Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (10 page)

He splashed more cold water on his
face. Very cold. Splash, grumble, splash.

She tapped on the door. “You okay
in there?”

“Don’t even think about coming
in.”

“Just checking.”

Why was she so concerned? Why did
she come to his hotel room, sit with him, feed him toast at midnight and make
him drink water at two a.m.? It was torture being awakened, kept off balance,
having to look into those sweet green eyes … the eyes of a drug dealer.

“Shit!” He pounded his fist
against the sink. Okay, maybe it was time to reevaluate his line of work. Maybe
it was getting to him.

No, he was meant to outsmart
criminals, arrest them, and protect innocent kids who deserved better.

So how was he going to outsmart
the girl on the other side of the bathroom door? Exhaustion pulsed through his
body, weakening his guard. What secrets would she uncover with her constant
questions? What inconsistencies?

“Damn.” He stared at his
reflection in the mirror. She was in his hotel room. His Komodo, small pistol
and badge were tucked in a secret pocket of his duffel. If she went poking
around ...

He whipped open the door, but
instead of finding her digging through his bag, he spotted her curled up in a
chair. Her long, blond hair draped across her cheek, which was resting against
bent knees.

“Sandy?”

No response. He padded across the
hotel room and brushed a few strands of hair off her face. She had beautiful
fair skin that looked so damned soft. He grazed her cheek with his fingertips,
but she didn’t move. She’d dozed off.

What was she doing here? If her
assignment was to spy on him, she was failing big time. He must have been
insane to think she was trying to uncover his secrets. Write it off to his mild
concussion and lack of sleep, thanks to this sweet girl.

But this adorable girl was supplying
drugs to the wrestlers. His hand dropped to his side. If she was the drug
connection to local teenagers—hell, even if she wasn’t—she could still lead him
to the source. Anything to finish this assignment and move on.

“Sandy,” he said, a little louder.

Her head popped up and she blinked
a few times. “Hotel. I’m in a hotel room.”

“My hotel room.”

She glanced up. “Right, your
concussion. I’m watching you.”

“I don’t need watching. Go home.”
He ambled to the bed and climbed under the covers.

“I have to wake you every few
hours to make sure it’s not a class three concussion.”

“You have. It’s not.” He closed
his eyes.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had experience with
concussions.”

“Work?”

He opened his eyes. The DEA? No,
she was likely referring to his phantom construction job. “Yeah, work.”

“Then you know I should check on
you every few hours.” She stepped into his line of vision, sitting on the bed
opposite him.

“You woke me what, three times?”
he said. “You’ve done your job.”

“I’d feel better if I could stay for
one more round.”

A few more rounds with her looking
like that and he’d lay her out on the bed and lick her up one side and down the
other. She’d gotten comfortable in the last six hours, stripping down to a tank
top and jeans. She’d even taken off her socks. Damn her for having sexy toes.

“Do what you want,” he said.

“Good. Answer a few questions so
we can both take a nap. How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“How long were you in
construction?”

“Too long.”

“Funny.”

“Ten years.” It was true, he’d
been constructing his career in law enforcement for the past ten years since
he’d left the army.

“Girlfriends?”

He eyed her. “Kinda personal,
don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “What exactly did
you take last night before you went into the ring?”

“The boys gave me some of your
wonder pills.”

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re sure?”

He shot her a look. She leaned
back, elbows on the bed. He couldn’t stand the way her skimpy white shirt
stretched across her chest, revealing her perfectly-shaped breasts. Time to
find a hot, willing woman. After he recovered from this nasty headache.

“Can I sleep now?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He closed his eyes. He wanted her
to leave and take that fresh minty scent and soft voice with her. This woman
acted like the perfect nurse, but was actually peddling poison.

Then he felt the brush of her
fingertips against his hairline. Soft, gentle. He pulled the covers closer to
him, pretending to drift off to sleep.

“There’s ibuprofen on the nightstand,”
she whispered. “Don’t take more than two.”

Warm fingertips grazed his cheek
and trailed up to his temple. Relaxing. Drifting. Wait, he couldn’t let his
guard down, not with her so close.

“Who hurt you, Jason McBain?” she
whispered.

He knew she wasn’t referring to
tonight’s match. He also knew if she continued to gently touch and stroke him
this way he’d lose his mind.

He rolled over, turning his back
to her. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t have to. He heard her sigh and felt
disappointment hang in the air. She wanted to help him, to uncover his secrets.

The only person she should be
worried about helping was herself.

The hotel room door clicked shut
and he took a deep breath. He had to stay close to her but not let her inside.
Great. How was he going to do that when she was already halfway there?

A few days later, Sandy found
herself waiting anxiously for her blind date. She tapped her fingertips on the
lacquered bar at the Prime Minister restaurant in Chicago. Her index finger
stuck to a dried puddle of mixer.

“Eeehhhh.” She snapped her finger
off the bar, dipped it in a glass of water, and dried it with a napkin.

Maybe this was a bad decision. She
shouldn’t have let big brother Curt set her up with mystery man, Decker Smitts.
What kind of name was Decker, anyway? But she’d been desperate, determined and
downright horny. Thank you, Jack the Stripper.

Taking care of The Stripper the
other night had shaken her resolve to keep her hands off wrestlers. After
listening to his desperate mumblings as he slept—and groggy answers to her
questions—she’d left his hotel room knowing two things: 1) someone hurt him
deeply; and 2) she wanted desperately to help.

That’s how it began with Cody. It
started with healing and ended with hurting.

“Not doing that again,” she
whispered.

As for the horny part of the
night… She scolded herself for being attracted to The Stripper’s magnificent
body, his firm, six-pack abs and broad chest dusted with incredibly touchable
hair. Why him? Why now? Was it because her baby clock was ticking, or perhaps
she feared becoming her Aunt Doris, who dated invisible fish? Did it matter?

Cosmo asked her to spy on The
Stripper, and figure out what he was up to. If she didn’t get her libido in
check she’d end up following The Stripper around like a sex-crazed virgin.

What a mess. It was definitely
time to grow up and stop being drawn to bad boys and lost causes.

Big brother Curt was a responsible
father with a steady job and normal friends. He’d been bugging her to meet his
teaching buddy Decker Smitts. So here she was, waiting for her blind date: a
nice, normal man.

Who cared if her date wore a hairpiece
at thirty-three? She’d told Curt it didn’t matter. After all, it wasn’t about a
man’s hair, or smile, or steel abs. It was about what was inside, how he took
care of his family, how he loved them. Kind of like how The Stripper took care
of his little sister.

“Are you Sandy?”

She glanced up. A tall man with
thick brown hair and gray eyes smiled at her. Not bad, she thought, noticing a
chipped tooth in front.
Don’t be judgmental. Dental insurance is a killer
these days
.

“Yep, that’s me.”

“I’m Decker Smitts. You look
different than I expected.”

“Really? How so?” She sat a little
straighter. She’d taken special care to dress in her most feminine outfit: a
low-cut silk blouse and black pants. She’d even dug out the garnet earrings Mom
gave her.

“I don’t know, you look,” he
paused. “Young.”

She wanted to ask if he meant
young as in jailbait or young as in “what beautiful skin you have.” It didn’t
matter. She was used to men thinking of her as someone’s kid sister. Time to
change all that.

“You look different, too.” She
stood and they shook hands, his fingers long and slim, kind of like the man.

She batted her eyelashes and gave
his hand a little extra squeeze, hoping to turn him on.

“You’re much taller than I
expected.” She smiled. She knew men loved feeling tall.

He smiled. At least she thought it
was a smile. Or did she squeeze his hand too hard?

“They’ve got a table for us.” He
motioned her ahead of him, a gentlemanly gesture. Cody Monroe always expected her
to walk in his shadow, her tongue hanging out, eyes glazed over with adoration.
She’d never be fooled like that again, never get sucked into the fantasy that a
man loved her for her integrity and womanly qualities, as opposed to loving her
for her healing hands or influence with Cosmo.

The hostess led them through the
dining room to a table by the fireplace. How romantic, she thought, although a
little warm. She shucked her lightweight jacket and noticed Decker’s eyes widen
a bit. Good. She deserved to be admired by a man.

He smiled. “Their specialty is the
New York strip.”

Drat, the “S” word. She’d hoped
she could completely forget her obstinate patient from the other night.

“Sounds great.” She forced a
smile, realizing how foreign it felt.

She must have been convincing
because the corner of his mouth curved slightly and his fingers tightened
around the edge of his menu. It seemed she wasn’t the only one in need of a
warm physical connection. Oh heck, call it what it was: she needed great sex.
That would purge The Stripper from her mind.

Decker put down his menu and she
did the same. “Want something to drink?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He ordered a bottle of special
reserve pinot noir.

“So, you rub down professional
wrestlers for a living, huh?” His eyes gleamed.

Okay. This meant either he got
hard at the thought of her hands oiling up hard muscles, or he swung both ways
and wanted an introduction to one of the boys.

The waitress interrupted the
moment by presenting their wine. Sandy watched Decker swirl, sniff, taste and
nod in appreciation. The waitress filled Sandy’s glass. She passed on the
swirling and took a hearty sip.

“Lovely,” she said.

It was all lovely: the expensive
wine, the soft music from a nearby quartet, the warm fire crackling a few feet
away. A quiver of uneasiness zipped through her tummy. What was that about?

“Do you like your job?” he asked.

“I guess.” She’d never really
thought about it. “It’s a family tradition, pro wrestling,” she clarified.

“I teach eighth graders.”

“Wow, you’re brave.” She took
another sip, the wine loosening her shoulder muscles. 

“Nothing brave about it. You just have
to be patient and try to understand what they’re going through. I was a geek in
school so I can relate to the shy ones. What about you? You were one of the popular
girls, right? A cheerleader, I’ll bet.”

She laughed, enjoying the
misconception. “No way. I spent a lot of time in the principal’s office.”

“No kidding?”

“Nope.”

“What for?”

“Let’s just say I didn’t want to
be at school.” No, she’d wanted to be at a match watching her dad win another
championship. Back then she’d thought it was real.

For the next few minutes Decker
talked about his students, coaching after school basketball, and the last trip
he and Curt took to northern Minnesota. She could see why Curt liked the guy.
He was easy to talk to, no pretense.

Too bad there were few sparks
flying between she and Decker. Was that her fault? No, she wouldn’t let Cody’s
critiques of her sexual performance ruin this night.

By the time their entrée was
served, they were both a little buzzed and laughing at his silly jokes. She
leaned back in her chair and relaxed, watching him wave his fork as he retold
the story of the attacking muskrat.

He laughed. “Must have been
insane, crazy, ya’ know?”

Decker may not be the man of her
dreams but he was a pleasant guy, and at her age maybe she should settle for
pleasant. That way she wouldn’t fall too hard and be ripped apart by a
heartless, self-centered Adonis like Cody ... or Jack the Stripper.

Her gaze drifted to the lobby and
she nearly choked on her steak. Speak of the devil and there he stood. Jack the
Stripper glanced into the dining room like he was looking for someone. Or
spying on someone?

“You okay?” Decker asked.

She snapped her attention back to
her date. “Fine, fine. Time to hit the ladies’ room.” She stood.

“How about dessert?”

Stepping up beside Decker, she
glanced into the lobby and caught The Stripper’s eye. Leaning down she
whispered into Decker’s ear, “Chocolate, anything chocolate, and I’m all
yours.”

His eyes widened in appreciation.
Yep, they were both going to get what they needed tonight.

She sauntered through the
restaurant, breezing up to The Stripper. “Follow me,” she commanded.

She marched down the long hallway
to the bathroom, swinging her hips in a way she didn’t think possible. This was
her night. Her “hot-and-wild-woman” night. Nothing was going to ruin it,
especially not a two-hundred pound jerk that didn’t appreciate the time and
energy she’d spent trying to help him.

She stopped short of the ladies’
room and spun around to face The Stripper. “How dare you show up here!”