Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance) (33 page)

“I’ll have you know the guests in 115 reported me to
the police for indecent exposure,” he joked, wishing she’d turn around so he
could read her eyes. He flung the bed sheets onto the floor in search of his
boxers.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I’d only given you a
T-shirt,” she said, heading into the living room.

“So, what was Prince Charming’s story?” He slipped on
the briefs and grabbed his jeans off the floor.

“He came to ask for tickets to Friday’s event.”

“You’re kidding.” He limped to the breakfast bar, but
the knee felt a little better today. Hell, his whole body felt better.

“Jack, listen, about last night.”

“I smell coffee,” he said, needing sustenance to build
his courage.

“I made some for Bradley. Knee still bothering you?”

“Always bothers me.”

Like you. Every
time I see you, every time I think about you. You bother me by breathing, by
smiling
.

Time to confess he’d spent the last fifteen minutes
planning their lives, dreaming that they could live together and love one another...forever.

“Frankie, I thought…” He reached for the coffeepot and
froze at the sight of a black velvet box. “What’s this?”

He opened it and his heart broke into a million
pieces.

“Wow,” he rasped. All his dreams, all his hopes were
washed away in pain.

She snatched the box from him. “Bradley left it.”

“He proposed?”

“Kind of.” She cradled the box in her palm, a faraway
look in her eye.

With a trembling hand, he poured coffee and casually
leaned against the counter. His eyes burned. Must be lack of sleep. Who the
hell was he kidding?

Dammit, Hudson.
Don’t confuse the woman
. The diamond ring in the little box she cradled in
her hand symbolized everything she’d ever wanted, the very things Jack couldn’t
give her.

Swallowing hard, he blocked out his dream of a life
with Frankie. If he loved her, really loved her, he’d do the right thing.

He’d let her go.

“Anyway,” she continued, wandering to the couch. “He
proposed with conditions. One being that I turn in my mask and whip.”

“Ah, he doesn’t like his woman dressing in leopard
skin and feathers.” He was surprised he could even speak past the pain arcing
through his chest.

“He also said we need to be honest with one another.”
She looked at Jack and his heart skipped.

“Honesty’s important,” he said.

“You think so?”

“Is this a trick question?"

“No, but…” She held his gaze with those amazing,
iridescent eyes. He had a feeling his dreams would be haunted by those colors
for years to come.

“…about last night. Jack, I have to be honest with
you.” She sat down on the couch.

This was it. The opening he’d hoped for, his chance to
profess his love.

Do the right
thing!
He had nothing to offer, no stock options, fiscally sound budgets,
or guarantees of any kind.

He took a deep breath. “Don’t worry about it, kid. We
all make mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“Sure, you screwed me last night and had to face the
fiancé this morning? I’d call that a mistake.”

“Screwed?” Her eyes rounded.

“We definitely screwed.”

Push her away,
Hudson. Let her get on with her perfect life.

“Well, of course, I mean, I guess technically—”

“Technically and every other way.” He searched the
floor for his shoes. “It was a wild ride, though, wasn’t it?”

He was glad his back was turned so she couldn’t read
the pain in his eyes. He didn’t want to confuse her any more than she already
was. He sensed she struggled to process their lovemaking and how it affected
her well-planned, perfect life.

Hell, someone should be able to live a perfect life
with food plans, job security, and safe baby cribs.

“Jack?”

He grabbed his shoes and plopped down in a chair.

“It was more than fun, wasn’t it?” she hushed.

“It was great, fantastic, mind blowing. Glad I could
oblige.”

“Oblige?”

He heard the hitch in her voice and wanted to kick
himself, but he knew what had to be done.

“Don’t feel guilty about it, kid.” He snapped his
laces tight on his right shoe. “I took advantage, pure and simple. I knew what
I was doing.” He tied his other shoe, sucked in a deep breath and ambled toward
her.

“But you…” He grazed her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
She leaned into his touch and what was left of his heart exploded into a
million pieces. “You’re just a sweet, naive kid, aren’t you?”

She jerked away from him. Her lips thinned into a
straight line and her left eye twitched. “Is that how I was last night? Naive?”

“Not completely naive. You taught me a few things.”

Like how to
love, and when that kind of love means letting go
.

“I taught you something?”

“Sure.” Glancing around the room, he searched for
misplaced possessions. Nope. Didn’t see his heart anywhere. “You taught me to
plan for my future. To set goals and stick to them.”

“I did?” Her face lit up.

This was it, his chance to close the door around his
heart and lock it for good.

“Sure. I’ve decided to take up painting again and
travel a bit. Can’t wait to paint the Swiss Alps or the French countryside.”

“What about a job? Financial security?” She sat
straight, and he sensed the tension coursing through her body.

“It’ll work out. Always does.” He continued his search
of the floor, the sofa, and the dresser. He was stalling, letting her scent
seep into his skin. He wanted to remember her scent forever.

“You’re going to travel and paint?”

He recognized the horror in her voice, the disbelief.

“Yep. About time I did something for myself,” he said.

“What about money?”

“Got enough to last me for a while. After that, I’ll
figure something out.” He tossed a pillow onto the couch and grabbed his
crutches. “Take care, kid. See you at the office.”

He pulled open the door and hobbled into the hallway.
Only when he’d made it to the elevator did he pause long enough to take a
breath. He punched the down button and wiped moisture from beneath his eyes. It
was hot in here. The hotel air conditioning must be broken.

Kinda like his heart.

Clearing his throat, he glanced down the hall. His
heart wasn’t just broken. It lay in pieces back in room 214.

The elevator doors opened.

“Take care, sweetheart,” he whispered and stepped into
the elevator. “I love you, Frankie McGee.”

It felt great to be back at Mama’s, if only for a few
days.

Settled comfortably in the antique rocker, Frankie
pushed against the hardwood floor with the balls of her sneaker-clad feet. She
closed her eyes and savored the motion that brought back memories of curling up
in her mother’s arms, feeling safe, secure, and loved.

Love. What an elusive concept. She’d nearly given her
love to a man who thought her nothing more than a one-night stand.

“Here’s the tea,” Mama said, walking into the living
room carrying a small silver tray. “I even made lemon bars. I thought Bradley
would be with you.”

She studied Mama as she placed a lemon square on a
plate, and poured tea. Her new, cropped hairstyle flattered her round face.

“I like your hair,” Frankie said.

“Thank you. Had to find a new hairdresser. Jeannie
stopped cutting hair last year. One lump of sugar, right?”

“Two?”

“Anything for my beautiful daughter.”

“Thanks.” Frankie needed to be loved and comforted.
She needed to forget that she’d been nurtured by a man who stole her
heart—a man who didn’t want her.

“So, what’s bothering you?” Mama settled into the
Queen Anne chair, the very place from which she’d read to Frankie as a child.
Mama always looked impeccable. Today she was dressed in gray slacks and a print
blouse, a strand of imitation pearls dipping below the fold of her collar.

“Sweetie?” she prompted.

“I’ve had a rough couple of weeks.”

“Everything okay at work?”

“I think so.” No voice mail messages or pink slip,
that she knew of anyway. It suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t really care
about her fancy job.

“It’s Bradley, isn’t it?” Mama leaned forward.

“How did you know?”

“A good guess. He’s lucky to have such a smart and
clever young lady as his girlfriend.”

“I haven’t been too clever lately.”

Mama raised a brow in question.

“I’ve been helping Uncle Joe.”

“Francine, no,” she hushed.

“He needed my help because the promotion is in
trouble. Only, it got away from me.”

“Joe Sullivan has no scruples. I’ve told you that over
and over again. We love him but we steer clear of his dramas.”

“Well, I did get involved, and now everything’s a
mess.” Frankie buried her face in her hands.

The aged floorboards squeaked as Mama walked over and
placed a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “Oh, honey. This is all my fault.”

“Your fault?” She glanced up.

“All this angst over a man who isn’t worth your
trouble.”

“Jack?”

“Joe Sullivan.”

“But Uncle Joe—”

“Isn’t really your uncle.”

Staring up at Mama, she felt the room tilt sideways.
She couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” Mama said. “I shouldn’t have let him
become such an important part of your life. But the truth is, well, Joe
Sullivan’s loved me since the fifth grade.”

“What?”

Mama paced to the Queen Anne chair and slowly sat
down.

“Joe and I were childhood friends, but he’d always
hoped for more. Knowing things were bad with your father, Sully took it upon
himself to fill in as the loving uncle. He was always such a silly,
lighthearted boy. He made me laugh, but I never considered him husband
material. His prospects weren’t good. Can you imagine me living out of a suitcase,
packing up and moving every time he got a wild idea about chasing a new angle
to make him rich? ‘This one’s going to make me a millionaire,’ he’d say, always
trying to prove that I should have married him instead of Thomas.”

“Maybe he would have been better than Dad,” Frankie
muttered. She stood and paced to the fireplace mantel, fingering the pewter
picture frame of herself, Mom, and Dad on their one vacation to Florida.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” Frankie said.

“Who?”

“Dad.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it love.”

She spun around and studied Mama, who drank tea as if
she were discussing the news headlines of the day.

“I don’t understand,” Frankie said.

“I thought he’d make a fine husband and a good
provider. By the time I realized my error in judgment it was too late. I
couldn’t very well get a divorce. That was unacceptable in my family and I had
no means to support a child. Besides, your father wasn’t a cruel man.”

“But he was never there for us.”

“I tried to change him, sweetheart. I really did. We
do the best we can with what we’ve got to work with.” She placed her cup on the
glass end table. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You can make
whatever choice you want.”

“It’s an easy one. Bradley is everything I’ve dreamed
of.”

Mama studied her fingers, interlaced in her lap. “If
he makes you happy, then I’m happy.”

“I’m not exactly happy right now. I’m frustrated as
hell.” Frankie glanced at Mama in apology for the curse. Her mother nodded,
encouraging her to go on. “I resent Dad for never being around, I resent
Bradley for his expectations, and I resent Uncle Joe for dragging me into this
mess.”

“What mess?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m his newest star.” She flung
her arms above her head and wiggled her hips.

“Frankie, you didn’t.”

She paced to the rocker and collapsed. “It was
supposed to be one night. It turned into promotional appearances, marrying a
sexy wrestling cowboy, and carrying a whip.”

“A whip?”

“I’m a tigress who wears a leopard-skin bikini, and my
partner is the infamous Black Jack Hudson, an impossible, infuriating man. He
doesn’t plan anything. He lets life carry him along.”

“Planning is good, of course, but—”

“He’s an impossible man. I lose all sense of control
around him. He picked me up and carried me into the ring. Do you believe that?
Against my will!”

“Is that all he did?”

Frankie stared out the living room window at the red
begonias blooming on Mama’s porch.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m frustrated, but
I’m not confused about what I want or who I belong with, not anymore.”

“And what do you want?” Mama came up beside her and
stroked her hair.

“A perfect, orderly, well-planned life.” She glanced
into Mama’s eyes. “I want to know my husband is coming home at six every night,
that he’ll take me out to dinner on Saturdays, and invest wisely to support his
family. Bradley will do all that.”

“Then you’ve decided he’s the right choice?”

“He’s perfect. He’s forthright, dependable, and
sturdy. Sturdier than a steel guardrail,” she added for good measure.

“And Mr. Mr. Black Jack is…?”

“He’s just a guy.” She paused and fingered the hem of
her T-shirt. “A guy who saved me from being splattered into a million pieces. A
guy who made me laugh and held me when I cried.” She sucked in a deep breath.
Only then did she realize tears were streaming down her face.

“I’ve always tried to do the right thing, to be a good
girl,” she whispered. “If I was good I thought Dad would come home. But he
didn’t. He didn’t love me enough to come home. I wondered if I was lovable at
all.”

But Jack had said as much when he’d made love to her.
He’d said she was the most lovable person he’d ever known.

She looked into Mama’s blue-green eyes. “I sound like
a kook.”