Hard to Handle (6 page)

She swallowed hard, shook her head, and finally looked up at him with big dark eyes. “I don't mean to be forward, Harley, but would it be too much to ask if I could burrow up and steal some body heat while you use the phone to call your uncle? I can explain everything after that, but I swear, I've never in my life been this cold.”

For inexplicable reasons, her request nearly made Harley hard. “Come on.”

Putting one arm around Anastasia, he led her through the crowd toward the back hallway near the bathrooms and the pay phone. Ignoring the hot stares of women and the knowing smiles of men, he used his free hand to unbutton his flannel shirt along the way.

When their positioning in the bar guaranteed a modicum of privacy, he took the coffee from Anastasia and sat it on the floor, then turned her to the wall, opened his shirt, and pulled her against his chest. He put his arms around her under her shirt and rested his chin on the top of her head.

As much as possible, he surrounded her.

With a soft moan, Anastasia crawled into him, as close as she could get.

His thick thermal shirt and her sweatshirt still separated them, but it didn't matter. Feeling Anastasia curl in tight, her breath on his throat, her hands knotted near his abdomen, was more intimate than anything he'd experienced in years. Her back was silky smooth, but chilled, and trembles continued to course through her.

“Call your uncle, please,” she muttered against his skin.

He didn't want anything to disturb the moment. “In a minute.” A gruffness sounded in his voice, but he hoped that Anastasia didn't detect it.

“Harley,” she warned around her shivers. “I nearly froze to death just to relay that message to you. Now call him.”

Bossy. But cute. “Fine.” Digging change out of his pocket without dislodging Anastasia's position against him, Harley reached out for the phone.

She turned her face so that her cheek rested flat against him.

He opened his other hand on her back, fingers spread wide to keep her pressed close.

Uncle Satch answered on the first ring. “Where the hell are you?”

Well used to his uncle's surly manner, Harley replied in a calmer tone, “In town. Why?”

“I've been trying to reach you for hours.”

“So I heard. What's up?”

“That woman with you?”

Rather than make assumptions, Harley asked, “Woman?”

“Anastasia Bradley.”

Harley's fingers contracted on her smooth skin, then he began stroking up and down her spine. “Yeah. She's right here.”
As close as a fully clothed woman could be to a man
.

“I like her.”

“You don't know her, Uncle Satch.”

“I know more than you think.”

Harley let out an aggrieved sigh. “Did you call me just to talk about women?”

“We weren't talking about women. We were talking about one woman.”

“Satch…”

“But that's not why I called.”

“Then why?” His uncle wouldn't hunt him down without reason. “What's happening?”

Tension sizzled through the phone line. “Just about everything.”

“Meaning?”

“Magazine interviews, promo shots, a new sponsor, and get this—a friggin' commercial.”

Harley went still. “You're shitting me.”

Anastasia stirred against him, and Harley tightened his hold. He wanted to keep her right where she was—at least until she warmed up.

Uncle Satch said, “I told you I was getting the word out. Well, my boy, it's out. The SBC has caught on to your background, all the shit that's kept you out of the title fights—”

Alarm slammed into Harley. No. Hell no. He didn't want his private life thrown out there for public consumption. “Wait a damn minute, Uncle Satch. You know how I feel about that. I don't—”

“You're a real human-interest story, my boy, the poster child for overcoming adversity. You represent the spirit of a true MMA fighter, a winner against all odds, private and public. And now the SBC is convinced you're the next best thing to sliced bread.”

Through gritted teeth, Harley said, “I don't want to be a poster child.”

“After all you did for Candace—”

On a surge of anger, Harley gripped the phone tighter, so tight that he felt capable of breaking it. “Listen to me, Uncle Satch. You will leave my mother out of this.”

“Your mother was my sister. I can speak of her whenever I want.”

Fuck. “Satch…”

“And that selfish twit, Sandy.”

Harley's voice lowered to a furious growl. “Sandy is nothing to you, and I will
not
have her mentioned. Period. Ever.”

Anastasia pushed back to look at him, curiosity and sympathy in her eyes. Damn it, the invasion on his privacy was starting already, and Harley felt his careful control slip a notch.

No. He wouldn't let that happen.

Uncle Satch was like a freakin' freight train once he got started. He didn't hear anything other than his own intentions.

But Harley would make him listen. “Uncle Satch—”

“What really got to the powers-that-be is this last time, with you getting taken out of the fight because you helped Sublime's woman. If that isn't newsworthy—”

“It's
not
.”

“—then I don't know what is. You're a hero without even trying, and now that it's getting out there, your upcoming fight is causing a huge stir. You and I know that you're invincible, but because of outside forces, you're being seen as the underdog.”

“I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks.”

“Well, I do. And right now, everyone wants you to win.”

Not his opponent, Harley thought, whoever it might turn out to be. Trying a different tack, he asked, “Do I even know who I'm fighting yet? Is Sublime going to give me another shot?”

“Now, Harley, be patient. You'll get the title shot. But given the turn of events, the SBC wants to build you up a little more, really capitalize on your growing popularity to bring in the crowds. Everyone's suddenly interested in you, and we need to feed off that before we give them the big prize.”

Harley groaned. He didn't want to feed anyone. He wanted the belt.

And he wanted it now.

“The websites are going nuts—you're all the buzz in the chat rooms, and fan sites are popping up left and right. I've got an official site in the works, but in the meantime, the fans are doing a great job of showcasing your talents.” Satch finished all that by saying, “With so much going on, I need you back here.”

God. Harley could only pray that his uncle didn't turn things into a circus. Rubbing his chin on the top of Anastasia's head, he said, “I was heading out tonight anyway.”

“Good. We've got to tailor this thing around your training.”

“Thing?”

“The headlines, the wave of interest.”

Trying again, Harley said, “Listen to me, Uncle Satch. I was never out for the attention. You know that. I just want to fight and win.”

“Yeah, well, nobility doesn't pay the bills.”

“Stow the sarcasm. We're not hurting for cash and you know it.”

“Damn it, Harley, the truth is, you're too damn good-looking. Couple that with an endearing background—”

“Endearing?”

“—and now the SBC wants you as the new face of the sport.”

Worse and worse. “What the hell happened with Sublime? I thought he was the damn face.”

“That's just it. Sublime has drawn in this huge female audience. The demographics went from fifteen percent women to twenty-five. The organization wants to capitalize on that growth and according to them, you're the next hottest guy fighting.”

Hottest? Harley frowned in distaste. “Let Sublime keep that rep. I don't want it.”

“Look, forget Sublime. This is about you now.”

Fresh alarm sent his adrenaline surging.
Forget Sublime?

Like hell.

Harley liked Sublime well enough, but that had nothing to do with the sport, or with winning a belt. Sublime was the guy standing in his way to the title, period. “What's going on, Uncle Satch?” His muscles clenched. “Is Sublime pulling out?”

“Now, Harley—”

“Answer me, damn it!”

“He's beat two contenders in rapid succession.”

“Two?” Well hell, Harley thought. He'd missed one somewhere, when he never missed a single fight. Of course, he'd been so wrapped up in the rehab on his elbow, isolated from the rest of the fight world…

“Yeah, two. He fought O'Brian in your place, then four weeks after that, he knocked out Houston in the first round. He's in high demand everywhere, from product endorsements to speaking engagements on every damn sport show or segment in the country. And Harley…the man loves his wife. What can I say? Simon Evans is not a man content to be without challenges.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Did Sublime no longer consider him a challenge? Did he just assume he'd win without accepting the possibility of a loss to his golden record?

Satch let out a long sigh. “He's thinking of moving into a different arena. He's been offered a real lucrative deal to announce fights instead of participate in them. He's in negotiations right now. If things work out…he's retiring again.”

Holding the phone away from his ear, Harley struggled to keep his disappointment in check. He needed to vent. A fight would do.

Or a good fuck.

He glanced down at Anastasia.

She shivered against him, small and tender and…in need of his warmth.

Shit. He didn't just want sex. He could have that now, tomorrow, and the next day, no problem.

He wanted Anastasia.

One calming breath didn't help, so Harley drew another. Then another.

When Anastasia tried to look up at him, he crushed her close, leaving her no choice but to relax against him.

Finally he brought the phone back to his ear. “So fighting Sublime is a long shot now?”

“Afraid so, but this is even better.”

Trying to put his foot down, Harley snarled, “I am not doing anything stupid.”

“I wouldn't ask you to. All you've got to do is what you've always done.”

“And that is?”

“Seduce the ladies and charm the men—but you have to do it at key times, like when the right people are paying attention.”

“I hope you're kidding.” His uncle suggested a complete farce. Harley wasn't an actor, and he wasn't going to start putting on fronts for the press.

“The bad attitude won't change anything, Harley, so knock it off. Look at it for what it is—just one more step toward the big prize.”

“I don't see how.”

“It's all tied together. The favorites get all the breaks.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. Sure, the fans like some fighters more than others. But everyone earns their position; no one gets it for free.”

His uncle let out a long sigh. “After missing several opportunities—”

“Satch,”
Harley warned, feeling his muscles twitch again. “Don't go there.”

“—you need the damned opportunity offered to you before you can take advantage of it. Don't fool yourself: the SBC is out to make money, and fan favorites bring in the cash, so if the audience demands it, it'll happen that much sooner.”

He might have a point. Not that Harley would admit it.

“We need you in a title bout, and we need you to win in a big way. No judges' decision. We need a knockout or a submission. Then we'll really capitalize on all the attention and before you know it, you'll be in Sublime's position, with a dozen opportunities knocking on your door and time enough to choose what you really want.”

“Not to put pressure on me or anything, right?” Without really thinking about it, Harley withdrew his hand from under Anastasia's shirt and stroked his fingers through her hair.

It had a further calming effect on him.

“You're a damn boulder, Harley. You can take some pressure.”

Harley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose I can.” Arguing with his uncle was pointless. In the end, Harley would do what he wanted, and not a single thing more. Besides, although Anastasia no longer shivered so badly, she was still clinging to him, trying to get warm through and through. She needed his attention—and he'd prefer talking with her than his uncle. “Soon as I see Anastasia back to her cabin, I'll head home and we can figure all this out.”