The Fight (A Standalone Novel) (MMA Bad Boy Romance) Read online

I backed towards the corner of the elevator as he slid closer. His gaze was locked on my lips and I licked them nervously. "Maybe they cancel each other out and we can just be regular people," I countered.

  His eyes softened and he stopped looming over me. I missed the heat of his body like the sun going behind a cloud. Then, he reached for my hand.

  "I'd like that, Kya. Now that would be something no other agent has ever given me," Fenton said.

  The doors opened and the maitre d' ruined the effects of my statement. He bowed low and welcomed us to the Eiffel Tower. He seated us right away at a special table with a view of the Bellagio Fountain. Heads turned as we took our seats.

  "Being regular for the night might be a tall order," I said. I gestured out the window to where a neon billboard almost a story high showed Fenton in action.

  He turned away from the window and concentrated on me. "It's at least worth a shot. What do regular people talk about on dates?"

  "Work?" I asked.

  He laughed, and again my stomach quivered. I loved hearing him laugh. The head waiter explained that we did not need menus; the chef had prepared a special meal. Then, the sommelier approached and poured the right wine to match our first course.

  After all the flourishes were finished and we had taken a few long sips, Fenton smiled again. "Alright, tell me about work. But not like you're an agent trying to sign me. What would you tell a date?"

  I touched my thumb to the small, comma-shaped beauty mark near my mouth, a sure tell that I was nervous. "It's a been awhile since I went on a date. I guess most men want to know how I got into my profession."

  Fenton leaned his forearms on the table. "What I want to know is how you ended up working for James Cort. I asked my manager about him and he just laughed. They seem to be cut from the same slimy cloth."

  "I ran into him at a country club," I said.

  "You're joking."

  I laughed. "No, it’s true. I was on a road trip and needed to go to the bathroom. The nearest place I could find was this country club, so I sneaked in and used the facilities. When I came out, security was looking for me. James snagged my arm and introduced me to the golf pro. I must have charmed him because James left there with a new client, and I left with a new job."

  "What kind of car were you driving?" Fenton asked.

  In my mind, I could see the rust flaking off the door and smiled. "An 80s Thunderbird. The two-door kind. Big long heavy doors that tended to sag on the hinges when it was as rusted as mine."

  "A sweet sixteen present?"

  "No," I said. "I bought it myself just after high school. I needed something to get me to college."

  "Ah, yes, the Ivy League." Fenton leaned back in his seat.

  "University of Chicago," I said. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

  He smiled. "How many prospective clients get to hear that?"

  "None." I sipped my wine and felt warm. Talking with Fenton was easy – no patter, no holding up false impressions.

  He rolled up his sleeves and fixed his eyes on the candle between us. "Then I suppose it’s only fair I tell you something true."

  "About your reputation?" I asked.

  He nodded, his look faraway. "I hit that cop. He'd arrested my sister."

  The warmth inside me spread. I raised my glass to Fenton. "Here's to the half truths that make us regular people."

  His smile returned and made me dizzy all throughout the meal. When we were finally walking down the Strip later that evening, it did not feel at all strange to be arm in arm – just like it felt natural for him to walk me back to my room at the Tropicana. And then, it was only right that I invite him in for a nightcap.

  As soon as the door closed behind us, he kissed me. I lost track of time – my only anchor in the universe was his lips. I rose up on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. He lifted me clear off the ground, the delicious heat of our bodies flushed together taking me even higher.

  We pressed and tangled, the iron bands of his arms holding me as close as possible. I wanted to be closer. The thinness of my dress, that had worried me all night, was suddenly too much of a barrier. Fenton held me aloft so easily, as I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

  He groaned, stumbling back into the center of my small room. His hands were in my hair, our mouths locked in a deep give and take. I felt as if breaking away from his lips for even a moment would make me spin away into the desert sky. He seemed to hear my thoughts and laid me down on the bed, his weight on top of me a welcome pressure.

  "Wait, no," I protested. "Not like this."

  "Kya, please," Fenton said.

  I wanted to give in. I wanted it more than anything, but I could not. I thought I was wining and dining him, but here Fenton Morris was in my room, on my bed, on me. I was being seduced, and that would ruin everything.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Fenton

  I felt the honey softness go out of her limbs as Kya pushed against my chest. I turned on my side and trailed a hand down her dress. My God, that purple dress with a low neckline that almost didn't stop.

  "Not like this," she protested.

  I wanted her so badly it didn't feel wrong to beg. "Kya, please."

  She shook her head, and I was surprised her springy, copper-blonde curls were as soft as silk. They defied gravity without being wiry or sprayed stiff. It was almost cruel how desirable she was.

  She sat up, those silken curls brushing against her bare shoulders. The sleeveless dress plunged lower in the back than in the front and I traced a finger along its thin border. A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. I would do more than beg to have her.

  She had hypnotized me the entire evening. Where I normally clocked every attractive woman in the room, I could not even remember what the interior of the restaurant looked like. Kya had me from the second I saw her worried smile. Then, she locked me in with the hint of jealousy when she asked about Talia.

  Deep down, I knew I would probably never get Kya out of my system, but there was only one way to find out. I propped myself up on one arm and nuzzled her neck. She shook her head and moved to stand up. I snaked one arm around her waist and kept her in place easily.

  "Fenton, please, let go of me," she said.

  The hint of panic in her voice sluiced over me like a bucket of ice water. It was true – I could force her. I was strong enough that Kya was defenseless – except for that one tiny hitch in her voice. It undid me. I let her go as if she had stung me.

  "Thank you," she said. Instead of standing up and getting out of my reach, she stayed on the edge of the bed and turned towards me. "If I did not know you better, I would think you were trying to seduce me."

  "And, what would be so terrible about that?" I asked.

  "Seduction always means one party is less willing than the other. I want to be on even footing with you."

  She reached for my hand on the bedspread, but I pulled it away. "Well, let me know when you catch up."

  I stood up and tucked my shirt back into my pants. She sprang up from the end of the bed and marched over to the mirror to straighten her clothes. Her lips were pursed and her cheeks were bright, so I reached for the door.

  "That's it, huh? That's all I get?" she asked.

  "You stopped me, remember?"

  "I suppose you're right, I don't deserve anything more. Just one sloppy seduction attempt, and when it doesn't work, I get dropped for an easier target," she said.

  I stopped with my fingers flexed tight around the door handle. "What do you want, Kya?"

  "Right, of course, it's totally unreasonable of me to want to be more than a challenge to you," she said. "If I want to mean more to someone than a locker room story, then no one's interested."

  "It's not like that," I told her. My fingers slipped off the door handle. There was a bright emerald glint to her eyes I had never seen before, and it hurt me.

  Kya refused to cry. "I know there are bets made behind my back. I know why men like
you are nice to me."

  "Men like me?"

  "Athletes, stars, clients. Men who find it fun to flirt with me, try to take on the challenged in hopes of rubbing it in their buddies' faces." Kya lunged past me and whipped open the door.

  "Who does that to you? Other clients?" I asked. My fingers curled into a fist.

  "Please, as if you weren't just doing the exact same thing." She shoved me out the door and slammed it in my face.

  She was stronger than she looked. And, there was no way she was going to open the door again. I leaned my forehead against it. There were a million little things I could say, but she would not believe any of them. I had tried to seduce her and I had failed. Everything Kya said about men like me was correct.

  I shut my eyes and my childhood daydream flashed into my mind. I was playing in my big backyard with my children while my wife watched from the patio. It was dusk and the lights of our house illuminated the yard. We could play until the stars came out and there was nothing to worry about.

  Now, the only thing I worried about was how when my imaginary wife looked at me, it was Kya's green eyes that I saw.

  I smacked the thought away, hitting the door harder than I intended. It did not matter. I could not have Kya. I could not have anyone yet. If I could not provide for my family one hundred times over and never have to worry, then I could not have one at all. Kya would understand, but I would never tell her. Instead, I would lose her and keep on going alone.

  I punched the elevator button and paced until the doors opened on the main casino. I stepped out only to narrowly miss an amateur kick to my chin.

  "Did you get it? That's going to be an awesome picture," the young man said. His friends all agreed then backed up.

  I bristled and stepped up behind him. "You almost kicked me in the face for a candid shot?"

  "Yeah, man, it’s no big thing. I'm a fan," he said.

  "No big thing? Here, how about I almost kick you in the face and then we'll see how you feel," I said.

  The young man scowled. "What a buzzkill. Can't you just be cool?"

  "Cool? I'm not the one assaulting people just for a funny picture." I stepped close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.

  "Back off, man."

  "Or what?"

  The kid had no choice but to try and shove me. I thought of how Kya was half his weight, but twice as effective. It was like kerosene on the spark. I bumped my chest against his hands and he bounced back. While the young man was off balance, I stepped forward and swept a leg under to trip him. He fell, a limp swing at my face missing by six inches. I answered with a punch that slammed the carpet next to his head hard enough the repercussion made his skull bounce.

  The young man started yelling and flailing his arms more like an overgrown toddler than a man defending himself. I twisted his arms together and pressed them to his chest. With an openhanded knock across the top of his head, I punctuated my point.

  "Don't mess with things you can't handle."

  A second later, three large men from casino security lifted me off the so-called fan and hauled me outside. I was not allowed back inside.

  "Not even if I win the title fight?" I asked.

  "Come back then and we'll talk," the largest security officer said. "But if that little display back there was any indication, I'd say you have a ways to go."

  I let fly a swarm of obscenities until I could think of something else to do. It would be too easy to go find Talia and even the thought of the wrong woman made me more frustrated. What the hell had Kya Allen done to me?

  I dug in my pockets for my phone, but I had left it in my suite before meeting Kya. I did not want Kev interrupting or Aldous scolding me for being out past his arbitrary curfew. All I found was the address Matt Smith had given me.

  The private investigator had assured me my sister was in Las Vegas. It could have been a scam; I had been scammed by people helping me locate her before. Only Matt Smith was fully vetted and the man took his job seriously. If he said he had seen her in Vegas, then he had.

  "Call a cab for this address?" I asked the uniformed man at the cabstand.

  "Sorry, Mr. Morris, I saw you get kicked out. I'm not supposed to help people who get kicked out," he said.

  "I'm not asking you to sneak me back in. I'm asking for a cab out past Fremont Street. Come on, don't you think your bosses want me as far from the Tropicana as possible right now? Well, you can make that happen," I said.

  He looked doubtful, but flagged down the next cab in line. He gave the cabbie the directions then knocked on the car roof to send us on our way. It took longer than I thought to traverse the tight Vegas traffic. It gave me too much time to think about Kya. Though as the neon signs changed to strip clubs and peep shows, my mind started to shut down completely.

  I cringed away from the thought of my sister working there.

  The cab driver let me out at the door, but I could not bring myself to go in. I paced up and down the street. Every time I came within twenty feet of the door, some guy handed me promotional cards for the girls inside. When I looked down and saw Dana Maria's face, a red haze filled in the rest of my sight.

  "You realize these are people's sisters, mothers, right?" I asked the guy.

  "So what? They're getting paid. And, most of them like it," he said.

  "Like getting eye-groped from mouth-breathers like you? I don't think so," I objected. I stepped into the guy's face.

  He did not want to back down. It was late, but there was still a crowd of people on the street and they slowed down at the hint of a fight. I imagined Kev already on the phone with the Tropicana and decided to step around the guy and go inside.

  It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dim entryway after the blinding lights of Fremont Street. I blinked as a woman came up to me. She stopped with one fist on her hip.

  "Honey, you are in the wrong place," she said.

  "Dana Maria?" I asked.

  "Fenton, you need to go someplace else," my sister said.

  It was her. Her black hair fell in thick waves just like mother's, except for streaks of silver glitter. Her bright blue eyes were faded, but still stunning in a face full of dark, edgy makeup. I kept my gaze on her eyes, even though their weary dimness made me sad.

  "Then, come with me," I said. "Any place else. You don't have to stay here. I've got a suite at the MGM Grand. A room all to yourself."

  "Since when do I need a room all to myself?" my sister asked. She smiled vaguely at the memory of our shared childhood room.

  "Come on, Dana. Let's go," I said.

  "Fenton, I don't want your help. I don't need you to save me. Just let it go. Mom's gone. It's all gone. No more family for us. Don't worry about me," she said.

  I hated the slope of her shoulders. Dana Maria had been beaten down by life. Worse than that – she accepted it. She accepted it just like Mother had finally accepted she could not afford to get better. She faded away, her shoulders getting narrow and small.

  "Don't be silly. Let me help you," I said.

  "I've always taken care of myself, haven't I? Wish I was better at taking care of you, too, but you've done alright," Dana said. "Just watch out. Bet you'll see the old man one of these days. Looking for a loan and playing the family card. Don't believe him. I didn't."

  "You saw him?" I asked. "Did he ask you about Mother?"

  "No, just about you and your career."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kya

  I stood in the bathroom and considered a cold shower. It was hard to tell what had made me hotter, Fenton's kiss or my angry flare-up after he stopped. I made him stop. My body burned with the possibilities – his lips on my neck, the tingly warmth of his breath. I could still taste our kisses and I considered raiding the mini bar for another whiskey. That would kill the traces of him.

  I started the shower instead. The whiskey would only exacerbate my anger. I had been a complete idiot. Every girl has the childish fantasy that she'll reform the bad boy. All
his rough edges will smooth down like butter under her warm caress. They were silly teenage daydreams, and I almost fell for them.

  All the time I thought I was wining and dining Fenton, earning his trust, and establishing a base for our future business, he was just softening me up for a seduction. I wondered how much his horrible manager had bet against him having sex with me. I hoped that slime ball Kevin Casey collected a fat wad of cash from Fenton.

  Before I could bring myself to peel off my purple dress and get in the shower, I slumped against the bathroom counter. I was frustrated, I was angry, and that all made sense. What I did not understand was how I let myself get hurt.

  I knew Fenton Morris by reputation, I saw it in him when we first met, and still I had let myself think there was more between us.

  When my phone rang I saw that it was James Cort, but I picked up anyway. It seemed a fitting punishment for being so stupid.

  "How did it go? How much did you sign him for? Come on, don't hold me in suspense. Tell me all the dirty details and percents," my boss said.

  "It didn't happen," I said. "Somehow, the whole evening turned into him trying to seduce me."

  "Trying to? He didn't manage it? Well, that kind of blows my estimation of the guy," James said.

  "I'm serious. He was only interested in getting me into bed. I never had a chance to show him a contract." I let a small sob escape.

  "Oh, Jesus Christ on a cracker, baby doll. You're not crying, are you? I know it hurts. Getting used and then dropped by a potential client is just one of those things that happens," my boss said. "I thought you had thicker skin than that. Come on, Kya, you're better than this."

  I blinked into the mirror and swiped away my running mascara. "Thanks, that was surprisingly sympathetic. As if you've ever had a young, sexy athlete try to get into your pants."

  "And, she's back. Thank God. I thought I'd lost you," he said. "Now, let me get this straight. You've got feeling for our big time bad boy. So, you stopped the whole seduction thing because you want more and because you want to hang on to some supposed thread of professional dignity."

  "Yes, what's wrong with that?" I asked.