Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance)

by White, Pat

  “Now who’s running away?” he asked. But he didn’t look at her.

  She stepped in front of him and blocked his view of the television set. His gaze drifted up her body, and it made heat pool low in her belly. Damn him.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m giving myself a time out, because ya’ know what, Jason? I didn’t deserve that. I’m a pretty amazing person. I deserve respect and admiration—something you obviously can’t give because you’re so wrapped up in self-pity. So, you enjoy yourself, buddy.”

  She left the condo with the image of Jason’s hardened jaw and cold stare burning into her mind. Choking back a scream of frustration, she raced down the stairs and power-walked toward the grocery store. She didn’t really need pesto; she needed an excuse to get out and get some distance to think. Maybe he was right: maybe she spent too much energy on lost causes, trying to save men who didn’t want to be saved. Maybe it was time to grow up and let people deal with their own stuff. Who did she think she was, anyway? A miracle worker?

  Jason McBain certainly needed a big-time miracle to dissolve all that angst. But if he didn’t choose to move on, he never would.

  And neither would she. Suddenly she thought of her own life choices: staying in the family business versus chasing her own dreams. Who was she to lecture Jason on making positive life choices when her own decisions were motivated by duty and guilt—duty to her father, and guilt for not being able to prevent her brother’s wrestling accident. She got halfway to the grocery store before she realized she’d left her wallet at home. Truth was, she couldn’t think straight with Jason around.

  Okay, girl, you see this one coming. Time to stop the wreck before the train leaves the station.

  Self-preservation required her to define their relationship as purely friendship, nothing more. But it was kind of hard to think of him as a friend when she wanted him in her bed.

  She started to cross the street to her building and glanced up just as a small white car came barreling at her. Everything froze: her legs, her mind. With a silent scream she tried to dive out of the way, and lost her balance as the world spun backward.

  * * *

  J blew it big time, and he’d have to make it up to her. Not because he needed her help with the case, but because he admitted to his mistakes, and hurting Sandy was a big one. He liked and trusted her. What made him emotionally beat her up like that?

  Fear.

  Damn, that McBain coward gene again. He was afraid of giving too much of himself, knowing that the day would come when she’d leave him, too.

  Of course she would. She was his mark, not his girlfriend.

  A part of him fantasized about her being his girlfriend. He fantasized about her welcoming him home after a long assignment with those magical hands, that amazing body and those sweet lips.

  That dream was not something that could become a reality, ever. He knew the truth. He was destined to hurt her over and over again. And he liked her too much to put her through that kind of torture.

  She was right; she did deserve better. For now he’d make it up to her, act like a civilized man and not a temperamental jerk. He grabbed his smart phone and found a florist that would make an emergency delivery of purple flowers; then he got busy with dinner.

  He went in search of lettuce when he noticed the full jar of pesto in her refrigerator. She lied about going out for pesto because she needed an excuse to get away from him. He couldn’t blame her. He’d been a son of a bitch, verbally attacking her for his own failings. It wasn’t her fault she could see right through him and put her finger on his emotional scars. And that scared the crap out of him. So he snapped at her, chasing a strong woman like Sandy out of her own condo.

  She should be home soon, right? He put on an apron with colorful fairies floating on a blue background. That should make her smile: a big, macho guy wearing a little lady’s apron. He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked. He’d do anything to get back into her good graces. Time to eat major crow.

  He found a bottle of cabernet and removed the cork, giving it time to breathe. He boiled water on for pasta and tossed some lettuce with grated Parmesan. Digging into the vegetable bin, he found some fresh tomatoes.

  It was all coming together. This would be a nice dinner, an apology dinner, maybe even a romantic dinner?

  No, he had to keep things light and friendly. He froze, his hand holding the knife he used to chop the tomato. What if she wanted to make love again? A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Perhaps it was the florist. He crossed the room and looked through the peephole.

  “Sandy?” He whipped open the door and his heart plummeted. Her left cheek was red and scratched, and she clutched her arm against her stomach. A tall, middle-aged man stood next to her.

  “I wanted to take her to the emergency room, but she insisted on coming home,” the stranger said.

  J fought back the panic twisting his gut and put his arm around her. “Hey, what happened?”

  “I saw it,” the man offered. “Some crazy driver practically hit her.”

  “What kind of car? Did you get a plate number?” Jason’s instincts kicked in.

  “White compact—a Saturn, maybe?” the guy said. “Didn’t catch the plate number. I was more worried about her.”

  J smoothed a strand of her hair behind Sandy’s ear. She glanced up at him, pain coloring her eyes, and his chest tightened. If anything would have happened to her...

  “I’m fine,” she said, again, reading his mind. “It was my fault. I stepped into the street and wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Well, I’ll be on my way,” the stranger said.

  J shook the guy’s hand and shut the door.

  “Wait,” Sandy said. “I wanted his address, to send him a thank you note or something.”

  J led her to the couch. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  He went after the guy and spotted him at the bottom of the stairs. “Hang on, the lady wants an address so she can properly thank you.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “I know, but it would make her feel better.”

  The Good Samaritan handed him a business card.

  “So, what did you see, exactly?” J asked.

  “Honestly? It looked to me like the car was gunning for her.”

  J’s blood ran cold.

  “But what do I know?” the guy went on. “Could have been a teenager reaching for his iPod. It all happened so fast.”

  “Thanks, again. We’re lucky you were there.”

  The men shook hands and J took the condo steps two at a time. The driver had been gunning for her? Hell.

  He pushed open her door, which Sandy left propped open for him. She wasn’t on the couch.

  “Sandy?” Was she in the bathroom vomiting? He raced toward the bathroom.

  “What?”

  He froze at the sound of her voice coming from the kitchen. He rushed back and eyed her. “What are you doing?”

  “Finishing what you started.” She stirred the pasta. “Looks good. I especially like the apron.” She winked at him.

  Which would have been a sexy gesture if she didn’t look so damned beat up.

  “We’re going to the hospital,” he said, untying the apron.

  “I’m fine. The car didn’t hit me. I stumbled over my own two feet and went one-on-one with the pavement. That’s all. Honest.”

  “Then why are you clutching your wrist to your stomach like that?”

  “I used it to break my fall. It’s a sprain. I’ve got an Ace bandage and splint in the closet. If it will make you feel better, you can play doctor and splint it for me.”

  “Hospital,” was all he could say. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt.

  “Jason, trust me, I’d know if was a serious injury.” She put down the spoon and sighed. “Look, my sister-in-law’s mom and one of her cousins works at the hospital in Emergency. If I go in, word will get back to my mom and it will start a lot of drama. What I
really need is peace and quiet, okay?”

  He gripped the trim of her doorway, trying to calm down.

  “I’m a medical professional,” she said. “Trust me, I’m okay.”

  Maybe she was okay, but Jason wasn’t.

  “At least sit down.” Cupping her elbow, he led her to the couch and sat next to her. He really studied her then, touched her bruised cheek and raw skin.

  “You can wash it with warm water and put antibiotic on it for me...” She hesitated. “If you want.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “That’s okay, I can do it.” She started to get up.

  “Stop.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about before, about what I said.”

  She nibbled at her lower lip.

  “I’m going to make it up to you,” he said. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know. But you’re always taking care of everyone, healing their bruised muscles and scarred emotions.”

  She glanced into his eyes with melancholy and resignation.

  “It’s time someone took care of you.” He kissed her uninjured hand. “Let me do that for you.”

  “O-okay.” Her voice hitched.

  He pulled her against his chest and held her gently but securely. She must have been scared shitless when she saw that car barreling straight at her.

  “I’m here as long as you need me,” he promised.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She couldn’t remember being taken care of like this. Jason held her in his arms most of the night, cooked her breakfast and now, this morning, he pressed a cool cloth against her cheek, murmuring something into her ear. She wasn’t sure what.

  It didn’t matter. What mattered was this gentle man’s presence, his ... love?

  Sure, it could be love in a friendship sort of way, but it wasn’t a romantic, spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you kind of way, although if he kept tending to her like this she was tempted to recruit him for the position of husband.

  She had to stop thinking like that. What would Mama think about her marrying a federal agent? Then again, it had to be better than marrying a pro wrestler, right?

  “It’s not that bad,” Jason whispered.

  Sandy opened her eyes. “What?”

  “Whatever you’re thinking about,” he said, stroking her hairline with his fingertips. “You’ve got this pained look on your face.”

  Now he was reading her mind. She smiled to herself.

  “I was thinking about the coming week,” she said. “Portland, Oakland, San Francisco.”

  He frowned. “I want you to take some time off.”

  “What? Why?” She sat up on the couch.

  “You deserve a break.”

  “I’m okay.” Shifting, she winced at the pain in her sprained wrist. “Fine. Maybe I’m not completely okay, but I don’t need time off.”

  “Everyone needs time off. Stay home for a few days, relax and take care of yourself for a change.”

  She wanted to argue, but noticed something new in his expression: deep concern.

  “You’re really worried about me, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t be. I’m tough.”

  “Even tough girls can get hurt.”

  Silence stretched between them. Was he referring to her physical injuries, or the emotional ones she hoped to avoid this time around?

  “If I’m so tough, why don’t I want to attend my family barbeque?” she asked.

  He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sandy Ryan, you’re a coward.”

  She bristled. “Am not.”

  “Maybe it’s your lack of an impressive date to bring to the party?”

  She laughed. “You’re plenty impressive— especially with your new haircut.”

  She still couldn’t believe it. She’d awakened late this morning to find a clean-cut Jason washing dishes. He apparently sneaked out earlier and found a barber to cut his shoulder-length hair. He looked completely different now—a good kind of different.

  “Love the haircut, by the way,” she added.

  “Thanks. So, what’s bothering you about the party?” he asked.

  “All the fuss, the pressure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Mom fusses over my job, my lack of a boyfriend, my future. Dad pressures me about working harder to help the boys.”

  “You work hard enough,” he reminded her. “Would you please take a few days off this week?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He nodded. “I’ll get more tea.”

  She started to tell him he didn’t have to, but she was enjoying the attention. She was usually the one doing the caretaking: healing the boys and keeping peace in her family. For once it felt good to be taken care of by someone else—by Jason.

  He brought a ceramic pot of brewed tea into the living room and poured tea.

  “What’s your next move with the investigation?” she asked, reminding herself why he was here in the first place.

  “Not sure. It depends on a few things.”

  “Like?” Curling her fingers around her mug, she sipped her tea.

  “Like, whether your accident had anything to do with this case.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The guy who brought you home yesterday said the car looked like it was aiming for you.”

  “He was imagining things. I was distracted and stepped into the street, that’s all.”

  J placed the teapot on a hot pad on the coffee table. “Distracted by what?” He sat on the sofa next to her.

  “Just stuff.”

  “What stuff?” he pressed.

  She studied her tea.

  “You were thinking about me, weren’t you? About what a bastard I was?”

  She didn’t answer. What could she say? She’d been hurt by his acerbic words and hadn’t been thinking straight.

  “Damn it, Sandy.” He stood and paced to the bookshelves and back. “So I’m responsible for you getting hurt.”

  “Stop,” she said. “Come sit down.”

  He hesitated.

  “Please?”

  He collapsed on the couch and she snuggled against his chest.

  “Sandra?”

  “Yes?”

  “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you because of me.” She looked up at him but he avoided her eyes.

  “Jason?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you please stop taking the blame for everything bad that happens? It’s not all your responsibility.”

  He actually chuckled. “You should take some of your own advice, sweetheart.”

  “I guess,” she agreed with a smile.

  A few seconds passed. She loved listening to his heartbeat. The steady rhythm made her feel grounded and safe, but for how long?

  The sooner he solved this case, the sooner she’d know if what they shared was real.

  “I want to help with the investigation,” she reminded him.

  “Then you’ll keep your distance.”

  That sounded ominous. She sighed.

  He reached down and tipped her chin to look up at him. “So I can focus on nailing the perp, is what I meant. I have a hard time concentrating when you’re around.”

  “Oh really?” she smiled.

  “Ah, none of that. Not today. We’ve got a barbeque to attend.”

  She pouted.

  “Besides, you’re sore.”

  “Not that sore.” She winked.

  “Stop flirting. We have to get ready.”

  She didn’t want to get ready. She wanted to flirt and tease, and touch Jason all day long. She wanted to cherish him so he’d know how truly special he’d become. Instead, he helped her to her feet and pointed her at the bedroom to get ready.

  Instinctively, she turned and her body pressed against his. He leaned down for a kiss and her world exploded again.
Man, this guy could kiss.

  “At this rate we’ll never get out of here,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek.

  “Mmm.”

  “Go on, get dressed.”

  Jason led Sandy to her bedroom and shut the door behind her, staying safely in the hall. He knew if he stepped one foot inside that room they’d be tangled in passion all afternoon, completely blocking out the rest of the world. He wished they could do that, and not just for one afternoon. More like six months, six years … a lifetime.

  It shocked him how much he needed to be with her. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another human being.

  That’s because he’d let her in, sharing his darkest secrets and paralyzing fears. He was completely honest and open with Sandy. It was a new and different experience for Jason McBain, and he wasn’t motivated by any professional angle or objective. It felt right to share that part of himself with this woman. It even felt safe.

  His cell phone rang and he fished it out of his jacket pocket. ‘‘McBain.”

  “It’s Hicks. The substance you gave me? Definitely not steroids.”

  He wanted to say he knew, but he needed Hicks’ official report to satisfy Meek.

  “Nothing illegal then?” J pressed.

  “No, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jason appreciated the call, but in a way he wished he could pretend he wasn’t a federal agent, that he wasn’t in Sandy’s living room because of this case. Instead he called Meek, wanting to redirect his train of thought.

  “Meek,” he answered.

  “It’s McBain. I got the report from the lab. The woman isn’t peddling steroids, it’s some kind of herbal supplement.”

  “So you’re not any closer to solving this case?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, sir. I’ve got a few leads, and should have more by the end of the day.”

  Meek’s displeasure was clear. “Good, because I was notified by local authorities that steroids were sold at Abe Lincoln High School last week. That’s only ten miles from the wrestling organization’s headquarters. We need to put an end to this, Agent McBain. We’re looking like fools.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead.