by Lori Foster
“Thanks, Ms. Noode. But please don’t leave on my account. This was just a meet-and-greet, really, and we’re all talked out now anyway. I was just finishing up my drink.”
Drew agreed. “I’m all yours, honey, so why not park your pretty ass back up on the stool so we can get better acquainted?”
Gillian’s teeth locked, but her smile didn’t falter. To Brett she said, “Call me Gillian, please.”
He nodded. “All right, Gillian.”
“When is your next fight?”
“It’s still being set up. After that last win, I got noticed by the SBC and recruited by a great team.” He shrugged. “I’d prefer to train with them for a while first. But if Drew wants me to fight now, I wouldn’t turn him down.”
“No more going it alone, huh?” Gillian had read that Brett had taught himself the finer points of MMA—mixed martial arts—success by watching taped fights and then practicing the moves in his own makeshift gym.
His grin personified charm. “No, ma’am. I only started out that way because I didn’t know how to go about getting the right training.” He flashed her that white-toothed smile again. “But I’m always open to learning from more experienced guys.”
Drew lounged back, elbows on the bar, and copped an attitude over being ignored. “We have to finesse a contract yet, so we can’t get ahead of ourselves. But I don’t see any problems there. I’ll figure out some key promotion, then probably give him a fight on pay-per-view. I just want to decide on the best way to build him up a little more first.”
“I find it fascinating how this all works. Thank you for explaining.” Gillian turned back to Drew but did not reseat herself. “So, Drew.” She let out a big breath. “I suppose we really should talk.”
“You heard Brett. I’m all talked out.” His brown eyes challenged her. “But hey, you got something more physical in mind, count me in.”
Gillian might not have an extensive romantic background, but neither was she obtuse. Drew was sexually attracted to her. After he’d sent off the young bimbos, she felt marginally flattered by that. But not enough to play the fool. “I’m sure nothing more than talk will interest you.”
A brow went up. “The hell it doesn’t.”
This time her smile was snide. “But I don’t meet your many requirements, Drew.”
His gaze went over her again, slower this time, lingering in a way meant to discomfort her. He paused on her chest. “Honey, I think you fit the requirements just fine.”
Rather than feeling offended by his near-tactile scrutiny, Gillian felt . . . warmed. And that annoyed her. So he was confident. And take-charge. He did possess a raw type of sex appeal.
But it was so raw as to be dangerous.
She put an arm on the bar and propped her chin on a fist. “But Drew, I’m forty-one,” she lied. “That puts me well beyond your age stipulation.”
His mouth twitched into a grin and he took up the game with practiced ease. “You sneaky broad. You were eavesdropping on us.”
“Guilty. But you see, on top of being elderly, I have five . . .” She paused for effect. “No, let’s make that six children.”
“You’re a terrible fibber.” He turned his head to study her waist in the snug skirt. “I’d put you at no more than thirty-three tops. And any idiot can see those are not the hips of a child-bearing woman.”
Brett gave a choking cough and made a point of looking at the ceiling.
“Hmmm.” Gillian leaned in closer to Drew. “Perhaps you’re right.” She gave him a quizzical frown. “But why ever do you think I’d lie about such things?”
“Modesty?”
She pursed her mouth as if in thought. “Or maybe I stretched the truth to deliberately disqualify myself based on your list of suitable criteria. You know”—she waved a hand—“to avoid your personal interest.”
Drew got closer, too, so close she felt his breath on her lips. He stared at her mouth. “Ah. So you assumed I’d be personally interested, did you?”
“Accurately, it seems. After all, you did suggest certain things you’d like to do.”
“To you. Yeah.” His gaze locked on hers. “If you need more details, they involve you baring yourself and getting a little sweaty. So what do you say?”
Good Lord. The man showed no decorum at all. “Ummm . . . no. Afraid not.” For her own peace of mind, Gillian moved away from him again. “You were probably too hasty in sending away the enthusiastic groupies who, I’m sure, would have been much more accommodating.”
“But they didn’t interest me.” His appreciative attention held her captive. “They were too artificial for my tastes.”
“The laughs?” she guessed.
“The boobs.” He nodded toward her cleavage and smiled. “I like things a little more natural.”
Gillian fought a blush even as she felt defensive toward womankind. “I don’t see much difference between their breast implants and the bright red lipstick I’m wearing. Both are meant to make a woman more attractive.”
“Yeah, but one is surgery, and the other”—he closed the space between them to whisper—“can be licked off.”
Shocked at both his audacity and her innate response to it, Gillian straightened and pulled away.
The man had no shame, no sense of social boundaries!
She was out of her league, so she’d have to play it a little safer.
“Now don’t run off,” Drew said. He touched her wrist on the bar with a light fingertip. “Things were just getting interesting.”
Gillian shook her head. “You might be willing to bend your rules, but I’m afraid I’m not. And mixing business with pleasure is considered my number one no-no.”
Caution replaced some of his amusement. “Good thing we don’t have any business together then, huh?”
“But we do. That’s why I’m here.”
“What are you talking about?” His expression went from seductive to annoyed. “If we have business together, I sure as hell don’t know about it.”
“I’m here to inform you of it.” It was evil of her, but Gillian felt gleeful at the opportunity to set him straight. She put her shoulders back and smiled. “I’ve been hired as your new publicist slash handler, slash . . . well, miracle worker really. And I daresay that with a lot of hard work on your part as well as mine, I’ll succeed in transforming you into a man fit for polite society.”
Drew came to his feet. His face tightened and his brows came down. He didn’t shout, but, given his expression, he didn’t need to. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never hired a publicist.”
“Slash handler, slash miracle worker,” Gillian clarified again.
Brett pushed away from the bar. “Maybe I should give you two some room to talk.”
Sotto voce, Gillian said, “You may be right. It’ll be safer from across the room.”
Brett eyed her. “You don’t look worried.”
Lifting one shoulder, Gillian said, “I get paid the big bucks to tackle the tough jobs.” She swung her gaze back to lock on Drew’s. “And the owners of the Supreme Battle Challenge are very big payers.”
His jaw tightened. “No fucking way.”
Slowly, letting her lips form the word precisely, Gillian said, “Way.”
DREW felt his left eye twitch. She had to be fucking with him. No way would Loren do this to him.
As he dug out his cell phone, he pointed a finger at her. “Stay put.”
She fashioned an affronted look at the order, then, with a twitching smile, she shrugged. The blasé roll of her shoulders did interesting things to that impressive rack of hers. Oh, yeah, this lady was all real. Silicone did not jiggle like that.
His skin heated.
Then, as if to exacerbate his libido further, she slid that delectable tush back up on the bar stool and picked up her drink.
Drew stared from her shoulders down her spine to that heart-shaped ass that looked downright kissable.
Red-eyed and feeling more than mean, he fo
rced himself to turn away. If he hadn’t, he’d have gone back to seducing her instead of what he needed to do, which was take care of business.
Brett eyed him warily. “You okay?”
“Just fucking dandy.”
“Okay then.” Brett turned to leave.
Damn it, he hadn’t meant to run him off. Brett was a real up-and-coming fighter. Crowds loved him. He had a kick-ass presence on the Web already.
And other fight organizations wanted him.
Drew caught Brett’s arm. “Hey, I’ll call you as soon as I get something concrete set up.”
Brett nodded. “I’ll be training. Whenever you say, I’m ready to go.”
After one more glance at Ms. Fancy-pants sitting all prim and sexy at the bar, Drew walked out of the main bar area and into a hallway. It was a little quieter here, making the phone call easier.
He hit speed dial on his cell, listened to the fourth ring, the fifth. A glance at his watch showed it was only a little after ten P.M. Loren had probably left the office hours ago.
In a grumbling, irritated voice, Loren picked up on the sixth ring. “Make it work with her, Drew.”
Son of a bitch. Loren had obviously expected his call, because he knew Gillian would be talking to him tonight. “No fucking way, Loren. It ain’t happening. I don’t need a damned babysitter, and you know it.”
Exasperation sounded in Loren’s tone. “Drew . . .”
“I fucking well built this company without any help from some stick-in-the-mud, prim-and-proper skirt getting in my way.”
“No one is disputing that. But it has grown, so—”
“I never heard you complaining when I put in seventy-five-hour weeks and more, or when your investments more than fucking doubled.”
“It’s not entirely my idea, Drew. There are other factors at play.”
“Like what?” He’d crush whoever was responsible for doing this to him. He’d annihilate . . .
“Listen up, Drew.” The new voice on the phone was more feminine, but no less powerful. “You’re doing this, so suck it up and be a man about it.”
Fran. Drew pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He should have known that if Loren was still in the office, Fran was, too. He pictured the two of them waiting around for his call, knowing damn good and well how he’d react, and it ratcheted up his anger even more.
Loren’s sister was co-owner of the SBC, and while Drew appreciated her business savvy, he detested dealing with her. In most cases, she wasn’t nearly as manageable as Loren. “Frannie, listen . . .”
“You know I loathe that name, Drew. You use it just to annoy me.”
Yeah, he did, but Fran was the type of ballbuster woman who just naturally brought out the worst in men like him. Drew dropped his hand from his brow and began to pace.
He disliked cajoling, but with Fran instigating this, he had little choice. “Fran, come on. We both know you’re a smart gal with a keen mind for business.”
“Agreed.”
Like most women, Frannie loved a compliment. “So you damn well know that it doesn’t make sense to mess with success, right?”
Catching on to him, she sighed. “You are such a pig, Drew.”
Drew could almost see the satisfied smile on her striking face. “That’s harsh, Frannie, even for you.” Not that he gave a fuck what Fran Ferrari thought of him. Except that she had the power to shit-can him on a whim. Drew held a sliver of ownership in the company, but the controlling shares went equally to Loren and Fran.
If he wanted to keep his position as president of the organization and spokesperson for the sport, he had to win her over.
“You’re not only a pig,” she said, “but you’re proud of it.”
Okay, Drew thought, continuing to call her Frannie had maybe exacerbated things.
“However,” she went on, “Gillian Noode is known for her talents in cases like these.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Cases like these. So now he was a damned case?
“She has a reputation of taking pigs and turning them into silk purses.”
“Great. Just the image I want.” The president of a hard-core sport could not be seen as a fucking silk . . . anything. “Put Loren back on.”
She didn’t. “I suggest you work with her, Drew, because I’ve had it with you. And don’t think to bully Gillian, either. I’m paying an outrageous fee to an elite company for her to conform you, enough that Gillian will soon be able to establish her own business in a big way. She’s motivated enough to ignore any efforts on your part to get rid of her.”
Ah, Drew thought, grabbing hold of a possible lifeline. So Ms. Noode needs this job, does she? Gaining his compliance would help her to obtain her own goals.
Loren came back to the phone. “Sorry, Drew, but Fran is right. With every new fight card, we go more mainstream. We want the networks to pick us up. But sometimes, and I’m only saying sometimes, your temper and . . . colorful way of speaking shed a bad light on things.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He could be as circumspect and tactful as the next guy. But those attributes hadn’t gotten him where he was today. “Lose the babysitter and I can show you—”
“It’s too late for that, my friend. This is Fran’s project, so you and I both might as well go along with her until she has her way.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Drew said, and he disconnected the call.
Through the open doorway to the main barroom, he could still see Gillian, now surrounded by men. She laughed at something, and it made his muscles tighten. The woman had a teasing way of looking at men that made them stupid. The guys around her acted like a bunch of lapdogs, waiting for her attention.
Just then, she looked toward him, saw him standing there watching her, and she had the audacity to wink. She knew his balls were in a wringer on this one.
But what she didn’t know was that he was a master manipulator. He hadn’t gotten where he was now by being a wimp or by backing away from a challenge. Thanks to Fran’s bragging, he knew this job was important to her, and he knew why.
That information could be used to dissuade her, no two ways about that. And in the process, he’d get what he wanted—her—and his freedom to run the franchise as he saw fit.
When he smiled, slow and triumphant, her eyes widened before she narrowed them again. With little more than a word, she sent her entourage away and left the stool to approach him.
He met her halfway. The noisy confusion of the live band, and the loud drone of conversation, blared around them.
And still, being only a foot from her felt somehow intimate.
Drew could smell her light perfume and the warmer scent of her skin and hair. Her glossy black hair picked up the low lights in the room and her blue eyes shone with amusement. He appreciated the moue of her sexily painted mouth.
Standing a half foot taller than her, Drew looked down into her face and waited, leaving it up to her to speak first.
Trying for a confidence that wasn’t there, she said, “I trust you got everything straightened out?”
“Yeah, I did.” Unable to stop himself, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek.
Such a simple touch, but it charged him. “We need someplace more private to talk.”
Alarm stiffened her shoulders, but she brazened it out. “Yes, of course. I have a game plan I’d like to go over with you anyway. Why don’t we meet over lunch tomorrow and we can discuss everything?”
“I’m busy.” He took a step closer and leaned down on the pretext of ensuring she’d hear him. “Make it dinner, and I’ll be free.”
At his nearness, she caught and held her breath.
A telling reaction, that. She’d picked up on the same chemistry he felt. That’d make things easier.
And hotter.
With his mouth almost touching her ear, he whispered, “Gillian?”
“Oh.” She shivered, then leaned away from him. “Yes, dinner is fine.”
Sen
sitive ears. Where else was she sensitive? He couldn’t wait to find out.
“My place, then.” Drew took out a silver card holder from his pocket, flipped through it for his more personal card, and handed one to her. “My address is on there. I’m sure a sharp businesswoman like yourself can find her way there. Six o’clock. Don’t be late, Gillian.”
She tried to protest, no doubt preferring they meet at an impersonal restaurant, but Drew had already turned away. On his way out the door, he smiled.
He’d give Ms. Gillian Noode a week, no more, and she’d be packing it in for easier game. But before then, he’d have her, and he’d show her such a good time, she’d give up the challenge with no regrets at all.
CHAPTER 2
BRETT walked past Ms. Noode, where she stood motionless, staring at . . . nothing. He put a hand to her back.
“Ms. Noode? You okay?”
She blinked and focused on him. “What? Oh, yes. I just got outplayed, that’s all. But no worries, I’m better at this game than that chauvinist jerk thinks.”
Brett had no idea what she was talking about, but he assumed the jerk was Drew Black. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
“Ha!” She stowed the small business card she was holding into her purse before turning to him. “I need to go now. There are plans to formulate.”
She was so serious, Brett had to fight a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Did you want me to walk you out?” Roger’s Rodeo was a nice enough bar, in a nice enough area. But a parking lot was no place for a lady alone.
“I don’t want to put you out.”
He looped his arm around her. “I was leaving anyway.”
She went along without further argument. “That’s very sweet of you, Brett. Thank you.”
At the exit, he asked, “Did you have a wrap of any kind?”
“Not tonight. The weather is just beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Not bad.” For late March, the temperatures had been mild even through the night. Even in this commercialized area, spring flowers bloomed everywhere, filling the air with sweetness.
