Submission Moves: An MMA Romance

by Sisco, Camilla

  He watched as different expressions chased themselves across her face—irritation, surprise, shame, then contrition. She took a deep breath. “Sorry. I know I’m a bitch—”

  “I don’t think that,” he said. Funny how he was the one with the violent job, but it was her who had a short fuse and who seemed to have a lot of deep-seated anger. Nick knew that for a handful of guys in his sport, if they weren’t beating up other men in the cage, they’d probably find other, more dangerous outlets for their rage. Perhaps Rose should take up boxing so she could whale on an actual punching bag and not on people around her.

  “You’re just…” He paused and shrugged, struggling to come up with a diplomatic way of putting it. “Every rose has its thorn…”

  She burst out laughing while he half-sang the rest of the chorus of the cheesy eighties ballad.

  “You’re so lame,” she said, wiping her tears of hilarity with the back of her hand.

  Nick just grinned at her.

  “Are you doing something tomorrow night?” she asked casually after an awkward pause. Too casually, in fact. She avoided his eyes while she slipped her shoes back on.

  “Maybe. Why do you ask?” Nick already had a pretty good idea of what she needed from him, but he couldn’t resist teasing her.

  “Do you want to go with me to the country club thing my mother mentioned?” The words came out of her with great difficulty.

  “Black tie?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s too short notice, isn’t it? Never mind—”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said, cutting her off.

  “I don’t want to bother you with your fight so close, but I really need an escort to this stupid thing. I could ask someone else if it’s too much trouble. But you said we shouldn’t see anyone else. So it’s your fault, really.” She shrugged, trying and failing drastically to appear nonchalant. Her cheeks turned pink and she still couldn’t look at him.

  “It’s no trouble. It’ll be nice for you to see me in something besides training clothes,” he said with a big smile. “Just you wait, I’ll knock your socks off. I happen to clean up real good.”

  “Whatever.” Rose rolled her eyes, her lips turning up in a reluctant grin. “I’ll text you the details.”

  “It’s a date.”

  “It’s not,” she frowned.

  “It’s a date.” Nick said with finality, cutting off her protests with a quick kiss on her lips. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The sight of Niccolo Rossi in a tux had to be as lethal as his famed left hook. Rose was willing to admit, at least to herself, that she’d underestimated him. His tuxedo fit his broad shoulders and the rest of his magnificent body like it was made especially for him, which of course it was.

  Trying to deny her attraction to Nick was an exercise in futility. She finally owned up to that fact after leaving his gym yesterday. Right there, in the parking lot of Rossi Combat Sports Gym, she said “screw it” and, though she wasn’t at all the hippy-dippy type, she decided that the most efficient course of action was to just “go with the flow,” so to speak, and let whatever it was between them run its course.

  When her novelty wore off for him and when she started craving something beyond great sex, they could part ways as friends. Or maybe he’d do something to set her off and his patience would finally run out and they’d end up bitter and angry with each other. Both scenarios were equally possible and equally sad to contemplate. She felt a bewildering pang in her heart and rubbed at it idly, chalking it up to premature nostalgia for what was likely to be the best sex of her life. Because, honestly, what were the odds of someone like her meeting, let alone bedding, another well-hung professional athlete with mad skills in the sack? It was pretty much guaranteed that she had been ruined for all other men.

  “You okay?” Nick asked, studying her with a pensive frown as he eased his car to a stop in front of the main entrance of Lake County Country Club, one of Chicago’s oldest and most exclusive enclaves for rich people and their various hangers on. Securing a membership for her family by way of charitable donations and strategic ass-kissing had been Diane Connelly’s most important achievement to date.

  Rose was spared replying when her car door was pulled open and a white-gloved doorman helped her alight from Nick’s car.

  “Careful with her,” she heard Nick tell the valet as he gave him the keys to his gleaming year-old midnight blue Cadillac Escalade, “I had to punch a lot of guys to get her.”

  She laughed as she took the arm he offered and he escorted her inside. A week ago, she would’ve found that comment vulgar, but Rose was starting to get used to this quirk of his. It was endearing, in a weird way.

  All eyes were on them as they made their way into the ballroom. She wasn’t deluded enough to think anyone was even looking at her—not with Nick at her side. The coiffed and bejewelled society ladies were not immune to his darkly handsome good looks and brawny physique. Their tepid, golf-playing, white-collar husbands and boyfriends surely paled in comparison.

  Rose was exhilarated. Having a man that you know every girl in the room wanted was its own kind of thrill. She didn’t feel too guilty for objectifying Nick. The man was incredibly comfortable with his sex appeal. He owned it and utilized it as surely as he did any other advantage he had in his arsenal.

  Rose spotted her parents not too far away. Pat looked ill at ease in his tux and Diane looked every bit like the elegant society matron that she was in her off-white column gown and diamond choker. A tight frown marred her mother’s pretty face for a split second when she saw them before her well-rehearsed smile reappeared. She clearly was not pleased that Rose showed up with a date after all, foiling whatever plan she’d hatched of getting her and Rob together.

  “Mom, Dad, how are you both?” she said, kissing them in greeting. “Mom, this is Nick.”

  Diane leaned in for a perfunctory air kiss, coolly polite. Pat offered a warmer greeting, shaking Nick’s hand before clapping him on the back.

  Rose chose to ignore her dad’s smug look. No doubt he’d be taking credit for the match. Pity for him, she wouldn’t be making babies with Nick any time soon. She wouldn’t be making babies with him, period.

  “Are any of the guys here?” she asked, meaning her brothers.

  “Nope,” Pat said with a snort. “They’re all conveniently busy, lucky bastards.”

  “How come I’m never allowed to get away with missing these things?”

  “You and me both,” he muttered under his breath, pulling irritably at his bow tie.

  “Both of you, please,” Diane said, a mild reprimand in her tone.

  Pat patted his wife’s arm indulgently. “Sorry, love. I’ll be my usual charming self.”

  While Pat and Nick fell into a conversation about how his training was going, Rose took two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Nick. He hesitated. She’d forgotten he didn’t drink during training, but a glass of champagne a week before a fight couldn’t hurt, could it? Finally, he took it with a smile and clinked his glass with hers.

  “You look smokin’ hot, have I told you that?” he said after a small sip.

  He had indeed, when he picked her up earlier that night, but Rose didn’t mind hearing it again. Her mom had picked out a winner—a tomato red dress in soft jersey with a scooped neck and back. It clung tight to the bodice and flared out softly in a classic A-line silhouette. With her professionally done-up face and hair blown-out to shining swishy perfection, Rose did feel rather pretty.

  “You’re the hottest chick here,” Nick leaned in to whisper when her mom wandered away to mingle, dragging her dad along. Normally she would frown at being referred to as a chick. And she didn’t believe in pitting one woman’s looks against another as a form of compliment. But hearing it from Nick felt too damn gratifying.

  He pressed his lips to her ear, and she shivered. A delicious tingle rose up from the tips of her toes to the top of her head like
champagne bubbles. When his tongue darted out to touch her earlobe, her hand shook, spilling some of the champagne down her dress. “Nick,” she gasped, so helplessly flustered. He chuckled and left to get her some napkins.

  “Rose, how nice to see you. Your mother said she wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  Before she could turn around to that familiar, unwelcome voice, she felt strong hands grasp her shoulders. She was suddenly on the receiving end of a wet kiss dangerously close to her mouth. Rose endured it with a tight face, resisting the urge to wipe her cheek with the back of her hand. Gross.

  Hands still on her shoulders, Rob pulled back to study her, eyes lingering on the tops of her breasts. She instantly regretted her outfit choice. But no, something defiant inside her reared its head. The dress made her look and feel beautiful, that was all that mattered. She wore it for herself. And maybe for Nick too, a little.

  “Look at you, you look ravishing.”

  She didn’t say anything back and let him know with the expression on her face how revolting she found his attentions. Any other man would take the hint. But Rob was a special sort of bonehead. How she loathed him. She’d always made sure she was never alone whenever she thought she might run into him. Having a date with her had never prevented Rob from being his slimy self, but at least she’d have a buffer for his more brazen efforts.

  Just as she was about to look around for Nick, he appeared by her side, sliding an arm around her waist and extricating her from Rob’s hold. Immediately, her heart rate slowed and the instinct to flee vanished. His proximity soothed and calmed some anxious and wary part of her. She felt comfortably, wonderfully safe.

  “Hi, I’m Rose’s date.”

  The asshole finally acknowledged his presence with a withering look. “Robert Altemus,” he said smugly, like it was supposed to mean something to Nick.

  He’d already guessed who Rob was before he even said it. He could tell by the way Rose turned rigid at his touch. He didn’t like that he touched her or that he even looked at her. He was still looking at her, the fucking pervert.

  “Nick Rossi.” It took every ounce of self-control he had in him not to crush Rob’s bones into a pulp when they shook hands. But he saved violence for when he was in the cage, when he was being paid for it.

  Rob was relentless, Nick gave him that. Relentless and stupid. Where another man would balk at his sheer size—before even knowing he was a professional fighter—Rob was undaunted. He sidestepped Nick to get to Rose.

  “We’re at the same table. Why don’t I escort you? Dinner will be served soon.”

  Rose wrinkled her nose at the arm he offered and gave him a chilly smile. “Go on ahead. We’ll be there when we’re good and ready.”

  Ignoring her rebuff, Rob inclined his head. “I’ll see you there,” he said, addressing Rose alone before turning to walk away.

  Jesus, the gall of that idiot! Disbelief momentarily tempered Nick’s anger. The guy had to be mentally challenged or something. He gave Rose an incredulous look.

  “I know,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

  She pretended to be annoyed, but Nick could tell she was more shaken than she let on. He felt a surge of protectiveness so fierce he had no clue what to do with it. “I will fucking break both his legs if he puts his hands on you again,” he said in a low, menacing voice, reverting to what he knew he did best.

  Rose’s eyes widened with alarm. “Don’t you dare make a scene, Nick. I mean it.”

  He scoffed at that, insulted. She was going to get mad at him for wanting to protect her and let that douchebag get away with all that?

  “I’m not some damsel in distress, okay? I don’t want you to go into caveman mode on my account. Nick, please. I need you to promise me you will not do anything.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. It went against his every instinct, but this wasn’t about him. He had to respect what she wanted, like it or not. Slowly, he nodded. That seemed to satisfy her. She took his hand, cautiously this time. He yanked her to him, crushed her to his chest, and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I don’t like it, but okay, I promise.”

  She pulled back to peer up at him. “Thank you,” she said, looking pleasantly perplexed. She was always looking at him like that, like he’d done something totally unexpected.

  “C’mon,” she said, “let’s eat. I should warn you, the food here is crap.”

  Nick’s blood was still simmering, but he smiled and let Rose tug his arm and lead him to their table.

  CHAPTER 20

  They were the last ones to arrive. Diane and Pat were already seated and waiting, as was Rob. Rose introduced him to their other dinner companions, some middle-aged couples who were friends of her parents and several younger people whom Rose and Rob knew from their private school days.

  The food was crap. The fat-free, taste-free grub Angelo prepared for him when he was cutting weight was a heck of a lot more appetizing. Small talk was not much better. Rob held court and controlled the conversation. He kept on trying to engage Rose and blatantly ignored Nick. Rose answered in stilted one-liners while stroking Nick’s thigh under the table, a gesture meant to soothe and assuage his irritation at being disrespected so openly.

  Nick should be fuming with rage by now, but Rose’s touch did wonders to calm him down. She was so rarely sweet and affectionate. He’d quietly endure Rob’s grating company the whole night so long as Rose kept touching him and looking at him the way she had been.

  Some of their tablemates did look visibly embarrassed at Rob’s breach of etiquette that they made it a point to be extra friendly to him. Patronizing as their efforts were, they did seem sincere and Nick couldn’t take offense.

  “So Nick, what is it that you do? You work at a gym, I heard. Is that correct?” a prematurely balding guy called Peter asked.

  He seemed like an okay sort and Rose was genuinely warm and friendly with him, so Nick decided he didn’t deserve any misdirected animosity. “I just opened an MMA gym with my brothers,” he corrected. “But the rest of the time I’m a professional fighter.

  Peter sputtered and choked on his wine. “Lucky Charms?” he said in an awe-filled voice, looking at Nick more closely. The rest of the occupants at their table seemed to regard him with renewed interest.

  Nick cringed. What a stupid fucking fight name.

  “I knew you seemed familiar,” he said, taking a pair of glasses from the inside pocket of his jacket and putting them on. “I wasn’t wearing my contacts so I couldn’t tell at first, but you’re Niccolo Rossi!”

  Peter was absolutely beside himself. He insisted on shaking Nick’s hand and taking a photo with him. He called some of his buddies from the other tables over and Nick found himself surrounded by and posing for photos with a posse of pale, scrawny doctor, lawyer, and banker types who turned out to be huge MMA fanboys.

  “I’m gonna go cancel my health club membership and go to your gym,” a lawyer with a prominent gut told him.

  “Yeah, you do that.” Nick smiled.

  Their enthusiasm was infectious. He liked this part of the job. He got a kick at being recognized, signing autographs and posing for pictures. When he took his seat, he found Rose smiling at him.

  “And here I assumed your fanbase was mostly women,” she said, elbowing him playfully.

  Rob stood up, not to be outdone, and extended a hand to Rose. “Care to dance, Rose?” He seemed determined to show everyone that Nick did not intimidate him. Again, he glanced down Rose’s dress. Nick’s vision blurred with rage.

  “No, she doesn’t,” he answered, deceptively pleasant, throwing his arm around Rose’s chair, the move unmistakably possessive.

  Rob smirked, recognizing that Nick made a grave faux pas. “I believe the lady can speak for herself.”

  Oddly enough, he glanced at the lady’s mother as he said it, looking to Diane for support. Nick nearly laughed.

  What a fucking pussy. Fuck it, he was too angry to think of a gender-neutra
l insult.

  He caught the mother and daughter exchanging looks, an imploring one from Diane and one he couldn’t decipher from Rose. Nick’s blood turned cold. He remembered how Rose went batshit crazy the last time he spoke for her. For a long cruel second, she remained stiff and expressionless.

  Suddenly, Nick felt all the rigidity leave her body before she leaned back into him.

  “Oh, go on, Rose,” Diane said. “What’s the harm? You and Rob are childhood sweethearts after all. I’m sure Nick won’t mind,” she added pointedly.

  Rose looked as if she’d just been asked to kiss a sewer rat. “Actually, Nick will mind. He gets very jealous.” She snuggled closer and Nick responded by wrapping his arm around her soft middle.

  “Crazy jealous,” he agreed, and he meant it, too. Rob, or any other guy for that matter, would never get their hands on her.

  Feigning indifference, Rob asked someone else at their table to dance. Once they’d left, Nick tightened his grip on Rose and nuzzled her cheek. Diane watched them, lips thinning into a straight line. Pat did too, looking delighted.

  Surprisingly, Rose didn’t seem to mind or care. She tilted her head to the side, giving him better access, a gesture so surprisingly sweet and poignant coming from her. The last scrap of her resistance was finally melting away, he thought. Just as sure as she’d yielded her body to him, she was yielding something else, whatever else she’d been holding back from him. Nick felt something unfamiliar tug at his heart and he pressed his lips to that sensitive spot at the back of Rose’s ear. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and get the hell out of there, back to his place, on his bed. He wanted to rip her dress right off her body and kiss every inch of her. And then he’d fuck her the whole night, slow and hot. And then fast, rough and filthy until she screamed his name. And then they’d start all over again. And then he’d fucking marry her.