Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance) (22 page)

“Yeah, Jack’s in…bed!”

She flung the phone in the air and scrambled to the
floor.

“What are you doing?” she accused, standing over him,
clutching her robe closed in front.

“What? Who? What happened?” He sat up, his eyes round,
his chest heaving in and out.

“You were sleeping with me,” she said.

“You told me to.”

“I did not.”

“You did too. The imagery thing, remember? The Rocky
Mountains, the waterfall?” He ran his hand through his hair and blinked.

And looked completely innocent.

Of course he did. She was the one who was fondling his
chest, hugging and cuddling him. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing
you of...anything,” she said.

Too bad it was just an accusation. Her gaze locked
with his bright green eyes. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her pulse
raced against her throat.

“Francine? What did he do to you?” Uncle Joe screeched
through the phone. “So help me, if he touched you I’ll put him on a card
against the Basher in a no-holds-barred match, in a cage, with snow blowers,
hedge trimmers and a forty-foot garden hose!”

She snatched the receiver and shoved it against her
stomach.

“I’m taking a shower,” Jack said, swinging his feet to
the floor with a grunt. He hesitated, clenched his jaw and grunted again as he
straightened. Pain etched the corners of his eyes. His lips went taut.

Instinct made her want to go to him, help him again
like she did after his nightmare. She couldn’t move.

Clutching the sheets as cover, he backed towards the
bathroom. “I didn’t do…you know…” He motioned toward the bed with his hand.

“It’s okay. I know.”

He stumbled into the bathroom and repeatedly shut the
door, but he’d broken the lock last night.

“Francine!” Uncle Joe’s muffled cry vibrated against
her stomach.

She placed the receiver to her ear. “I’m here.
Everything’s fine.” Shifting onto the edge of the bed, she reached out and
touched Jack’s pillow, absorbing his scent into her fingertips.

“What in hell’s going on?” Uncle Joe accused. “You
were sleeping with Jack?
 
But
you’re engaged!”

“I’m not engaged, and we weren’t sleeping together. We
shared a mattress. Our driver disappeared last night and the only room in town
was the bridal suite which, big surprise, only has one bed.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Knock it off, Uncle Joe. I’m a big girl, and he
didn’t do a thing.”

Unfortunately. She gave herself a mental lecture. Time
to get back to reality and shove all thoughts of Jack’s lips, pecs, and firm
buns out of her mind.

“But Francine—”

“What’s the problem, Uncle Joe?”

He hesitated, no doubt trying to remember his drama of
the day.

“You’ve got to get home!” He started sobbing into the
phone and she couldn’t get a coherent word out of him. She wondered if Pugsy
and the snakes had something to do with his breakdown.

“Are you okay? Is someone threatening you?” she said.

“I can’t explain it over the phone. Please come!”

“We’ll get there as fast as we can.”

After listening to another five minutes of moaning and
whining, she finally convinced him to hang up so she and Jack could get to work
on finding their missing driver. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair
and took a deep breath.

Back in the eye of the storm again, and she didn’t
mean her uncle’s crisis of the day. She’d awakened with her arm around Jack,
caressing his hard pectorals, nibbling at his back like they were a newly
married couple, like he belonged to her.

But he didn’t belong to her. Jack Hudson didn’t belong
to anyone.

No, that wasn’t quite true either. He belonged to a
little boy who needed a hero and an impressionable teenage girl who wanted to
be an astronaut. He belonged to a mall full of fans who had waited for to meet
him, and well-wishers who graced the hotel corridor waving cornstalks and
tossing kernels in honor of the newlyweds.

“Sheesh!” She sprang to her feet and paced to the
window. None of this was real. She wasn’t a bride and Jack wasn’t a hero.

Still, the admiration glowing in a little boy’s eyes
touched her heart. That was definitely real.

But the wrestling itself wasn’t. With angles scripted
weeks in advance and moves planned before the talent stepped into the ring,
wrestling was make believe, plain and simple, acted out by a bunch of overgrown
kids play fighting.

She spun around and stared at the bed where Jack had
struggled to get to his feet. It seemed as if every bone, every muscle in his
body screeched in protest.

From real pain.

“What did that old shyster want?” Jack asked.

He stood in the bathroom doorway, towel drying his
hair. A second, flimsy white towel was wrapped snugly around his hips.

Her pulse raced and her breath quickened. He looked
incredible with droplets of water clinging to his shoulders and chest. Good
God, every time she saw the man naked from the waist up she nearly came apart
with wanting. She hated to think what would happen if she saw the rest of him.

He cleared his throat, jarring her out of the fantasy.

“My uncle wants us to come home,” she said,
recovering.

“What’s today’s crisis?”

“He didn’t say exactly, but insisted we return ASAP.”

“He snaps and we jump,” he muttered.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Now what?” she said.

“I’ll get it.”

“But you’re practically…naked.”

He eyed her and her skin tingled. “Would you rather
answer it in that slinky robe?”

She shook her head.

“Didn’t think so.” Jack headed for the door. He knew
prim and proper Miss McGee wouldn’t be caught dead answering a hotel room door
in a robe. No, she’d rather be wearing a turtleneck and wool suit. Maybe even a
down parka.

He spied their visitor through the peephole. The
manager smiled back at him. Jack eyed the hallway for fans. The coast was
clear.

He opened the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Hudson. I hope it isn’t too early.
We wanted to make sure you enjoyed a hearty breakfast before you headed back to
the city. By the way, security officers pulled your driver out of the casino
this morning. They caught him trying to shove Necco Wafers into the slot
machines.”

“Great,” Jack muttered.

“Not to worry. My cousin manages the casino. I
convinced him to let the man go so you and your wife could get back to
Chicago.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Your car’s waiting out front, but first you should
fill up on all our specialties.” He lifted the food cover. “Here we have
heart-shaped corn cakes, corn-filled crepes, and every newlywed’s favorite, fresh
strawberries with whipped cream.”

He shuddered at the memory of last night’s whipped
cream drama on the television. Jack smiled politely. “Looks great.”

“I’d be happy to set it up for you.”

“That’s okay. The wife’s a little shy.”

“Right. Of course. I gather you…slept well?” He
grinned expectantly.

They
did
expect a full report. Wasn’t anything sacred?

He bit back his temper. He wasn’t usually this testy
about fans intruding on his life. It must be the lack of sleep.

“We slept fine, thanks. Could you have our driver
bring us our clothes?”

“Right away, sir.”

Jack pulled the cart inside and shut the door.

“What have we got?” Frankie said, ambling toward him.

“Don’t ask.”

“Why?” she laughed.

He loved that sound, that young, refreshing laugh. It
made him want to laugh along with her. Laughter was something he rarely enjoyed
these past few years.

“Let’s see what’s on today’s menu.” She lifted the
metal dome. “What? No steak?”

She didn’t seem nervous or tense, which surprised him
considering they’d slept together ...touched each other. Hell, he’d awakened to
her delicate fingers grazing his skin, stroking him the way a lover caresses
her mate. How could she pretend it didn’t happen?

Denial, that was her trick, her way of staying in
control. Heck, if it worked for her, he’d use it, too.

“No protein. Not good. You need your protein in the
morning.” She snatched a strawberry and popped it in her mouth.

A drop of juice trickled down the corner of her lips.
He couldn’t take his eyes off it. If she reached for the whipped cream he’d
jump out the window.

“These strawberries are delicious.” She plucked
another one from the plate.

“They found our driver. He’s bringing our clothes.”

“I can’t wait to slip into a fresh pair of pants and a
clean blouse.” She closed her eyes, savoring the strawberry.

He ripped his gaze from her sensuous mouth and
snatched a fork, picking at the strange combination of corn, corn, and more
corn.

“Eat a strawberry. Balance out your food groups,” she
ordered.

He wanted to say he’d been feeding himself for the
past thirty-seven years, but didn’t. He wanted to eat, get dressed and get the
hell out of this room. Even the small confines of the limo would be more
comfortable than the lurid bridal suite, which oozed sex everywhere he looked.

“I’ve got to make a call,” he said, grabbing the
phone.

“Oh, okay. I’ll go wash up and give you some privacy.”
She ambled toward the bathroom.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he waited until he
heard the water go on in the bathroom and dialed Butch’s number. Jack needed to
bring himself back to earth and quick.

“Yellow.”

“Hey, coach.”

“Well, if it isn’t my number-two kid, Jackie Boy.”

“Number two?”

“Benson was always quicker at the drop-toe hold.”

“Bullshit.”

Hearty laughter filled the line. It was good to hear
Butch’s voice.

“You sure all that fame hasn’t gone to your head?”
Butch said.

“Nah. I got it under control.” Now if only he could
get other things under control.

“They got you swinging from the rafters yet?”

“Not yet, but soon, I’m sure.”

“What’s the world coming to?” Butch muttered.

Jack smiled. Wrestling meant everything to Butch,
wrestling and family. A pang of frustration knotted Jack’s gut. Would he ever
get his chance at having a family of his own?

“So, you hanging in there? No pun intended,” Butch
said.

“Barely. They’ve got this insane angle—”

“I know, saw her on TV. How did they get you to take a
partner? You’re a solo kinda guy.”

“Long story. But I’m getting used to it. Never thought
you’d hear me say that, huh?”

“Life’s fill of surprises. Besides, your partner looks
like a nice girl, if you’re into the hissing type.”

“You’re hilarious. How’s Lois?”

“Fine, just fine. When are you going to come by? I’ve
got some things I want to go over with you.”

“I’m not sure. Sully’s got us running in twenty
different directions.”

“Yeah, well, stop running long enough to come see me.
Looks like you could use a refresher course in mat work. You’ve been spending
way too much time outside the ring.”

“Tell me about it.”

Frankie padded into the room and swiped another
strawberry off the tray.

“Gotta go,” Jack said.

“Miss ya’, kid.”

“Same here. Bye.” He dropped the phone in the cradle.

“Who was that?” Frankie said.

“A friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yeah, is that so hard to believe?”

“Boy, you’re cranky this morning.”

Of course he was. He was guarding his heart.

“Sorry, guess I’m tired,” he said.

“Understandable after that long day yesterday and then
last night…”

Their eyes locked. He struggled to breathe.

Blinking, she broke the spell and poured a cup of tea.
“At least this whole fiasco will make a good story to tell my friends.” She
paused, holding the cup to her lips. “Who would I tell?”

“What do you mean?” He walked over to the tray and
stabbed a crepe with a fork.

“No one can ever know I’ve been moonlighting as
Tatianna. It would be a career killer. Although, I have to admit, I kinda liked
the attention yesterday.” She shifted onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t
believe I said that.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just me you’re talking to.”

She smiled and glanced at the strawberry in her hand.
He spoke like they were confidants, best buddies, which they weren’t. Were
they? Hell, he didn’t know. But somewhere deep down, a part of him wanted to be
her confidante and much, much more.

An abrupt knock interrupted his self-analysis. He
welcomed the distraction and cracked open the door. Bernie the driver stood in
the doorway with an embarrassed expression. The knot of his tie had slipped
halfway down his chest and a smudge of pink lipstick colored the lapel of his
suit. He handed Jack the garment bag.

“Well, look who’s here. You have fun last night?” Jack
said.

“I did okay. Heard you didn’t do so bad yourself.” He
strained to peer into the room.

A sudden flash blinded Jack. “What the hell?”

“I’m a freelance photographer for the Wrestling
Superstars and Finks blog,” a voice said.

Jack couldn’t make out the face. His eyes were still
trying to focus through the glare of white light.

“There’s a lot of speculation about Tatianna’s real
identity,” the photographer continued. “Some say she’s your ex-wife. We’d like
to get a picture of her without the mask.”

“Get the hell out of here.”

“But sir, the fans want to know.”

The jerk clicked off another shot of Jack, standing
half-naked in his hotel room door. He shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Get him the hell out of here,” he ordered Bernie.

“I’m a driver, not a bouncer.”

“You’re not going to be a driver much longer.”