots from my hand straight to my core. I think he’s coming on to me.
Or else, he’s really, really pleased to have a new first aid attendant.
“Since you’re willing to handle the first aid, I have another proposi-
tion for you,” he murmurs.
Frozen, rapt, unable even to breathe, I watch his sensuous lips work
their way up the inside of my arm to the sensitive crease of my elbow.
His kisses are as light as butterfly wings. I shiver—a bone deep awaken-
ing of dormant desire.
“What is it?” There is almost nothing I could refuse him at this
very moment. Sex on the picnic bench? Check. Strip off and do the
Macarena on the grass? Check. Crawl under the table and do naughty
things? Not much experience in that department, but…check. Ride off
into the sunset? Double check.
“Dinner.”
“Okay.”
“If you give me your address, I’ll pick you up at home before the
club opens.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll grab some pizza, and then I can go over the rules of the club.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll do the orientation and I can show you around.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll bring you home at the end of the night.
“Okay.”
“Makayla?”
Filled with the joy of renewed hope, I lift my eyes to his.
“You have something on your cheek.”
Chapter 4
Come And Get It
It is after six p.m. by the time I get home from work. Unable to face
the cheery chatter of my housemates, I make my way to my bedroom,
strip down to my panties, and throw on a tank top and a pair of faded,
torn gym pa
nts. All comfy for a round of “he likes me, he likes me not”
with a wilted daisy from the garden, and if “not” then a sulk about hot,
witty, charming guys who make me picnic lunches only to get into my
first aid kit and not my pants.
Once I have arranged the purple cushions on my bed, I settle
my laptop on my knees, and amuse myself by typing “Torment,”
“California,” and “Redemption” into various search engines. Nothing of
interest comes up. I read Redemption’s web page and find no mention
of the unsanctioned events. “Torment” yields all sorts of references to
games, books, music, and torture, but no pictures of men with tattoos
and warm, brown eyes.
A flash of black catches my eye, and I look up. My hands fly to my
mouth when I glimpse the shadow of a man by the door. I drop my
computer, a shriek ripping from my throat.
“Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you.” Eyes wide, Torment holds up
his hands, palms forward. He takes a step back just as my four house-
mates barrel into my room.
My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “What’s he
doing here?”
“He said you were expecting him.” Rob’s voice wavers with
uncertainty as he glances over at the leather-clad giant dwarfing my
tiny room.
“Yes, but not for a few hours.” I draw in a ragged breath. “And
you’re not supposed to let strangers just walk into the house. You’re
supposed to ask them to wait at the door. What if I was changing? What
if I didn’t really know him?”
Rob grimaces. “I’m sorry, Mac. I didn’t think.” He runs a hand
through his thick, black curls. “You want me to throw him out?”
With his slender frame and gentle manner, Rob is hardly in a posi-
tion to throw me out, much less six feet two inches of hard, lean muscle.
Laughter bubbles in my chest, and I shake my head. “You’ll need both
your arms to take over my garbage duty next week, which you will be
doing by way of apology.”
Rob gives me a wink and follows my disappointed housemates
down the hallway. Fights are always good entertainment.
“When you said you would pick me up before Redemption
opened, I didn’t realize you meant two hours before it opened,” I moan
as soon as Rob’s curly head disappears around the corner. “I just got
home from work.”
“You didn’t give me your number,” a bemused Torment retorts.
“We have a lot of ground to cover to get you up to speed on the club’s
rules and operations. I wouldn’t want to see you in the ring again.” He
scrubs his hand through his thick, chestnut hair. Without the bandana,
it is longer than I imagined, falling well past his collar, and cut with
apparent carelessness to follow the line of his jaw. Could he look any
more breathtaking?
“Fine. We’ll exchange numbers to avoid any future surprises. Just
let me find my phone.” I hunt around for my cell while Torment makes
a slow, careful, inspection of my room. Not that there’s much to see.
Twin bed. Desk. Shelf. Wardrobe. Dresser. Purple walls, purple bed-
spread, purple area rug, purple curtains. A few dollar store prints. At
least I keep it tidy.
I cross the room, and catch sight of myself in the mirror. Dear
Lord. I’m not wearing a bra. And worse, my interest in the tribute to
testosterone planted in the middle of my floor is clearly evident in the
hard buds of my nipples visible through my tank top.
A squeak escapes my lips and I slam my arms across my chest and
turn to face the wall.
“Is this where you sleep?” The inflection in his voice betrays a lack
of appreciation for my sanctuary. Or maybe he doesn’t like purple.
“Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s cheap.” I shuffle toward my dresser,
keeping my back to him.
“This isn’t a room,” he admonishes, “it’s a hallway.”
“Actually, it’s a back entrance.” I point to a door in the side wall.
“That’s the back door. Our communal bathroom is right beside you.”
“Communal bathroom?” he splutters. “People have to walk through
your bedroom to use the bathroom?”
My dresser is finally within reach and I yank a hoodie out of the
drawer and pull it over my head. “I only pay half the rent the others pay.
I volunteered to take the room because I couldn’t afford to pay the full
amount, and I’m the only one without a regular bed friend.”
“How many people live here? I saw at least ten when I walked
through the house.” He stops in front of my bookshelf and studies my
books: an eclectic collection of college texts, medical reference books,
running logs, travel guides for all the places I dream of visiting, thrillers,
and romance novels. Lots of romance novels.
“Officially five, but usually there are about nine or ten people
around if you count boyfriends, girlfriends, cousins, friends, and
the odd vagrant.” Relaxed now that I am decently covered and no
longer besieged by naughty thoughts, I turn around and lean against
the dresser.
“But it’s not safe,” Torment’s voice rises sharply. “And you need
privacy. How can you live like this?”
Why does no one ever understand? I like having people wander in
for a pee and a chat. I’m a sociable girl. “It took a while to get used to.
The biggest downside is that I can’t let my parents visit. My stepfather
is a policeman. If he saw this place, he would drag me home.”
Torment crosses the room in two strides and twists the handle on
the back door. The lock gives way and the door creaks open. “Who’s
your landlord? Anyone could come in this door. The lock isn’t secure.”
I want to tell him his delightful protective streak is showing,
but I don’t want to embarrass him. “Some guy who’s never around.
Slumlord. We haven’t had a working stove for the last six months, and
the dishwasher broke on Tuesday, but we’ll be lucky if he even stops by
in the next year.”
Torment scrubs his hand over his face. “You said you don’t make
much at the hospital, but isn’t it enough for a decent place to live?”
My cheeks heat. “I have a few college debts to pay. I also haven’t
decided yet what I want to do with my life, so it’s okay for now. It’s
got…character.”
I finally spot my cell under the bed and get down on my hands and
knees to retrieve it.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds genuinely contrite. “It’s just…a woman
should feel safe—” He cuts himself off, and makes a choking sound.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting my phone. It must have fallen under the bed when you
suddenly materialized in my room.” Looking up over my shoulder, I
follow his gaze to my bottom, waving around in the air, my panties
partially exposed by the tears in my gym pants. Can this day get
any worse?
There is just no elegant way to extract myself from this situation, so
I don’t even try. I grab my phone, and back into the center of the room,
delivery truck style but without the beeps
.
“I’m guessing you don’t have to share a bathroom at your house,”
I say with the casual tone of someone who isn’t waving her half-naked
bottom in the air in front of a hunky, semi-stranger and soon-to-be-
boss. I push myself to my feet and edge my way back to the dresser, this
time keeping my back to the wall.
He snorts a laugh. “No. Nor do I have a back door in my bedroom
or a collection of random people walking around my house.”
“Sounds lonely.” I grab a T-shirt and a pair of jeans from the top
drawer and shuffle over to the bathroom.
“I’m too busy working to be lonely.”
I toss him my phone. “You can do the number exchange while I
get ready. No long distance calls. I don’t have many minutes left on it.”
He stares at my cheap plastic cell with a puzzled look on his face.
“Is this real?”
“Of course it’s real,” I snort. “It’s a basic prepaid cell phone. It
comes with a set number of minutes And I buy phone cards to top it up
when I need to. Why? What do you use?”
The sleek, silver and glass device he pulls from his pocket is like
nothing I’ve ever seen before. Slightly bigger than an iPhone, but half
as thick, it has an incredible, crystal clear screen that sparkles under the
naked bulb overhead.
“What is it?” I breathe a gasp of longing.
He shrugs. “Prototype. Can’t really talk about it.”
“It has multiple windows. You could display all your social media
at once. You wouldn’t miss anything.”
“I don’t do social media.” He calls himself with my phone and his
device quivers in his hand.
“No Facebook? No Twitter? No Pinterest?” My eyebrows shoot up
to my hairline.
“What’s Pinterest?” He finishes the number exchange and hands
me my cell.
“Seriously? You haven’t heard about it? It’s like a bulletin board.
You post pictures on it. You could put up all sorts of pictures of yourself
in various fighting poses.” Curling up my forearms, I drop my spare
clothes and mock up a few fighting stances.
Torment stares at me, his face devoid of expression.
I freeze. What am I doing? This is exactly why guys never take
me seriously.
His laugh takes me by surprise. A deep, rumbling roar of a chuckle.
I can’t help but smile.