Jezebel (36 page)

“
Shane
Brennan…” the boxing commissioner looked at the scale
again, “weighing in at one hundred and ninety pounds.”

Shane’s gaze lifted.
His eyes searched the crowd, finding her he raised his arms bent them
at the elbow and smiled from ear to ear. Heart pounding, Celeste
returned it with one of hers.

Bronzed and rippling with
muscle, in nothing but his underwear, he was a beautiful male
specimen. And he was hers.

Shane stepped down from the
scale to allow his opponent to make weight. An inch shorter than
Shane, the brute’s muscles looked carved from marble, reminding
her of the Roman statue of Hercules at the Metropolitan Museum of
Art.

“
Weighing
in at one hundred and ninety-five pounds, current light heavyweight
champion Jim Clarke.”

“
Tomorrow
Madison Square Garden will host one of the most anticipated cards of
the year, Shane Brennan versus Jim Clarke.” The commissioner
took hold of both fighters’ wrists and hefted their arms in the
air. The audience erupted into cheers.

Not as caught up in the
excitement, Celeste left her seat. She picked her way up the aisle
to stage left. A couple of reporters and even his coach, Ollie,
milled around him as he dressed.

Not
wanting to draw unnecessary attention before his big fight, she hung
out near the stairs. Right now, he didn’t need the unnecessary
attention her presence would cause.

“
Why do we have to
wait around, Johnny?”

Normally, Celeste would’ve
ignored the platinum blonde standing next to her, but her nasally
whine was hard to ignore like the sound of screeching tires.

“
I
got an appointment,” her companion replied.

“
Everything revolves
around you.” The blonde pouted and it wasn’t pretty.
“If I miss my hair appoint—”

Before she could finish, her
companion grabbed her by the jaw. He pressed his fingers together
until the woman moaned. Celeste thought the woman was annoying as
all get out, but she didn’t deserve to be manhandled.

“
Business comes first.
Say it.”

For
several drawn out moments the woman didn’t make a peep.
Instead, the two waged a battle of wills. Celeste gave the woman
credit. She held out much longer than expected, considering they had
an audience.

“
Say it,” he
repeated.

They glared at each other a
moment longer, the woman finally mumbled something that seemed to
appease her companion enough that he released her, yet leaving behind
angry fingerprints.

“
Now go sit your
pretty little ass in that chair over there and wait for me.”

Doing as told, the blonde
stumbled away.

As if manhandling a woman
had mussed up his appearance, he skimmed his manicured hands over his
hair. Celeste snorted. Besides being a bastard, he was also a
narcissist.

“
Well… hello,
Toots. How you doing?” the bastard even had the nerve to edge
closer.

In
her element around thugs, bastards and near-do-wells, Celeste didn’t
bother with making eye contact. “Hey, yourself.”

Unfortunately, her lack of
interest didn’t waylay him. “I can’t believe a
beautiful doll like you is into boxing?”

“
I’m not.”

The bastard chuckled.
“That’s funny,” he said wagging a finger at her and
finally pulling her attention from Shane. “You’re at a
weigh-in before a title match, and yet you don’t like boxing. I
wasn’t born yesterday.”

No.
But maybe last week.
“I’m here to support a friend.” The bastard didn’t
need to know any more than that and neither did anyone else for that
matter. She was proud to have Shane as her husband, but she wasn’t
going to let her ego ruin his chances for the light heavyweight
title.

“
Who’s your
money on?”

This guy was a real gem!
“Why? Do you have inside information?” Celeste was

only stroking the bastard’s
ego. Men like him tended to think they were ten times more important
they really were.

“
I
might,” he paused to admire a gold signet ring on his pinky. “I
could give you a few inside tips

over
dinner of course.”

Celeste had no doubt the
choicest tips would be dished out in bed. And to think, a few months
ago, the party girl in her would’ve bought what this clown was
selling hook, line and sinker.

Riddled with guilt and a tad
bit dirty for even acknowledging the bastard, Celeste looked away.
Her gaze collided with her husband’s. Fully clothed again in
the tan bucks, tweed slacks and camel-colored turtleneck he’d
worn for the weigh-in, his hair was slightly disheveled and his
cheeks contained color.

Probably from all the
excitement, Celeste mused. She also noticed that he was engaged in
conversation with Ollie, and yet his gaze remained locked on her.
Well, not entirely on her, but also her unwelcome company. And
telling from his brooding expression, he didn’t like it one
bit.

“
Here’s my card
if you ever find yourself interested.” The bastard shoved a
vanilla calling card in her hand. Celeste gulped. He had no idea he
was playing with a loose cannon with fist that could lay him flat.
“Now if you would excuse me, I need to take care of some
business.”

Celeste wished him bon
voyage as he bounded up the stage steps. Hand held out, he walked
right up to Shane.

CHAPTER
TWENTY SEVEN

Contrary to the morning’s
excitement, the cab ride home was decidedly somber. Celeste tried to
engage Shane, but he simply brooded in the corner, tightlipped and
staring out the window.

Eventually, she gave up,
chalking it up to tomorrow’s fight. Over the past several days
he’d started to withdraw, grow more serious. Still, he’d
never been this withdrawn.

Had something happened at
the weigh-in? Celeste tensed. Was he mad about seeing her talking
with another man? Worried and wanting to set the record straight, she
turned to him.

Unfortunately, Shane had
another motive. He suddenly leaned forward and tapped the cabbie’s
seat. “Take a left here on Flatbush. The lady’s going to
Forte Green.”

“
What are you doing?”
She balked after he gave the driver her address. Ever since they’d
been back from their honeymoon, they’d fallen into domestic
bliss in the Paddy Wagon.

“
It’s
best you stay at your place tonight. I’m gonna need my rest for
the fight.”

“
We don’t have
to do anything. I can sleep—”

He leaned back and closed
his eyes. “Don’t fight me on this, you’re going to
lose. I need to get some rest, concentrate on the fight.”

Even
though it made perfect sense, his excuse didn’t stop her from
stewing over the rejection and the fact that she would be spending
the rest of Christmas on her own.

***

Adrenaline pulsed through
Shane’s veins. The excitement of the crowd was palpable. He fed
off it, consumed it as he stood in the tunnel, preparing to make his
entrance. Shane closed his eyes, channeling their energy.

“
You ready, kid?”
Ollie came up behind him and slapped Shane’s shoulder.

“
I’d better be
or I’m a sitting duck.”

Chuckling, Ollie patted
Shane’s shoulder. “This is your moment. Your victory
will be splashed across all the morning rags. I see it now.”
Ollie lifted his hand. His fingers slightly curled from arthritis.
“Sugar Shane Claims Bittersweet Victory Over the Mountain Man.”

As the challenger to the
title, Shane’s entrance music, Nine Pound Hammer pounded
through the Garden’s speaker system.

Not wasting another minute,
Shane hastened toward his fate, Ollie trailing in his wake. Both his
coach and corner man, he’d been his second ever since their
days in Kansas City.

Once inside the ring, Shane
moved along the ropes.

Arms swaying in and out, to
keep the energy flowing, he scanned the ringside seats in search of
his favorite color.

Shane
knew he’d set himself up for disappointment. He wouldn’t
be surprised if Celeste would not spite him by honoring his request.

Shane didn’t blame
her. Yesterday, his treatment had been rotten, and yet necessary.
He’d expected Ferruci at the weigh in, not the honoring of
their appointment. The calendar date had come and gone without word
from the boxing promoter.

Naturally, Shane had given
up hope, his cause turning sour upon another man’s whims. In
turn, he’d been caught off guard when Ferruci showed up at the
weigh in the other day, and he’d acted rashly from a guilty
conscience.

A
flash of Kelly green and Shane froze. Celeste sat in the second row
wearing his peace offering, an emerald green, satin dress, which
hugged every single one of her delectable curves.

Off the rack, the dress had
been delivered this morning by Madame LaRoche herself to ensure a
perfect fit. The service hadn’t been cheap, but Shane didn’t
begrudge the cost. He’d pay ten times the price to make amends.
And it seemed like his plan had been fruitful.

Not only had she worn the
dress, but when their gazes clashed and held her expression softened,
giving him a glimpse of the vulnerable woman he’d fallen in
love with.

She
smiled and he drew himself to his full height. He even threw his
shoulders back. Yeah, he had it bad. A record breaking crowd of
more than twenty thousand people had paid to see him fight and he was
preening for his wife’s favor.

Entranced by his wife, Shane
didn’t hear the announcer introduce Mountain Man Jim Clarke nor
his entrance music. He didn’t move until called to ring center
to face his opponent.

An inch taller and possessed
of a wiry build, his opponent hid lightning quick reflexes and a
deadly right hook, which could buckle the knees. He’d needed
it, Shane muse. He wasn’t going down easy.

With mounting impatience,
Shane digested the rules and the referee’s customary wish of
good luck. And he barely tapped the other man’s gloves before
retreating to his corner.

“
Remember stay in the
middle of the ring, keep your feet moving.” Ollie massaged
Shane’s right shoulder. “And whatever you do don’t
let him get you on the ropes.”

At the sound of the bell,
Shane advanced on his opponent. Never one to strike the first blow,
a silly superstition of his, Shane circled Clarke.

“
You want a piece of
this?” his opponent sneered. A showman of the first order,
Clarke was known to taunt his opponents during an entire bout. For
some fighters, it threw off their timing, messed with their head. Not
Shane. Steadfast, he could remain steady with a marching band nipping
at his heels.

“
I plan on taking my
pound of flesh and then some.” Shane assured him. The fighter’s
overconfident expression melted into a furrowed brow. Shane grinned,
even winked. The man’s confusion had been worth the cheap
talk.

Bearing his teeth, Clarke
stepped forward, throwing with his right. Inside the punch, Shane
countered with a hard left uppercut. The blow landed solid and
Clarke’s knees buckled. Shane shifted his body weight,
preparing to strike. He drew his arm back at the same point Clarke
fell to one knee and one of his gloves touched the mat.

The referee swung his arms,
directing Shane to back up. “One…two…three…”

Slowly, Clarke regained his
footing, but not his facilities. Eyes unfocused, his body swayed
like a willow in a light breeze.

However, looks were
deceiving. Shane barely advanced two steps when Clarke’s fist
connected, clipping Shane’s temple. Overcome by a wave of
dizziness, he protected his head as his opponent fired several
punches to his arms and upper torso. Shane dug in, refusing to be
backed into the ropes. Through the assault, the crowd’s
screams filtered into his conscience as did the bell. Giving up his
defensive stance, Shane pushed his way past Clarke.

“
Way to dig in, kid,”
Ollie said, setting out a stool. Shane opened his mouth for the water
bottle. “Stay focused and you got this. After tonight, no more
sideshow carny spectacles only arenas and stadiums.”

After swishing his mouth,
Shane spat blood in the bucket at his feet. He mulled over telling
Ollie his recently made plans now or after he packed up the Paddy
Wagon. He decided on now, he owed his coach that much.

“
I’m throwing in
the towel after tonight.”

Hands greasy with petroleum
jelly, Ollie paused mid-routine. Eyes narrowed, head cocked per his
habit whenever he attempted to understand something of import. Shane
blinked. Were those tears in the old man’s eyes?