Knock Out (The Billionaire's Club: New Orleans) (3 page)

“How?”

“We’d compensate you well for your endorsement, of course.” He named a figure.

Her eyes widened a fraction, and Bas realized Duparte had been right. They’d talked after Renata had left that first day, and Bas had done some further digging on his own. Cooper had done a number on her before she’d left Vegas, leaving her all but penniless. Having Renata endorse their women’s athletic line had been his intent from the moment he’d conceived of it the year before, though his long-range goal was for her to manage the line from concept to sales.

The prize money was incentive enough but the fight was eleven weeks away, and women’s boxing didn’t command the same coverage or purse sizes that men’s sports did. An endorsement deal would give her a financial cushion she no doubt needed.

“If you agree, I can have the company’s lawyers draw up the contract for you to review this afternoon,” he said. “I’d make the terms favorable for both of us, but you should have Duparte review it with you and advise you on it. We’ll have a check cut as soon as you sign, and then we’ll set photo shoots and fittings in motion.”

She glanced at Duparte. Though the old man had been his mentor for longer than he’d known Renata, Bas knew he wouldn’t side with Bas for that reason alone. Which was why Bas had pitched the idea to Duparte two days ago, and Duparte had named the payout that he thought it would take for Renata to set aside her anger and make a deal with Bas.

Duparte nodded. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” he said. “Nor would I bring Sebastian in if I didn’t think he could get you to the level you need to reach. You should make use of him while you can.”

She snorted. “You know what? I’ll take you up on your offer.” She poked his chest. “After all, you owe me.”

“There’s just one more thing, Renata,” Duparte said, his expression solemn.

“What is it?”

“I want you to make use of Sebastian’s facilities. Not only does he have state-of-the-art equipment—the use of which would be part of your endorsement deal—but he also has the privacy you need in order to completely focus on your training.”

Renata looked from one man to the other. “Where is this facility?”

Bas hesitated. “My house.”

Her mouth dropped open. She looked at Duparte, dismay obvious in her eyes. “Armand …”

“You’re not focused, Renata,” Duparte cut in. “You’re distracted and distracting here in the gym. Preparing for Andropova should be the only thing on your mind, but it’s not. When the gym’s going full bore, I have to work the entire floor, which is not fair to you. We also don’t want people getting shots and video of you and your workouts.”

“It’s business, Renata,” Bas said quietly. “Since we’re a team, the three of us decide which approaches work best, but some of the stuff we’re incorporating isn’t on the market yet. There will be a confidentiality agreement included with your endorsement contract. I know you won’t go running to our competitors, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a few opportunists at Hard Knocks. This is the best option. You will have my complete focus for the next three months. I won’t guarantee you the belt, but I bet you that I can help you take your technique and skill to the next level. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re the last one standing in the ring. By the time the match is over, we’ll both have what we want.”

She stared at him in silence, searching his gaze. Finally, she looked up at him through her lashes. “I’ll do whatever it takes to win this match,” she told him, her voice equally low and husky. “I’m not afraid to work hard to get what I want. Even if it means working with the Bourbon Street Brawler.”

“Welcome to my personal gym.”

Sebastian stepped back, eyes on Renata as she stepped over the threshold. She took two steps into the travertine foyer, then spun in a slow circle. “I know you’re all Daddy Warbucks and stuff now, but something tells me this is the only state-of-the-art gym on Audubon Place. It certainly looks nothing like any gym I’ve ever been to.”

“The gym’s on the top floor.” He took her bag from her. “I wanted to be able to work and work out, and entertain if I have to. I’m all about maximizing my investments.”

“Wait.” She gave him a wide-eyed stare. “This is yours? You live here?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Not anymore.” He grinned. “Though Mom prefers her condo in Florida.”

Warmth suffused her smile. “How is your mother doing?”

“She was sick for a while, but she’s doing a lot better now. Off on a Mediterranean cruise. As for this place, it suits my needs.”

“Are you serious? How does a multimillion-dollar home in an old-money gated neighborhood like Audubon Place suit a billionaire bachelor bad boy boxer? I thought Los Angeles was more your style or maybe even out where all the Saints players live if you wanted to be here.”

“I still have a house and office in LA, but New Orleans is home. Besides, there’s more to me than being a billionaire bachelor bad boy boxer.”

Her gaze bounced around the main room, taking everything in. “How’d you even come across this place? You must have had someone searching for a while for you. There can’t be that much turnover in this community.”

“There’s not. But I’ve learned to be patient and wait for the right moment, then strike.” Finding the house in the gated enclave on Audubon Place had taken patience, deep pockets, and negotiation—all the things that had made him a success and not a “where are they now?” candidate. He hadn’t told anyone, but he’d owned the home for a couple of years, retiring from boxing a month after closing the deal. Installing the gym, upgrading security, and maintaining the century-old revival charm had taken a lot of time but the results were worth it.

“You don’t have a butler or a maid or bodyguard?”

“Not yet. For now, there’s just Chris, my personal assistant.” He took her bag from her. “I’ll have to get around to hiring maid service and a bodyguard who doubles as a driver eventually, I guess, but I plan to do most of my work from here. I can take care of my basic needs myself.”

He guided her farther into the room, down the four wide steps that led into the main living area. Windows dominated the far right side of the room. A cream-colored sectional with pale blue pillows took up most of the floor, offset by other seating areas of ice-blue chairs with cream pillows. A stocked bar flowed right into a dream of a kitchen anchored with industrial-style appliances, the whitewashed cabinets and center island topped with black granite.

“This is amazing. It must have taken you a lot of time.” She eyed him. “And money.”

“Thank you. It took both. But I wanted it to be just right.” He saw no reason to pretend otherwise. His estimated wealth was common knowledge for anyone who followed ESPN, Forbes, or TMZ. It guaranteed him a steady supply of beautiful and ambitious women who wanted to be seen on his arm whenever he wanted them, which admittedly wasn’t often. There was only one woman he wanted, and he had three months to convince her to give him another chance, not that he intended to take that long. Getting the house right was just the start.

He showed her the breakfast nook that opened onto a sunroom that led to the wide patio with a hot tub tucked into an arbor, a pool, and the two-bedroom pool house. Beyond the sunroom lay the television room and entertainment bar, his formal office, and a large guest suite at the very back decorated in white and aged gold that was more soothing than ostentatious even as it reflected the style of the revivalist house perfectly.

“This is one of the guest suites,” he told her as she walked through the room. “The previous owners had it sound insulated, but that was before I put in the television room.”

“That’s a minitheater, Bas,” she reproached him. “Seating for twelve, a screen that rivals a movie theater, a full bar, and a popcorn machine does not equal ‘television room,’ dude.”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “I like to study fights and watch disaster flicks, what can I say? The second level has two more guest suites besides the master, and a smaller bedroom between the study and the master. Let me show you those.”

She balked. “What for?”

“So you can decide which one you want to stay in.”

“I can’t stay here,” she protested. “Are you kidding?”

“Why would I be kidding?” He stopped, frowning at her. “I just said you could stay here.”

“I thank you for the invitation, but no. There’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m staying here.”

“Why not? You need to train. You agreed to let me train you, agreed to allow me to control all aspects of your training.”

“Yes, but—”

“I have plenty of room here. Everything you need to focus on honing your skills is available right here. We’ll have the right foods made here. We can run in Audubon Park. You can do laps in the pool, soak in the hot tub. You don’t like the equipment in the gym, we’ll go to Loyola. Since I donated a bunch of new machines, I think they’ll let me use them if I want to.”

“Yes, but …”
You’re here
, she wanted to say, which was the biggest reason she couldn’t be here. Live under the same roof with Sebastian Delacroix for three straight months? How was she supposed to concentrate on anything but Bas? How the hell was she supposed to sleep, knowing he was right down the hall?

He finally clued in on her discomfort and heaved a sigh tinged with hurt and exasperation. “If you’re worried about privacy, you can stay in the pool house, which has two bedrooms to choose from. You’ll be able to focus entirely on your training with no distractions.”

She’d only signed a one-month lease on the crappy apartment that she didn’t want to stay in anyway. Giving it up wouldn’t be a hardship and would allow her to focus on other things. She snorted. Like avoiding distractions.

He grinned again. “I’m going to work you hard, Renata, giving you everything that you asked for. Trust me, when I’m done working you, you won’t have the energy to be distracted by anything else.”

The dark promise in his words and his gaze, intentional or not, sent a shiver of need through her. Yeah, if she worked hard, pushed herself, she’d get through this. One thing she knew from bitter experience was that Sebastian Delacroix could focus on his career with single-minded intensity. Even if that meant turning his back on someone he professed to love. That focus was exactly what she needed if she wanted a championship belt in three months. She didn’t have time for anything else. She certainly didn’t have the heart for something more.

“All right. Show me this state-of-the-art gym.”

Renata followed Sebastian up two flights of stairs to a wet dream of a personal gym. Free weights and tension machines lined the back wall. Two different punching bags, a speed bag, and medicine balls were aligned along the mirrored wall to the left. A wet bar with a fridge was in the left corner behind her. On the right was some aerobic equipment, a massage table, an elliptical, and some multiuse monstrosity she hadn’t seen before, as well as a video camera and computer setup. In the center stood a boxing ring, not regulation, but close. In the far right corner a door led to what she could only assume was a bathroom. Heck, Sebastian probably had a hot and dry sauna back there. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Though the gym took up the entire floor, he’d maintained touches here and there of the house that contained it. Pale yellow paint coated the walls like splashes of early morning sunlight, providing a warm contrast to the black, blue, and gray of the machines and the darker blue of the mat flooring. Large posters and photos dotted the walls, and she realized that there were shadowboxes that held each of his championship belts proudly displayed beside a photo taken moments after he’d won: bloody, exhausted, but triumphant. There was also a photo of him in a business suit alongside two other impressive-looking men with the first Hard Knocks Athletics prototype. At the start of the line of photos was a picture of the Sebastian she remembered: early twenties and just coming into his power and talent.

Somehow she got the feeling that he hadn’t intended the display to crow about his achievements. No, she thought these reminders were placed for motivation, reminders of where he’d been and where he was going.

“This is amazing.” She shook her head. “I keep using that word, but it fits.”

“Thanks.” He glanced about the room, pride obvious in his expression and tone. “I test a lot of Hard Knocks’ prototypes here. We pride ourselves not only on setting the standard, but surpassing it.”

She laughed. “Nice commercial. I can see why they made you the spokesperson.”

“That’s Raphael Jerroult’s job. I’m the R and D guy. New technologies, weight management and workout apps, new polymers and metals for our equipment, biometrics, that sort of thing.”

“Wow.” She stepped into the center of the room, spun in a slow circle. “I think my nipples just got hard.”

Sebastian’s gaze immediately dropped to her breasts, and dammit if her nipples didn’t tighten for real. “Don’t be a tease, Renata,” he ordered, tension filling his features. “It won’t make me go easy on you.”

She settled her hands on her hips. “Who said I was teasing? And who said I wanted you to go easy on me? I can take whatever you can dish out.”

The look he gave her should have made her run back down the two flights of stairs and out the front door. Danger and hunger gleamed in that laser-like gaze, rooting her to the spot. She’d thought Sebastian was no longer interested in her in that way. She was obviously so very wrong. The thought thrilled her.

“You think so?” he asked, his voice as soft as she’d ever heard it. As soft as when he’d whispered to her as they’d lain entwined in bed together, breathless and muscles trembling. He padded toward her, a predator on the prowl, his gaze never leaving hers. When a mere whisper separated them, he stopped. “You really think you can take whatever I want to dish out?”

Less than an inch separated her breasts from the wall of his massive chest, sadly covered by his black tank. Still, he was close enough that she could feel the energy crackling between them, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. Memories flashed through her mind, filling her body with need. Straddling him on a weight bench. Her ankles on his shoulders as he plunged deeply inside her. Stretching her lips wide to take his cock. Fingers digging into those dark waves as he licked and suckled a scream out of her.

Need gripped her body, making her want to weep. Oh, her body definitely remembered this man, remembered the no-holds-barred way they went at each other, how she’d willingly taken every bit of sexual pleasure she could from him. But her heart remembered the pain when he’d left her, when he’d chosen a life as a boxer over a life with her.

She licked her lips, raised her chin. No way would she allow him to intimidate her. Not now, not when she had so much at stake. “I know I can. Give me your best shot.”

Sebastian grinned at her, then gestured to the far corner. “Well, come on, then.”

He led her over to a sturdy, waist-high padded table that looked as if it could double as a massage table for two. Without a word, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up as if she were a child instead of a one-hundred-and-forty-pound boxing machine. “I talked to Chris on the way over,” he said as he walked around the table to a gray steel cabinet. “He’s gathering videos of Andropova’s latest matches and anything else he can find. We can watch them tonight while eating dinner. Unless you’d rather go out?”

“I’m here to train, not date,” she retorted.

“Who said anything about dating?” He pulled out a couple of hand wraps then returned to her. “I figure we can discuss any questions or concerns about your endorsement deal so we can have the lawyers ready the paperwork for tomorrow. We’ll have the photo shoot here in a week.”

“That sure of yourself, are you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The shoot was already in the works. Raphael models our gear but we’re also featuring our latest prototypes.”

She bit her tongue as he began expertly wrapping her hands. Of course it was about business with Sebastian. How could she have thought otherwise? Boxing and business—those were the two most important things in Sebastian’s life. Maybe his mother was first, but Renata knew from experience that nothing else came close on the list of importance.

Bas gripped her fingers as he finished the wrap. “Is that too tight?”

“It’s fine.”

“Good.” He made quick work of wrapping his hands as she jumped off the table. “Did you bring your own gloves? I don’t think mine will fit you, but I can have Chris overnight a pair in for you.”

She made her way over to her gym bag for her practice gloves. “Give poor Chris a break and let him explore New Orleans before you start overloading him with work.”

“You know his job is to assist me with stuff, right? He gets paid very well for that—and extra for off-hours work. Besides, he doesn’t complain.”

She arched a brow. “Who in their right mind would complain, especially to you?”

He frowned. “I’m not a hard-ass, Renata. I treat my people fairly.”

“I’m sorry.” She shoved her hands into her gloves. “I guess I’m feeling a little twitchy right now. This is kind of surreal.”

“Day’s not going quite like you expected it to go, is it?” Sebastian grinned again, and again she felt the effect of that smile like a caress. “You ready to show me what you’ve got?”

Renata pulled her mind out of the gutter with an effort. Why in the hell did she think every word that came out of Bas’s mouth was a come-on? It hadn’t been that long since she’d had sex, had it? She frowned as she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she and Roddy had slept together. It was well before they’d broken up, that much she knew. “Let’s do this.”

They warmed up their muscles for a few minutes then stepped into the ring. It was like throwing a mental switch. She shifted from Renata, shell-shocked ex-girlfriend to Renegade Giordano, former women’s welterweight champion.