Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance) (3 page)

All she could do was stare at the enormous creature
cloaked in black from his cowboy hat to his boots. A few day’s growth stubbled
his jaw and chin, and long, wet curls of rich black hair trailed past his
shoulders.

Wild was a tame word to describe Black Jack Hudson.

She finally swallowed the dry ball in her throat.
Nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. He was just a dumb jock.

Contrary to the belief of the seventeen thousand
screaming fans around the corner, she knew that wrestling was four parts
vaudeville to one part athleticism, if that.

“Does this one even speak English?” Black Jack asked
the Bomber.

“She’s a little nervous, aren’t ya’ Tatianna? Here,
Mr. Sullivan wanted me to give you this.” The Bomber presented her with a black
whip.

She stared at the strap of leather. What was she
supposed to do with it? Defend herself against Mr. Black Jack?

“You’re giving this idiot a weapon? Great thinking,
Bill.” Black Jack glanced down the tunnel toward the ring.

“Here, like this.” The Bomber snapped the whip, and
she nearly jumped out of her spiked heels.

“Your turn.”

She took the whip and snapped away. It fell limp to
the floor.

“Think mean, kid, angry. Ferocious, like a tigress.”
The Bomber growled and bared his teeth. “You try.”

She scrunched up her nose, snapped her teeth and
growled.

“Sounds like my truck running on three cylinders,”
Black Jack said.

“You’ll get better with practice,” the Bomber
encouraged.

She was pathetic and she knew it. Okay, so maybe she
couldn’t master the guttural sound of a wild animal, but she could sure as hell
learn to use this snappy piece of leather. She wound up for another crack.

“So what’s the story?” Black Jack asked the Bomber.

“She’s your sex slave.”

“What!” Black Jack spun around.

She jerked the whip in shock and it connected with the
Bomber’s thigh.

“Sonofabitch! Watch it with that thing,” he protested.

“I’m his what?” Frankie said.

“His sex slave.” He rubbed at his leg. “Jack caught
you in an African desert and dragged you back to civilization. Turns out you
were abandoned twenty-five years ago by your parents while on safari. You
roamed the desert for five days before a family of tigers found you and—”

“Enough!” Black Jack put up his hand to silence the
Bomber. “I’m glad Butch isn’t here to see this,” he muttered.

“Who’s Butch?” Frankie asked.

Black Jack clenched his jaw and
stared down the tunnel.

“It’s a great story line,” the Bomber continued.
“We’ve got lots of places to go with it especially at the next pay-per-view
when Tiger Man comes back from the desert to claim his woman. In the meantime,
you take her into the ring and parade her around. The announcer will give a
quick spiel about her being a wild animal, then you tame her with a kiss.”

She jumped back and automatically jerked the whip. It
stung her toes. A kiss? Uncle Joe didn’t say anything about having to kiss this
beast.

“That’s it, we’re on.” Black Jack motioned to her.

She stuck out the whip in defense.

“That’s my music, cupcake. It’s time for us to go
entertain the masses.”

“I can’t.”

“Come again?”

“I just can’t.”

“Nerves. It’ll pass the minute we step out into the
arena.” He took a step closer.

“Stay back.” She wound up with the whip and bared her
teeth.

“I don’t have time for this. That’s my music. My fans
expect me to come strutting out there any second now.”

“Go without me.”

“Sorry, sweet cheeks. No can do.”

He lunged and she snapped, but somehow she ended up
over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Put me down!” she cried, swinging her feet.

“Knock it off before you stab me with those things.”

She kicked harder. He smacked her behind.

“Hey!” she cried at the sting. She pummeled his
shoulder blades. He squeezed her bottom tighter.

“You ever been spanked on national television? Because
if that’s an experience you
don’t
want, I suggest you calm your ass down.”

She stilled and glanced at The Bomber. “Help,” she
squeaked as Black Jack marched through the tunnel toward the arena.

“You’ll be fine,” he called after her. “The fans are
hot for you tonight, Hudson!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack gripped Tiger Lady’s thighs in an
arm lock. What would they think of next?

Stepping through the nitrogen-generated fog, he strode
down the ramp. Luckily the bimbo had given up on the fight, probably petrified
that Jack would make good on his threat to give her a good spanking in front of
thousands of fans. Good thing she didn’t know him very well.

He marched toward the ring and waved at the crowd
spotting a little boy in the front row with his hands plastered over his ears,
a group of screaming females, and a pack of grown men raising their beers in
salute to their favorite star. He’d normally reach out and slap high fives, but
tonight he didn’t dare get too close with Tiger Lady over his shoulder. The
crazy broad might poke somebody’s eye out with those spiked heels. She wasn’t
the most coordinated actress he’d ever worked with.

A throng of young boys caught his eye as they flagged
him down with a homemade sign that read “Black Jack Attack” in thick black
letters on bright blue poster board. His heart swelled with pride at being a
hero for these kids. He took his role seriously, stressing hard work and faith
in one’s self. Of course he did. He’d been there once, searching, lost and
alone. Thank God for Butch. If Jack could offer these kids one ounce of what
Butch had given him, Jack’s sorry life would be worth something.

He smiled at the kids and tipped his hat. They
screamed even louder. He cringed inside at the thought of tonight’s story line:
Black Jack snags a wild woman to be his sex slave.

He suddenly wanted to drop Tiger Lady on her ass.

But a show was a show. Besides, who was he to say what
would boost ratings? He wasn’t a promoter or a businessman. Hell, he’d never
made it through college. No, he was the talent, plain and simple. According to
Sullivan Jack’s job was to trust the promoter’s vision, follow orders, and
fight. Nothing more. Only, over the past few years he couldn’t help but wonder
what he was fighting for.

The roar grew to a fevered pitch as he approached the
ring. Billings wasn’t kidding. The fans were salivating for a good fight. He
hoped his knee didn’t give out on him before the twenty-minute mark. He also
hoped the punk stepping into the ring didn’t go crazy and bust into one of his
whirling dervish routines. Jack simply didn’t have the patience for that crap
tonight.

With a firm grip of her soft behind, he swung Tiger
Lady down off his shoulder onto the edge of the ring.

“Get up there and hold the ropes open for me.”

Even through that ridiculous black mask he could see
her cornflower-blue eyes widen to the size of silver dollars as she scanned the
crowd. She blinked, but didn’t move.

“Where’d they find you, anyway?” Not waiting for an
answer, he hoisted himself up and stepped through the ropes. He reached over
the top rope, gripped her under her arms and pulled her into the ring beside
him. Sully had fallen down on the job this time. A tigress should be tall,
lanky and seductive. This one reminded him of Allison Waters from the eighth
grade, on the short side with curves everywhere. She had about as much
coordination as Allison, who broke her nose walking into the flagpole at
school.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please welcome
Wrestling Heroes and Kings champion, Black Jack Hudson and his special guest,
Taaaaaaa-tiannaaaahhh!”

Jack led Tiger Lady to the center of the squared
circle and she stumbled, her scantily-clad body slamming into his chest. Well,
no time like the present. Bill’s exact words were “tame her with a kiss.”

With his hand at the small of her back, he pulled her
against his chest and covered her mouth with a claiming kiss. She tasted better
than he expected, kinda like those peppermint candies Aunt Vera used to put out
at Christmas.
Nah, don’t go there
.

The crowd went wild, the cheers buzzing in his head.
He broke the kiss and glanced into the captured cat lady’s eyes. They were
glazed over and she’d gone limp in his arms.

“Snap out of it. I’m here to fight, not hold you up.”

Without warning Tiger Lady slapped him hard across the
cheek, the sting resonating in his brain. She was a lot tougher than she
looked.

“Looks like she’s not so tame after all, Black Jack,”
Prince Priceless called over the sound system.

She stepped away and he grabbed her wrist. He knew
what Sully would have him do next to beef up the drama. Jack also knew what he
really was, somewhere, deep down inside.

Yanking on her arm, she glared in defiance, digging
those ridiculous heels into the mat. The lunacy of the entire scene struck a
chord of melancholy in his gut. Nothing was the way it should be.

He let go and she stumbled back, swinging her arms to
regain her balance. Instead she landed flat on her butt. With any luck she’d be
PO’d about the kiss and hightail it outta here. Worked for him. He didn’t need
a sidekick, especially not in the ring.

He shucked his leather coat, took off his Stetson, and
passed them over the top rope to the stage assistant. As his opponent’s crazy
music blasted in sync with blue and orange flashing lights, Tiger Lady crawled
to the ring post and gripped the ropes. Snapping her head from side to side,
she acted as if she expected an assault. She played terrified pretty well.
Maybe she wasn’t such a bad actress.

Wrapping his arms around the top rope, he leaned back
to stretch out his shoulders, waiting for Neurosis to make his grand entrance.
The kid had a distinctive style, Jack had to give him that. The shrill sound of
sirens and bells grew to an eardrum-shattering pitch. Tiger Lady plastered her
gloved hands over her ears and squinted her eyes. She’d better get out of the
damn ring before the punk catapulted himself into the center of the action.
Jack knew the kid didn’t like to wait until the official ring of the bell to
throw the first punch, and Jack didn’t want to worry about tripping over Tiger
Lady.

As Neurosis approached the mini-trampoline that would
send him flying into the squared circle, Jack stormed over to Tiger Lady.

“Get out of the ring!” he shouted at her, his voice
competing with the blare of sirens.

She couldn’t hear him. He reached down to pull her to
her feet. The second his hands made contact with the bare flesh of her
shoulders, she lunged at him, swinging her arms like a mad woman. He lost his
balance, falling backward over the top rope with Tiger Lady in his arms. They
hit the outside mat covering the unforgiving cement with a thump. Sure, Jack
was used to falling out of the ring, but he wasn’t ready for this tumble, and
he surely wasn’t prepared to cushion a freaked-out Tigress.

Shocked and embarrassed, he lay there for a good
minute, listening to the crowd heat up with excitement. His ego wasn’t too
pleased with this turn of events. Being taken out by a little, eye-gouging cat
woman would take months to live down in the locker room.

Opening his eyes, he stared at the overhead
fluorescent lights. He was getting too old for this.

“You guys done down there?” Neurosis asked, staring
over the top rope. Only then did Jack realize that Tiger Lady covered him like
a blanket, straddling his groin with shapely, well-toned legs.

Tiger Lady sighed, her warm breath tickling his neck.
This was definitely not part of the plan. Nor was the stirring below his waist.

With flattened palms, she pushed against his chest and
gazed at him.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Good, then you’d better get off me before I embarrass
myself.”

Those cornflower blue eyes narrowed to slits. He saw
it coming this time and caught her right wrist, then her left before those
gloved hands of hers could make contact.

“I’m getting real tired of being beat up before the
match even starts.”

He jackknifed into a sitting position and she
squeaked, but couldn’t free herself. Their faces nearly touched, and the spicy
scent of her perfume tickled his nostrils.

“Let me go!” she growled, and this time she sounded
like all cylinders had clicked just right.

“No slapping.”

She glared.

“Are we having a match here or what?” Neurosis called
down to them.

“Hold your ponytail,” Jack shouted and looked into the
woman’s eyes. They burned fire.

“I’m letting go now,” he said.

He slowly loosened his grip and she scrambled off him.
He got to his feet, cursing the day he’d failed to add the words “creative
control” to his contract. And he’d thought being a hood ornament for a Zamboni
had been bad.

A sharp sting sliced his back.

“What the—”

He spun around and caught the thin edge of the whip as
Tiger Lady let a second snap fly.

“That’s it!” He yanked the whip, pulling her flat
against his chest. “You’re on my side, got it?”

She squirmed against him, squeaking and snarling. What
a feisty little thing. With closed fists, she hauled off and swung at him,
anywhere, everywhere, nearly catching his jaw a second time with a gloved fist.
He didn’t get paid enough for this kind of abuse.

Jack pulled her by the wrist toward the ring
post.
 
“I don’t know where Sully
found you, but after this match I’m going to make sure he sends you right back
where you came from, ratings or no ratings.”

He ripped a spare TV cable from the floor and wrapped
it around her waist. The crowd roared with delight. Tiger Lady swung her arms,
a few punches making contact. He didn’t care. She was a menace. Wrestling was
dangerous enough without having to worry about being ambushed by a crazy woman.
He knotted the cable firmly at the small of her back, trying to ignore the
tingling of his fingers as they brushed against her bare, soft skin. Securing
the other end of the cable to the ring post, he stepped out of range and
pointed an index finger in her face. “Behave.”