MMA Fighter's Fierce Temptation (The Burton Brothers Series Book 1)

by North, Leslie

  MMA Fighter’s Fierce Temptation

  By Leslie North

  The Burton Brothers Series

  Book 1

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  Dedications

  I dedicate this book to you, my loyal readers. Thank you for all the lovely e-mails, reviews, and support. Without you, this wouldn't be possible.

  I’d also like to say a special thank you to Leslie’s Lovelies who have had a huge role in making this book – you’re the best! THANK YOU for all your support:

  Tamika Chinn

  Danielle Miller

  Voncile Catledge

  Melissa Herman

  Karen Pierce Rowe

  Michele H

  Melissa Lawhorn

  Sandrine GRANGER

  C. Nelson

  Robin OToole

  Jessica Hong

  T. Martin

  Regina Carpenter

  Raeann Whitney

  Patty Wells

  Marine-Ann Taylor-Christian

  Cherisse-Angel Charles

  Tonya Helveston

  Cindy Berland

  Stephanie Bryant

  Cheri M. Wyre

  Octavia Cooper

  C. Baker

  Monique Barnard

  Judy Voight-Wong

  Emma Long

  Anna Pike Ashley

  Tammie Terry

  Nancy Dormanski

  Lauren J B

  Amanda Drummond

  Melody Goeken

  Gayle

  Caroline Stowell

  JJ

  Melanie Dawn

  Debra Price

  Wanda Ross

  Janet Paul

  Beth Udall

  Loreli Jessee

  Robin Gentry

  Tonni Brown

  Contents

  Dedications

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Bryant Burton spit his mouth guard onto the training mats, along with a healthy puddle of saliva and blood. “Dammit, Mason! You trying to kill me?”

  “Trying to train you, thick head. You’re dropping your hands again!” Mason Burton tossed his brother a wet hand towel. “What happened to protecting your head. You thinking about girls again?”

  Bryant held the heavy towel to his bleeding lip. “I don’t have time for that.”

  “Yeah, and no inclination since—”

  “Don’t even say her name. Don’t even think it.” Bryant tossed the dirty hand towel over the railing of the ring. “You know damn well I need to train for—”

  “Yeah, yeah—fight in three months. How many times have you reminded me of it? I’m sick of hearing the date. Anders get back to you yet?” Mason asked, bouncing against the ropes.

  Bryant shook his head. “I’ve been calling…and calling. I keep leaving messages. It’s weird. I mean, it’s the height of the fight season and the best damn trainer in the US takes a vacation?”

  Mason started pulling the tape off his fists. “So pack up your stuff and go find him. What have you got to lose besides more blood when I hit you again?”

  Bryant gave a nod. “Not a bad idea.” he climbed between the ropes surrounding the training floor and dropped to the ground.

  “Wait. Are you kidding? That’s a stupid idea!” Mason leaned over the ropes. “What if the guy takes it as a personal affront, you showing up uninvited? The Burton brothers don’t force themselves in places they’re not wanted.”

  Bryant glanced back. “Yeah, yeah, so you say. But we both know, Anders is the only hope I have.”

  Jumping out of the ring, Mason slung an arm over his brother’s shoulders. “Well, hell, at least it’ll put you in middle-of-nowhere Oregon? You won’t have to worry about being distracted by any girls out there! Not unless they’re wearing baggy plaid lumberjack outfits.”

  Bryant gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Yeah, right. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Chapter 1

  Time. Therapy. Healing.

  Those words had become Alice’s lifeline over the last two weeks. Her dad was home—thank you, God—but under doctor’s orders to take things slow for the next twelve weeks. His therapist was scheduled to come to the house every day. Alice was glad of it—she was committed to seeing her dad get better. Terry Anders would live to keep on fighting—and keep on training fighters.

  She head laughter and turned to watch a group of teenagers leaving her dad’s gym. Alice sighed. They were the only source of income for the whole camp at the moment. Picking up the unopened mail, she carried it into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of iced tea. She headed into the sunroom off the back of the main cabin. She was glad to be back in the mountains and out of the city. Nestled in the Cascade Mountains in Oregon, Gilson was a small town of around five hundred people, close enough to several other small towns to ensure the training camps never lacked for visitors.

  She sat in her favorite rocking chair and began sorting through the mail. She tossed the ads into the trash, stacked the bills in one pile and correspondence in another. On the bottom she found a letter from the hospital. Confused, she opened the letter and felt the blood drain from her face.

  Insurance coverage terminated. Patient responsible for these charges. The statement asked for thirty thousand dollars! That couldn’t be right.

  Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed the insurance company and got through the automated voice recording and endless menu before connecting her with a live person.

  She took a calming breath, her eyes straying back to the explanation at the bottom of the bill. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a breath and held it while she counted to ten. She heard a voice come on the line.

  “My name is Alice Anders and I’m calling about a bill I just received for my father’s recent hospital stay. It says his insurance coverage had been terminated?”

  “Ma’am, if you could please provide me with your father’s information, I’d be happy to check into this for you.”

  Alice gave the woman the required information, hanging up the phone some fifteen minutes later and feeling like her world had just ended. According to the insurance company, her father had been notified in March that as of July first, his current insurance plan would no longer be active and he’d need to choose another plan or have his coverage terminated. Her father had never contacted them, and as promised—or threatened—he no longer had insurance.

  The woman Alice had spoken to with had offered to email her the documents that needed completing to begin his coverage again, but it wouldn’t start until September first. Too little, and w
ay too late!

  Tears burned Alice’s eyes as she went through their options. They didn’t have anywhere close to that kind of money in the bank, and her father’s only income came from training fighters and the small monthly fees the locals paid for gym access. This could cost dad his camp—and that meant he wouldn’t have a reason to get better.

  She’d been planning to start her master’s program the next week, but with her father’s second stroke, the university had pushed her start date back until January. The grants and funds she had been awarded had been placed on hold as well. If I get a job, can I even come close to earning this kind of money in four months? She didn’t know.

  She was saved from more worry when Marguerite, her friend and neighbor and also their only help at the camp came to find her. “Hey, Alice, the fighter who called the other day—Bryant. He’s shown up. Uninvited!” Marguerite sounded ready to take on the task of getting rid of him. And she could. Built like a bulldog, she somehow managed to make pearls at her neck and lace trim on her plaid shirt work. She also made regular use of the gym and was Alice’s sparring partner. She hung in the doorway, waiting for Alice to give the word.

  “What? But Dad’s…” She trailed off as a crazy idea flashed in her brain.

  Dad’s ill, but I know how he trains fighters. I could train this guy for a few weeks and then send him on his way. At ten thousand a week, we’d be out of the woods in no time.

  The idea was ludicrous, but as she headed into the house, she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. She had always looked a lot like her dad—both of them tall and skinny. She had her dad’s strong bones and more muscle on her than curves. She could work a bikini if she had to but she was just at home in sweats. If I wore a cap and baggy clothes, no one would ever have to know it’s just Anders training the guy!

  She cocked her head to the side and envisioned herself wearing a cap, with her auburn hair tucked up beneath it, and pulled low over her eyes. She’d wear some of her father’s long board shorts or his sweats, that would work for her. She’d tape her hands and flatten out her breasts with her tightest sports bra. She could wear oversize T-shirts and more sweats.

  Think of the money!

  “Alice, what do you want me to tell him?” Marguerite asked, pausing to watch Alice, a calculating look in her dark eyes. “What are you thinking in that head of yours?”

  “Marguerite, I need your help. A bill came in the mail today for Dad’s hospital stay. His insurance cancelled in July and we have to pay it all. I know how to train these guys as well as Dad does. But no one’s going to pay the big bucks unless it’s Anders himself overseeing their conditioning. I’d going to have to be dad for a short time.”

  Marguerite shook her head. “This is absurd! Pass yourself off as a man? Alice, please do not do this. There has to be another way.”

  Alice shook her head. “If Dad isn’t training fighters, the camp isn’t bringing in anywhere close to enough money to pay his bills. He’s going to lose this place. We’re going to lose him!”

  Alice turned back to look in the mirror once more. Marguerite approached her from behind and gathered her hair up and pulled it behind her head. After several seconds of looking at her reflection, Alice met the housekeeper’s eyes in the mirror.

  “Thank God your father doesn’t have any wrinkles. I suppose if you lower your voice… and wear some cologne.”

  Hope filled Alice’s voice. “And all those media days he skipped. There never been any close up photos of him online! Will you help me? If you treat me like I’m Anders—the Anders—that’s going to help sell it to everyone.” Alice looked at her reflection and quickly realized that even without mascara and eye shadow, she’d have to wear sunglasses most of the time as well. Either that or keep the brim of a hat pulled down lower over her forehead. She judged that her sculpted eyebrows and long lashes would be enough to give away her secret.

  Marguerite dropped her hair and stepped away. “May God forgive me for aiding you in this foolishness, but I will help you. For your father. Tell me what you need me to do.”

  Chapter 2

  “Follow.”

  Bryant scowled at the older woman. Ever since he had arrived, she’d treated him like a stray dog. She’d introduced herself as Marguerite, the housekeeper at the camp, but when was he going to meet up with Anders himself?

  “Come on. I’ll take you to your cabin.” Marguerite glanced over her shoulder as she walked away. “You know, for a fighter, you don’t move very quick.”

  Bryant hiked his bag onto his shoulders and began to follow her. According to Marguerite, he and Terry were scheduled to meet before dinner.

  Bryant had been mentally preparing himself to state his case to the training legend for the last hundred miles, and now felt like he was being sent to his room for misbehaving. Inside the cabin, he acknowledged the housekeeper’s brief tour and watched her leave, shutting the door behind her. He was going to hope all the women looked like her—tough, gruff, and not interested in him. He needed to focus utterly on training and forget females existed.

  Bryant tossed his duffel bag onto the floor in front of the stone fireplace, taking in the rustic overstuffed furniture, the braided rugs on the wood floor, and the open concept that allowed the kitchen and living areas to flow together.

  One door opened into a bedroom, complete with a king-size bed, armoire, side table, and writing desk. A large picture window looked out over the open grounds beyond, and through the adjoining door he spied a bathroom completely tiled and very masculine looking. The second door revealed a similar looking bedroom, complete with its own bathroom ensuite.

  Returning to the main room, he noticed that the furnishings appeared to have been chosen with guys in mind. Neutral colors, big oversized chairs, sturdy tables, and bar stools. It’s an MMA training camp! What was I expecting, floral cushions and lace curtains? Laughing at himself, he sank down onto the overstuffed couch and rested against the cushions.

  He wasn’t here for a holiday, but to work. His younger brother’s words still echoed in his head. “You lost your last fight because you dropped your guard. Carlisle caught you straight on the chin. You have to protect your head and face!”

  Bryant closed his eyes. Carlisle wouldn’t have gotten that head shot in if he hadn’t first kneed Bryant in the groin, but the referee didn’t call him for an illegal hit. And none of that was going to get Bryant into to the welterweight division championship. He’d done all he could with just him and his brothers—now he needed someone like Anders training him. He had a fight coming up in three months against Macken. He needed to train and train hard.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. But would Anders really take him on? That was the question.

  Bryant’s brother, Mason, had sent tape to Anders, but the trainer had sent word back that he was taking a short break. Bryant had talked to some of the other guys who’d worked with Anders. They’d all sworn that Terry Anders was the best damn trainer they’d ever worked with. No way was Bryant going to let any chance to train with him slip past.

  Glancing at the clock above the mantle, he saw he had half an hour until dinner and his meeting with Anders. Stepping out of the cabin, he decided to take a look at the training gym.

  He headed to the large barn-like structure that had several cars parked out in front. The cabins seemed to be located around the main structure in a half circle, with his cabin the furthest away. Passing the other three cabins on his side of the circle, he noticed all of them appeared to be vacant. The curtains were drawn and he couldn’t detect any signs of occupancy.

  He finished walking the short distance and paused as half a dozen teenagers and young adults exited the building and headed for the parked cars. He watched as they drove off and then entered the gym, his eyes going wide in appreciation. Wow, Anders had a great set up! In addition to a standard-size training octagon, every type of training equipment imaginable occupied the large barn-shaped area.

  Cardio machines, weig
ht machines, and isometric units sat around the walls. A large matted floor provided additional training space, and punching bags of various sizes and shapes hung from heavy chains attached to the ceiling beams.

  Bryant inhaled the gym air and immediately felt at home—sweat and bleach, you couldn’t beat that smell.

  “Shit! This guy has enough equipment to train a dozen fighters up here! Why only train one guy at a time?” Bryant muttered.

  An older man stepped from a door on the far side of the training area, wiping his hands on a black towel. “Well, now, Bryant Burton, that’s a good question you asked.”

  Bryant spun around eyeing the white-haired man who prowled toward him. Recognition dawned and he grinned. “Tavvy? What the hell you doing up here?” In long, even strides he crossed the training floor to clasp the older man in a hug.

  “Been up here with Anders for the last three years. After Rinaldo’s death, I just couldn’t stand the thought of committing myself to only one fighter again. Anders gave me an opportunity and I took it.”

  Bryant could see the pain in Tavvy’s eyes at the mention of Rinaldo’s name. Rinaldo had suffered a blood clot after a fight and had died three days later. Tavvy had blamed himself for not making his fighter seek medical treatment for what they had both known was very likely deep bruising and a possible broken rib. He knew Tavvy had been unable to get past the death of his fighter, but Bryant thought Tavvy had retired from the sport all together.

  “Okay, so why, with this much room, why only take on one fighter at a time? And who were those kids I saw leaving just now?” Bryant said, wanting to change the subject from the death of Hector Rinaldo.

  “Oh, Anders has taken on multiple fighters in the past. But not fighters that were as close as you are to a major fight. He believes in giving the fighters who come up here his best.” Tavvy eyed Bryant up and down and then turned away and uttered a silent prayer to whoever was listening.

  Please let Alice pull this off or we’re all going to be out on our ears and maybe even sued!

  Marguerite had waylaid Tavvy fifteen minutes earlier and pulled him in on the madness. While he had his doubts they could pull off this plan for more than a day or two, he owed his life to Anders. If this crazy idea meant Anders could continue his recovery in relative peace, he’d play his role.