Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance)

by White, Pat

  Was that her heart pounding in her ears or someone banging on the wall in first aid behind her?

  “You need any practice with the rubbing part?” he rasped.

  “No, I’ll manage.” She swallowed hard.

  “Then, after you do the touching stuff, I kiss you sweetly on the lips.” He leaned forward and did just that.

  Now the pounding started inside of her, low, between her legs. Her braless nipples hardened against her tight cotton shirt as she leaned into his chest.

  More. She needed more of this. More warmth, more hum of electricity.

  More of The Stripper.

  “You son of a bitch!” a man cried.

  Suddenly they were wrenched apart and a BAM security guard pinned The Stripper against the wall.

  “I swore if I ever saw you again I was going to kill you with my bare hands.”

  Chapter Nine

  Hell, of all the people to catch Jason with his guard down, sporting a doozie of a hard-on, it had to be former perp Spike Hatskill. The stupid jerk was quick about getting the upper hand, effectively pinning J to the wall with an arm against his throat.

  “How do you want to die, you son of a bitch?” Hatskill threatened.

  “What are you doing?” Sandy cried. She grabbed Hatskill and tried yanking him away, but the guy’s arm was firmly planted against J’s neck.

  This was the perfect example of why he shouldn’t get physically involved with a mark. Kissing Sandy had thrown J off balance, causing him to be ambushed by the enemy.

  “I want this bastard dead,” Hatskill said. “He put my brother in jail.”

  “You’re crazy!” Sandy swung her pack at Hatskill, distracting him long enough for J to break the hold. J spun around and shouldered him in the chest, pushing Hatskill against the opposite wall.

  “Keep it in the ring!” a wrestler called out down the hall.

  “Both of you—stop!” Sandy cried.

  J threw an uppercut, then a lower punch to Hatskill’s gut. The guy dropped to his knees and J wrapped his arms around his neck, applying a chokehold.

  Now what? The guy was incapacitated, but what happened when J let him go? How was he going to talk his way out of this one?

  This was probably Meek’s doing. He’d sent J to BAM knowing a former criminal was working for the organization. No, even Meek wouldn’t stoop that low, would he?

  “Let him go.”

  J glanced at Sandy, who studied him with a worried expression. What, for this jerk? Three years ago the guy had beaten a drug conviction and let his little brother take the fall. Bastard. Jason knew Hatskill was guilty, but they’d only had enough evidence to nail the brother.

  “If I let him go, he’ll just pick another fight.” Not to mention blow his cover. Yet Hatskill didn’t know Jason was part of a sting operation, unless someone had tipped him off.

  “Get him ... off of me!” Hatskill gasped against the pressure of J’s arm.

  “Will you promise to behave?” Sandy asked.

  Hatskill nodded and J eased his hold. The guy sprang free, stumbled a few feet away, turned and came after J again. Sandy jumped in between them and all three of them hit the cement floor. Hard.

  Dazed, Jason glanced at Sandy, who lay motionless beside him.

  “Damn it,” J reached over, “Sandy?”

  “Don’t touch her.” Hatskill shoved J’s hand away as if it were poison. “Hey, Ryan, open your eyes.”

  She blinked, looked at Hatskill and smiled. J wanted to strangle the bastard.

  “Sorry about that,” Hatskill said, his voice suddenly softer.

  “You should be.” Sandy glanced from Hatskill to Jason. “Both of you.”

  She got to her feet, wobbled a second and grabbed her backpack. “What the hell is going on?”

  J couldn’t speak, suddenly aware of how close she’d come to being hurt by two angry, violent men. The thought tore him apart inside. And she was going to be his partner in the ring? Hell, he’d never be able to concentrate on the match.

  “My brother’s in jail because of this son of a bitch.” Hatskill started to lunge at J again, but Sandy swung her pack at the guy’s chest.

  “Hey!” Hatskill protested.

  “Stop attacking The Stripper.”

  “The what?”

  “He’s our new main event, Jack the Stripper. Cosmo will fire your sorry ass if you keep beating him up.”

  “I’m fine,” J said.

  “Now, what’s this about your brother?” she asked Hatskill.

  “This ... bastard messed up a major deal we had going.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “A business deal.” The man glared at J. “And now my brother’s in jail.”

  “Sounds like dirty business,” she said. “Did your brother do something criminal?”

  Hatskill snapped his attention to Sandy, his eyes blazing fire. Jason fought his protective instincts. Wait until he inches toward her before you rip his heart out.

  “Well?” She pushed. “Did your brother break the law?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you were a part of this deal that landed him in jail? And The Stripper was involved as well?”

  Hatskill clenched his jaw. If he admitted to criminal activity, Sandy could have him fired. Cosmo Perini might be flaky, but he had strict rules: You break the law; you find a new job. And from what J recalled, Hatskill didn’t have a great track record of keeping steady work. J suddenly wondered if Hatskill was behind the steroid distribution.

  Right. Now which part of his body was talking? He wanted someone other than Sandy to be the steroid distributor so badly he was desperate for other options.

  “Look, I don’t want to know what you guys were into,” she said. “But you’ve got to drop the grudge. Got that, Spike?”

  “Yeah,” Hatskill grunted.

  Jason stood and offered his hand to Spike. It was dangerous, but a good faith gesture. The guy stared at J’s hand as if it were fish guts.

  “Take it and make nice or I’m going to Cosmo right now,” Sandy warned.

  J wondered if she’d be on his side once she found out he was an undercover agent out to nail her.

  Hatskill got up and the men stared each other down like a couple of dogs poised over a raw steak.

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” J said, and he was. He was even sorrier the kid ended up in jail alone. Big brothers were supposed to protect their siblings, take care of them.

  “You weren’t the one who tipped off the cops?” Hatskill asked.

  J bit back his shock. So the guy didn’t know he was a cop? Whoa, stroke of luck there. J’s cover wasn’t blown after all.

  “I didn’t tip off the cops.” I am the cop.

  “I figured since you disappeared after the arrest that you were working with them.”

  “Self-preservation,” J said. “I went underground. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

  “I guess.” Hatskill didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t going for J’s throat either.

  “Truce?” J extended his hand.

  “Yeah.” They shook hands.

  “Spike, we got a problem at the south entrance.” A voice echoed from his radio, which lay on the ground. Spike snatched it up. “On my way.” He nodded at Sandy and left.

  Sandy squared off at Jason. “You’re into drugs?”

  That was rich — she was condemning him for dealing?

  “I’m not into anything, not anymore,” he said.

  “Great, peachy, wonderful. I’m partnered with a criminal. Can this day get any worse?” She shouldered her pack and headed for the locker room. A few feet away she stopped and turned. “Well, come on, partner.”

  He followed. “Yeah, I guess we should practice our moves.”

  “Gawd, and to think I let you kiss me,” she muttered.

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You’re a criminal, probably a drug dealer.” She shook her head.

  “Look who’s
talking,” he let slip.

  She stopped short. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Whatever, we’re on in fifteen minutes,” he said. “We’ve got to practice kissing again.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Virgin kisses only. No tongue.”

  “I know how to kiss,” she muttered, walking ahead of him.

  Boy, did she ever. That was the problem: Jason enjoyed their kiss before, a little too much. He needed to do it again to prove that he could maintain control.

  “Come on, we need to get comfortable with each other,” he said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. She didn’t fight him this time, but she didn’t look happy either. “A slow, sweet kiss before I go into the ring.” He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. Damn, if they weren’t the warmest, softest lips he’d ever tasted.

  “Then,” he couldn’t help whispering against her, “a congratulatory kiss after I win the match.” He pressed his lips tenderly against hers and this time, he felt her moan.

  Hold on to your sanity, McBain. Focus, stay sharp.

  But she opened to him, her tongue warming his, and he thought he’d go mad.

  No, he was in control, always in control. He broke the kiss.

  “Not bad,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She cleared her throat and stepped back. “I’m only doing this to keep an eye on my brother. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t.” He could have her, any time, any place, in a heartbeat. They both knew it. She was an easy mark. He could seduce her, get a confession and lock her away.

  Only, with this female, he feared losing more than a little self-respect.

  “You two ready?” Cosmo called down the hall.

  “You bet!” Sandy said.

  J wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to perform with this free-spirited, complicated creature. There was something unnerving about her, something that kept him off balance.

  As long as she didn’t get into the ring, he’d be fine.

  “How’s this?” she asked, looping her arm through his and glancing up at him with admiration in her eyes. “In character enough?”

  “Stop it.” J led them to the stage curtain.

  “What? Not good enough? How about this?” She nuzzled his chest with her cheek, then slipped her hand inside his shirt and brushed her fingertips across his nipples.

  He snatched her hand away, shocked. “What’s with you?”

  “I’m trying to be convincing.” She pouted. “You said adoring, right? ‘Fascinated with your pecs?’ What was I doing wrong?”

  Nothing. That was the problem. “It’s fine. I’m ... edgy.”

  “Ghosts can do that to you.”

  “What ghosts?”

  “Spike. It’s never fun when your past slams you against the wall and tries to kill you.”

  “Forget about it. I’m not that guy anymore.”

  Which was the truth. He’d been undercover as a drug-dealing scumbag. Now he was a stripping scumbag. Big difference.

  “So, who are you then?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I’m a guy trying to do a job.”

  “Right, and I’m a virgin nurse.” She crossed her arms on her chest and leaned against the wall.

  “What does it matter?” he said.

  “We’re going to be partners. There needs to be a certain amount of trust here. You’ve lied to me about everything from the first day we met—about your sister, your mother, your history with Spike. Can you tell me one thing that isn’t a lie?”

  “I need this job. I need to do it well.”

  She studied him. Hell, did she read his real meaning, that he needed to nail her for drug distribution so he could move up the chain at the DEA?

  “You swear that’s the truth?” she said.

  “I swear.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He sighed. “Ask me anything and I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Okay, your favorite birthday present.”

  “Why do you need to know that?”

  “Because it’s more intimate than, ‘I need to do a good job,’ ” she mimicked.

  He suddenly wondered if this chatter was only meant to keep her anxiety at bay. She wasn’t an exhibitionist by nature. Was she nervous about going onstage?

  “My favorite birthday present?” he repeated.

  She smiled, an expectant look on her face. He’d have to come up with something better than the six-inch knife Chauncy gave him for his twenty-fifth birthday. Think, damn it. Think back.

  “An army GI Joe,” he said.

  “Who gave it to you?”

  “My ... father.” He stretched one arm out, then the other. He hadn’t used the “F” word in nearly fifteen years. The last time he’d used it was when he’d accused Mom’s jerk boyfriend of not being his father.

  He glanced down the hall, not wanting to make eye contact with Sandy. She had the uncanny ability of being able to read his emotions, maybe even his thoughts. He couldn’t risk that, especially now.

  He shook out his arms and rolled his neck. Pro wrestling might be a fake sport, but the potential dangers weren’t. You had to be loose, on your guard and ready for anything — kind of like working undercover.

  He felt Sandy touch his arm and he glanced into her emerald green eyes.

  “Do you still have it?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “The GI Joe?”

  “Nope.”

  “Seven ... six...” the security guard counted. A few more seconds and the interrogation would be over. He’d be safe in the ring.

  “But it was your favorite,” she pushed.

  He wished she’d stop asking questions, stop poking and prodding and—

  “What happened to it?” she asked.

  “I put it in the trash compactor, okay?” He felt raw, like a layer of skin had been ripped from his body.

  “Four ... three ...” the guard said.

  “Why did you destroy your favorite present?” she asked.

  “Because I wanted to forget him as easily as he forgot us.” Damn it, how did he let that slip?

  “You’re on!” The security guard yanked back the curtain.

  Jason froze, panic flooding his veins. But was it from the rush of the crowd’s cheers, or from the sudden exposure of his soul?

  “Jack the Stripper and his Virgin Nurse!” the announcer called over the PA system.

  Arm looped through The Stripper’s, Sandy bit back her shock and attempted to saunter down the ramp in virgin-like style.

  Jason had destroyed his favorite gift because his father had forgotten about his family? Talk about baggage.

  She smiled and waved at the crowd, trying to focus on tonight’s performance, not on the man she clung to.

  Forgotten, as in abandoned? No wonder he didn’t trust anyone.

  So far, most of the things he’d told her had been based on lies. He lied about his family, his past, and probably why he came to BAM in the first place. Yet she read truth in his eyes when he said he needed this job and needed to do it well.

  She sensed there was more at stake than money. He was trying to prove something to someone, maybe to make up for past mistakes like being involved with drugs? Everyone made mistakes, especially if you didn’t have a good role model to lead you through the tough years of adolescence. Jason must have felt so lost without a father.

  Let it go. Her job wasn’t to fix this guy no matter how much pain she read in his eyes.

  The lyrics of “Virgin Princess” blared from the loudspeakers, reminding her she strode alongside The Stripper because she was his Virgin Nurse.

  That shocked her back to the present. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. This wasn’t the time to think about saving another wounded wrestler. Hadn’t she learned her lesson from Cody’s cruel betrayal? He, too, had been in need of tender loving care, emotional as well as physical. She’d been there, tended his i
njuries and listened to his secrets. In the end, it meant nothing. He’d been playing her all along, like a well-tuned harpsichord. After that disaster she swore never to let a man get that close again.

  The Stripper took her hand, planted a chaste kiss on it and started up the steps to the ring. Drawn to the fire once again, Sandy thought, watching his muscular ass stretch his polyester pants. But it wasn’t only his body that fascinated her. It was the festering wounds he’d buried deep inside. Pain. Disappointment. Maybe even a broken heart.

  Forget about it!

  But how could she? The need to heal drove her into this business and kept her here for ten years, watching the pathetic lives of these men, some who didn’t live to see forty, and others who ended up in a wheelchair at sixty thanks to arthritis and the residual effects of steroid abuse.

  Steroids. She hated what they did to the guys, the false hope they promised for success and money.

  The Stripper tossed his jacket over the rope and Sandy caught it one-handed. He swung his hips, ran his hands down his chest and ripped open his shirt. The female fans shrieked with joy.

  Something was different tonight. The Stripper didn’t seem as uninhibited as he was last week. One problem might be his unplanned confession just now. It wasn’t easy admitting that your father abandoned you, then turn around and strut into a stadium full of people flaunting your sexual magnetism.

  He slipped his shirt off, one sleeve at a time, and tossed it in her direction. He still wore the gold medal of St. Michael, the same one that got caught on his shirt the other night. She wondered why he didn’t leave it back it the locker room.

  Another hip jiggle, hands on his pants and—rip! The pants were gone, revealing a tight pair of trunks. Whoa, that was new.

  Keeping in character, she swallowed hard, acting as if she was amazed by his package. He tossed the pants over the ropes and they landed on her head. She slid them off slowly, her eyes widening as she admired his crotch.