Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance)

by White, Pat

  She hesitated and his gut clenched. Cut and run before it’s too late. He gripped the door handle.

  “No,” she said. “My mind-reading skills are a little rusty, so I haven’t a clue where you live. We’re getting your clothes, remember?”

  “I don’t live around here. I’m staying at the Holiday Inn off of 53 and Algonquin.”

  She shoved the car in gear and headed north. “But that doesn’t answer my question,” she muttered.

  “I’m from Detroit.”

  “That’s where Cosmo found you?”

  “Yep.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t from Detroit originally, but it didn’t matter. He called Detroit his home base these days. He could be anonymous, do his job, not get attached to anyone. The biggest mistake of all was getting attached.

  “You can drop me at the hotel,” he said. “I’ll stay out of trouble.”

  She shook her head. “Can’t. I made a promise.”

  “You didn’t promise anything. The suit signed the papers.”

  “For the company,” she said. “I’m left with the responsibility of watching you, so that’s what I’ll do.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “Maybe not to you,” she said.

  “What do you get out of all this, anyway?”

  “Come again?” she said, merging onto the expressway.

  “Why do you do this? Give up your life for this stupid business.”

  “Because ... it is my life.”

  He shook his head.

  “Listen, smart guy,” she growled, “I’m past thirty and I have a steady job with chunks of days off at a time. I can sleep in and get free food at the shows. BAM is my family. We all look out for each other.”

  “I don’t see anyone looking out for you,” he said.

  “Then you need glasses. Besides, I like my job.”

  “You like the thought of taking me home with you?”

  “Not necessarily that part of the job.” She sighed and tightened her grip on the wheel. “Up to now, my condo has been my private place. No one from BAM knew my address or home phone number. When I go into my place I’m in my own world. I don’t share that world with anyone.”

  “Not even Cody Monroe?”

  She sighed. “Okay, yeah, I let him in and it was a big mistake. That’s why I’m not thrilled with the idea of bringing you home. You’ll contaminate my space.”

  “You brought Decker home with you the other night.”

  She nibbled her lower lip. “Yeah, I was hoping for something special from him.”

  “Like sex?”

  “See, that’s where you guys always go. It’s all about the sex.”

  “Hey, babe, you were the one running into the street in your underwear.”

  “I was changing into something more comfortable when Madame Bovary attacked him. I couldn’t let him leave like that, all upset and ... bald.” She suddenly bit back a grin.

  “Such a considerate girl,” he said.

  “You’re mocking me.”

  I’m wanting you.

  She looked so damned touchable with her hair falling out of its clip and her T-shirt stretched across her petite frame.

  “I’ll get my things at the hotel and you can drop me at the airport,” he said. Good plan. Fly away. Escape.

  “The whole point is to keep you in town. You can stay at my place and sleep on the couch,” she said.

  Great, sleeping in the thick of it, watching her walk by in her nightshirt—or would she wear silk to bed?

  “Whatever,” he said. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. He’d been blindsided by the enemy and humiliated to the core. He needed a hot meal, warm clothes and a good night’s sleep. Then he could move forward with a clear head.

  Like that was going to happen at Sandy’s place?

  * * *

  He was too quiet, Sandy thought, turning a page in her new mystery novel. Wanting her own space, she holed up in her bedroom hoping to catch up on a little reading. Instead, all she could think about was the man bunking in her living room.

  The phone rang, and she snatched it from the bedside cradle. If Jason had fallen asleep, she didn’t want the phone to wake him. Oh brother! He wasn’t an invited guest. He was a job requirement.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Hey, little sister,” Duke replied. “How did it go with The Stripper?”

  “Lou sprung him.”

  “Cool. All a mistake?”

  “I don’t know the details.”

  But she did know the Feds wanted him to hang around for more questioning even if he wasn’t guilty.

  Don’t be a fool!

  “Get details by Sunday. Dad’s coming to the barbeque.”

  “Does Mom know?”

  “She knows. Didn’t you hear the eruption earlier?” He chuckled. “There’s a lot happening Sunday. Curt and Trudy are celebrating ten years; Juju’s birthday is in a few weeks so we’re doing that, too; plus, rumor has it you’re bringing a date. Dad wouldn’t miss that,” Duke said. “So, who is he?”

  Jason knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come in,” she said.

  He poked his head into her room. “I’m making tea. You interested?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  He nodded and disappeared, although not completely. His image still hovered in her mind—his tight jeans, tighter T-shirt and warm smile.

  “Was that a guy’s voice? You have a guy in your condo at this time of night?” he teased.

  “Shut up. I’m a grown woman.”

  “Who is he?”

  “None of your business. I’ve gotta go.” She hung up and glanced at the clock. It was nine p.m. and a man was making tea in her kitchen. She collapsed on the bed, clicked off her bedside lamp and stared at the glow-in-the- dark stars scattered across her ceiling.

  The guys at work thought of her as tough, and disinterested in romance, especially since the Cody disaster. But deep in her heart, what she wanted most was a man to cherish her. A handsome, honorable, trustworthy man who would make her laugh and rub her feet, pick up after himself and fill her gas tank when it was low.

  Because he loved her.

  She didn’t want to be dependent on a man. That’s where Mom got it wrong by depending too much on Dad. Pops was a good man and provided a good living, but when it came to emotional support he was a bit challenged. It had taken Sandy this long to figure that out.

  She snatched Peanut, her stuffed kitty, off the pillow and stroked its fur. Sandy would never put that kind of pressure on a man. She’d accept him for who he was. She’d believe in him because she loved him. And he loved her.

  Glancing at the stars, Sandy wished for smarter wrestling moves and fewer injuries. She wished for Pops’ health to improve, and Duke to try harder in physical therapy so he’d walk again. She wished for...

  A handsome prince to help bear the burdens she carried on her back.

  “Tea’s ready. Whoa,” Jason said from the doorway, staring at the ceiling.

  She glanced at him. He looked pretty harmless when viewed upside down. Harmless, right. Here she’d been wishing for a prince and instead she’d been stuck with a lying, drug dealing pro wrestler. Yet, a part of her really didn’t believe the drug dealing part. Chump.

  She sat up and turned on the light. The stars disappeared.

  “That’s cool,” he said, still eyeing the ceiling.

  She placed Peanut back on her pillow.

  “Madame Bovary isn’t jealous?”

  “Nope.” She stood and pulled her hair out of its braid. “She’s only jealous of living things.”

  “Which explains why she attacked your date the other night.”

  True, yet she hadn’t attacked Jason.

  “Where is that feisty princess, anyway?” Sandy walked to the bedroom door and he handed her a hot mug of tea.

  “Curled up on the couch,” he said. “Looks like I won’t be sleeping alone tonight.”

  Their
eyes caught. Was that a spark of need in his eyes? Good grief. If he needed sex half as much as she did, they were both screwed. The two of them having sex would be, in a word, disastrous.

  “Not a good idea, huh?” he said.

  “What?” Had he read her mind?

  “Me sleeping with Madame Bovary,” he clarified.

  “Oh,” she hesitated, “no, probably not.” She sounded like an idiot. But she couldn’t tear her gaze from the indigo eyes studying her, almost as if they saw right through her, seeing her fears, her hopes.

  “Well, if the cat’s taking up half the couch, and she isn’t into sharing, what do you suggest?” he asked.

  Sleep with me?

  She didn’t say the words out loud, but he had to have read them in her eyes. No, not again. She wouldn’t be drawn into a man’s trap, seduced by his sweet words, innuendos and good looks.

  “Is it too hot?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The tea?” He nodded toward the mug in her hand. She’d forgotten he’d given it to her.

  You’re in big trouble, girl.

  He glanced over her shoulder. “I guess I could always share your bed.”

  That broke the spell. “Yeah, right.” She pushed past him in search of Madame Bovary, her reinforcement. She’d sense Sandy’s panic and protect her master.

  Instead, Sandy found the Madame on the couch, curled up on The Stripper’s leather jacket, comfortable, at peace and shedding herself all over his outerwear. It looked like Sandy would be the one in danger of having her eyes clawed out if she and The Stripper did more than chat and drink tea.

  “You hungry?” She immediately regretted the question. She hadn’t meant it as a come on.

  “I could use something.”

  She knew the feeling. A bucket of ice over her head? She escaped into the kitchen. “What have you got a taste for?” She cringed. Wasn’t there anything she could say that didn’t sound like a come on?

  “What have you got?” He stood in the doorway, a smile teasing the corner of his lips. She ripped her gaze from the sexy man crowding her kitchen and opened the freezer.

  “Frozen Boca burgers ... chicken breasts, but they might be hard.”

  “Hard breasts, not soft ones?” He chuckled.

  She slammed the freezer door shut. “That’s it. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What?”

  “This whole thing.” She waved her hand across the space between them. “Too hot, too hard, not hard enough, sleeping with my cat, sleeping with me—”

  “I never said anything about sleeping with you.”

  “Yes, you did!” Did she fantasize that as well, wanting it so badly she heard it with her own ears?

  “I said we could share the bed,” he said. “Meaning you could sleep in it at night and I’d sleep in it during the day.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Just trying to be a pleasant guest. Didn’t want to upset the pussy.”

  “See! That’s what I mean. You can’t say stuff like that.”

  “I’m joking around,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, stop. You’re making me nuts.”

  “Why’s that?” He took a step closer.

  “Because.”

  “Because?” He smiled.

  “Yeah, just because.”

  “Because you like the idea of us naked, and you shouldn’t?”

  She ground her teeth and didn’t answer. She wasn’t a very good liar.

  He fingered her hair and she cracked, leaning into his touch. How long had it been since someone had touched her like this? Forever? Cody never touched her like this, never stroked her hair like he was stroking a skittish kitten. He never talked sexy to her, or protected her, or held her like a piece of fine crystal.

  “You have such beautiful hair,” Jason whispered.

  At that moment, in her kitchen, she actually believed that her flyaway, crazy hair was beautiful. His fingertips weaved through her hair and reduced her to mush. She felt his other hand slide down to the small of her back, offering tender support.

  Sandy closed her eyes and tipped her head to the side, letting the softness of his lips warm her neck with each delicate kiss. He started at her jaw and worked his way down, a third kiss, a fourth. She felt him brush aside the material of her blouse. Was she even wearing clothes? It didn’t feel like it. It felt like she was naked in his arms, being stroked and cherished.

  “Sandra,” he whispered.

  How did he know she loved being called by her full name? Cody never used it. Cody didn’t do a lot of things. He surely never touched her like this.

  Up until today a part of Sandy believed her own press: either she was a closet lesbian and didn’t know it, or she was frigid or broken in some way.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered into her ear. Then he kissed her.

  A sweet, gentle kiss, warm with promise and hot with need. She felt beautiful and sexy, and she lit up like a neon sign. They were wrong about her: Cody; the guys at work; Pops, who’d once joked about Sandy wanting to be a boy.

  As passion and desire skittered across her nerve endings, Sandy knew she was okay.

  A tear trailed down her cheek.

  Jason broke the kiss and studied her, panic coloring his eyes. “Damn.” He brushed a tear off her cheek. “What have I done?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What have you done? Nothing yet,” she said. “But I wish you would.” She smiled and ran her tongue across her bottom lip, as if still tasting him there.

  Jason never felt dirtier in his life. His breath caught at the sight of her green eyes, wet with tears, crying out to him, pleading with him.

  “I’m a son of a bitch.” He started to step back, but she gripped his arms with such force for a little thing.

  “No,” she said. “It’s okay. It’s what I want.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.

  He wished she would have stabbed him in the heart. A sick bastard, that’s what he was, using her, manipulating her so she’d confess her sins. No sin was worse than manipulating someone you cared about, and he was starting to care about her. More than he should.

  Damn, he needed to be reassigned.

  “It’s okay.” She squeezed his hand between hers.

  “But you’re crying,” he said, his gut tied in knots.

  “I’m crying because I’m happy.”

  He felt like a complete bastard. He was making her happy by using her?

  “Damn it.” He pulled free and paced into the living room.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked, following him.

  “This isn’t right.”

  “Is it,” she hesitated, “me?”

  Before he could form a coherent thought, he closed the distance between them and pulled her close. “No, honey, it’s nothing like that.”

  They rocked for a few minutes and he held her away from him to look into her eyes. “You’re sexy and cute—hotter than any woman I’ve ever touched.” That hopeful look in her eyes tore him apart. “I just can’t do this to you.”

  “Do what?”

  “Hurt you.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t had sex before,” she joked.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Jason—”

  “You know nothing about me. You have no idea what I’ve done or who I’ve hurt.”

  “You won’t hurt me,” she said.

  “Wanna bet?”

  “It’s one night out of a million nights. You and me and the stars on my bedroom ceiling. This isn’t about commitment and marriage.” She shuddered, and something broke inside of him. “Don’t stop now, Jason. Not when I finally feel something.”

  Feel something? She wasn’t going to be able to bear the pain she’d be feeling in another month, pain from being betrayed by a man who’d violated the most intimate part of her.

  “Sweetheart.” He tipped her chin to look into her eyes.

  Look into her eyes
when you tell her you’re going to rip her heart out. Look into her eyes when you tell her the truth.

  God, was he going to tell her the truth? Now? And blow it all to hell?

  “Sandy, I need to tell you something.”

  She placed her fingers to his lips—sweet, warm fingers that he wanted to taste, to feel on his body. He closed his eyes, his body coming alive, while his conscience whipped his back raw.

  You selfish bastard. Just like the old man.

  “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Do this for me.”

  She took his hand and led him into the bedroom, a room in which he was sure no other man had made love to her. Probably not even Cody Monroe.

  “I need you to do this for me. A freebie, a one-night stand,” she said. “Think of it as me using you, if that makes you feel better.”

  It didn’t. She could say it was only sex, but that was a lie, especially for a nice girl like Sandy, a nice girl who was a prime suspect in this case.

  You do what you gotta do. Chauncy’s words. Had he truly forgiven J for leaving him behind?

  “Trust me,” Sandy said.

  Jason’s least favorite expression in the English language.

  “You’re not doing anything dishonorable,” she continued. “Let me have this one night.”

  She clicked off her bedroom light, plunging them into darkness except for the twinkle of stars on her ceiling. She shut the bedroom door. “We don’t want the Madame to get jealous.”

  She was trying to keep it light, but tension arced between them.

  “Sit.” She motioned to the bed and he followed her order.

  He’d play along, finish this part of his nasty assignment to get closer to the woman and expose her secrets. But making love to her wouldn’t be nasty. On the contrary…

  She climbed onto the bed behind him and massaged his shoulders. His neck muscles uncoiled and his arm muscles relaxed all the way to his fingertips.

  “I’ll take care of you,” she whispered into his ear. “Then you’ll take care of me.”

  She kneaded his shoulders while kissing his neck, the feeling both erotic and relaxing. Running her fingers down his spine, then up again, she nuzzled the back of his neck, licking and kissing, breathing warmth onto his skin. He thought he’d go mad. Then she pulled his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers grazed his skin and he ground his teeth against the tender touch.