Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (62 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fenton

I
felt the honey softness go out of her limbs as Kya pushed against my chest. I
turned on my side and trailed a hand down her dress. My God, that purple dress
with a low neckline that almost didn't stop.

"Not like
this," she protested.

I wanted her so badly it
didn't feel wrong to beg. "Kya, please."

She shook her head, and I
was surprised her springy, copper-blonde curls were as soft as silk. They
defied gravity without being wiry or sprayed stiff. It was almost cruel how
desirable she was.

She sat up, those silken
curls brushing against her bare shoulders. The sleeveless dress plunged lower
in the back than in the front and I traced a finger along its thin border. A
shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. I would do more than beg to have her.

She had hypnotized me the
entire evening. Where I normally clocked every attractive woman in the room, I
could not even remember what the interior of the restaurant looked like. Kya
had me from the second I saw her worried smile. Then, she locked me in with the
hint of jealousy when she asked about Talia.

Deep down, I knew I would
probably never get Kya out of my system, but there was only one way to find
out. I propped myself up on one arm and nuzzled her neck. She shook her head
and moved to stand up. I snaked one arm around her waist and kept her in place
easily.

"Fenton, please, let
go of me," she said.

The hint of panic in her
voice sluiced over me like a bucket of ice water. It was true – I could force
her. I was strong enough that Kya was defenseless – except for that one tiny
hitch in her voice. It undid me. I let her go as if she had stung me.

"Thank you,"
she said. Instead of standing up and getting out of my reach, she stayed on the
edge of the bed and turned towards me. "If I did not know you better, I
would think you were trying to seduce me."

"And, what would be
so terrible about that?" I asked.

"Seduction always
means one party is less willing than the other. I want to be on even footing
with you."

She reached for my hand
on the bedspread, but I pulled it away. "Well, let me know when you catch
up."

I stood up and tucked my
shirt back into my pants. She sprang up from the end of the bed and marched
over to the mirror to straighten her clothes. Her lips were pursed and her
cheeks were bright, so I reached for the door.

"That's it, huh?
That's all I get?" she asked.

"You stopped me,
remember?"

"I suppose you're
right, I don't deserve anything more. Just one sloppy seduction attempt, and
when it doesn't work, I get dropped for an easier target," she said.

I stopped with my fingers
flexed tight around the door handle. "What do you want, Kya?"

"Right, of course,
it's totally unreasonable of me to want to be more than a challenge to
you," she said. "If I want to mean more to someone than a locker room
story, then no one's interested."

"It's not like
that," I told her. My fingers slipped off the door handle. There was a
bright emerald glint to her eyes I had never seen before, and it hurt me.

Kya refused to cry.
"I know there are bets made behind my back. I know why men like you are
nice to me."

"Men like me?"

"Athletes, stars,
clients. Men who find it fun to flirt with me, try to take on the challenged in
hopes of rubbing it in their buddies' faces." Kya lunged past me and
whipped open the door.

"Who does that to
you? Other clients?" I asked. My fingers curled into a fist.

"Please, as if you
weren't just doing the exact same thing." She shoved me out the door and
slammed it in my face.

She was stronger than she
looked. And, there was no way she was going to open the door again. I leaned my
forehead against it. There were a million little things I could say, but she
would not believe any of them. I had tried to seduce her and I had failed.
Everything Kya said about men like me was correct.

I shut my eyes and my
childhood daydream flashed into my mind. I was playing in my big backyard with
my children while my wife watched from the patio. It was dusk and the lights of
our house illuminated the yard. We could play until the stars came out and
there was nothing to worry about.

Now, the only thing I
worried about was how when my imaginary wife looked at me, it was Kya's green
eyes that I saw.

I smacked the thought
away, hitting the door harder than I intended. It did not matter. I could not
have Kya. I could not have anyone yet. If I could not provide for my family one
hundred times over and never have to worry, then I could not have one at all.
Kya would understand, but I would never tell her. Instead, I would lose her and
keep on going alone.

I punched the elevator
button and paced until the doors opened on the main casino. I stepped out only
to narrowly miss an amateur kick to my chin.

"Did you get it?
That's going to be an awesome picture," the young man said. His friends
all agreed then backed up.

I bristled and stepped up
behind him. "You almost kicked me in the face for a candid shot?"

"Yeah, man, it’s no
big thing. I'm a fan," he said.

"No big thing? Here,
how about I almost kick you in the face and then we'll see how you feel,"
I said.

The young man scowled.
"What a buzzkill. Can't you just be cool?"

"Cool? I'm not the
one assaulting people just for a funny picture." I stepped close enough to
smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Back off,
man."

"Or what?"

The kid had no choice but
to try and shove me. I thought of how Kya was half his weight, but twice as
effective. It was like kerosene on the spark. I bumped my chest against his
hands and he bounced back. While the young man was off balance, I stepped
forward and swept a leg under to trip him. He fell, a limp swing at my face
missing by six inches. I answered with a punch that slammed the carpet next to
his head hard enough the repercussion made his skull bounce.

The young man started
yelling and flailing his arms more like an overgrown toddler than a man
defending himself. I twisted his arms together and pressed them to his chest.
With an openhanded knock across the top of his head, I punctuated my point.

"Don't mess with
things you can't handle."

A second later, three
large men from casino security lifted me off the so-called fan and hauled me
outside. I was not allowed back inside.

"Not even if I win the
title fight?" I asked.

"Come back then and
we'll talk," the largest security officer said. "But if that little
display back there was any indication, I'd say you have a ways to go."

I let fly a swarm of
obscenities until I could think of something else to do. It would be too easy
to go find Talia and even the thought of the wrong woman made me more
frustrated. What the hell had Kya Allen done to me?

 
I dug in my pockets for my phone, but I had
left it in my suite before meeting Kya. I did not want Kev interrupting or
Aldous scolding me for being out past his arbitrary curfew. All I found was the
address Matt Smith had given me.

The private investigator
had assured me my sister was in Las Vegas. It could have been a scam; I had
been scammed by people helping me locate her before. Only Matt Smith was fully
vetted and the man took his job seriously. If he said he had seen her in Vegas,
then he had.

"Call a cab for this
address?" I asked the uniformed man at the cabstand.

"Sorry, Mr. Morris,
I saw you get kicked out. I'm not supposed to help people who get kicked
out," he said.

"I'm not asking you
to sneak me back in. I'm asking for a cab out past Fremont Street. Come on,
don't you think your bosses want me as far from the Tropicana as possible right
now? Well, you can make that happen," I said.

He looked doubtful, but
flagged down the next cab in line. He gave the cabbie the directions then
knocked on the car roof to send us on our way. It took longer than I thought to
traverse the tight Vegas traffic. It gave me too much time to think about Kya.
Though as the neon signs changed to strip clubs and peep shows, my mind started
to shut down completely.

I cringed away from the
thought of my sister working there.

The cab driver let me out
at the door, but I could not bring myself to go in. I paced up and down the
street. Every time I came within twenty feet of the door, some guy handed me
promotional cards for the girls inside. When I looked down and saw Dana Maria's
face, a red haze filled in the rest of my sight.

"You realize these
are people's sisters, mothers, right?" I asked the guy.

"So what? They're
getting paid. And, most of them like it," he said.

"Like getting
eye-groped from mouth-breathers like you? I don't think so," I objected. I
stepped into the guy's face.

He did not want to back
down. It was late, but there was still a crowd of people on the street and they
slowed down at the hint of a fight. I imagined Kev already on the phone with
the Tropicana and decided to step around the guy and go inside.

It took a while for my
eyes to adjust to the dim entryway after the blinding lights of Fremont Street.
I blinked as a woman came up to me. She stopped with one fist on her hip.

"Honey, you are in
the wrong place," she said.

"Dana Maria?" I
asked.

"Fenton, you need to
go someplace else," my sister said.

It was her. Her black
hair fell in thick waves just like mother's, except for streaks of silver
glitter. Her bright blue eyes were faded, but still stunning in a face full of
dark, edgy makeup. I kept my gaze on her eyes, even though their weary dimness
made me sad.

"Then, come with
me," I said. "Any place else. You don't have to stay here. I've got a
suite at the MGM Grand. A room all to yourself."

"Since when do I
need a room all to myself?" my sister asked. She smiled vaguely at the
memory of our shared childhood room.

"Come on, Dana.
Let's go," I said.

"Fenton, I don't
want your help. I don't need you to save me. Just let it go. Mom's gone. It's
all gone. No more family for us. Don't worry about me," she said.

I hated the slope of her
shoulders. Dana Maria had been beaten down by life. Worse than that – she
accepted it. She accepted it just like Mother had finally accepted she could
not afford to get better. She faded away, her shoulders getting narrow and small.

"Don't be silly. Let
me help you," I said.

"I've always taken
care of myself, haven't I? Wish I was better at taking care of you, too, but
you've done alright," Dana said. "Just watch out. Bet you'll see the
old man one of these days. Looking for a loan and playing the family card.
Don't believe him. I didn't."

"You saw him?"
I asked. "Did he ask you about Mother?"

"No, just about you
and your career."

CHAPTER NINE

Kya

I
stood in the bathroom and considered a cold shower. It was hard to tell what
had made me hotter, Fenton's kiss or my angry flare-up after he stopped. I made
him stop. My body burned with the possibilities – his lips on my neck, the
tingly warmth of his breath. I could still taste our kisses and I considered
raiding the mini bar for another whiskey. That would kill the traces of him.

I started the shower
instead. The whiskey would only exacerbate my anger. I had been a complete
idiot. Every girl has the childish fantasy that she'll reform the bad boy. All
his rough edges will smooth down like butter under her warm caress. They were
silly teenage daydreams, and I almost fell for them.

All the time I thought I
was wining and dining Fenton, earning his trust, and establishing a base for
our future business, he was just softening me up for a seduction. I wondered
how much his horrible manager had bet against him having sex with me. I hoped
that slime ball Kevin Casey collected a fat wad of cash from Fenton.

Before I could bring
myself to peel off my purple dress and get in the shower, I slumped against the
bathroom counter. I was frustrated, I was angry, and that all made sense. What
I did not understand was how I let myself get hurt.

I knew Fenton Morris by
reputation, I saw it in him when we first met, and still I had let myself think
there was more between us.

When my phone rang I saw
that it was James Cort, but I picked up anyway. It seemed a fitting punishment
for being so stupid.

"How did it go? How
much did you sign him for? Come on, don't hold me in suspense. Tell me all the
dirty details and percents," my boss said.

"It didn't
happen," I said. "Somehow, the whole evening turned into him trying
to seduce me."

"Trying to? He
didn't manage it? Well, that kind of blows my estimation of the guy,"
James said.

"I'm serious. He was
only interested in getting me into bed. I never had a chance to show him a
contract." I let a small sob escape.

"Oh, Jesus Christ on
a cracker, baby doll. You're not crying, are you? I know it hurts. Getting used
and then dropped by a potential client is just one of those things that
happens," my boss said. "I thought you had thicker skin than that.
Come on, Kya, you're better than this."

I blinked into the mirror
and swiped away my running mascara. "Thanks, that was surprisingly
sympathetic. As if you've ever had a young, sexy athlete try to get into your
pants."

"And, she's back.
Thank God. I thought I'd lost you," he said. "Now, let me get this
straight. You've got feeling for our big time bad boy. So, you stopped the
whole seduction thing because you want more and because you want to hang on to
some supposed thread of professional dignity."

"Yes, what's wrong
with that?" I asked.

"Well, you're dead
wrong about the professional dignity thing. It doesn't exist. As for having
feelings for the man, who wouldn't? Give me a few days alone with him and I
might swoon. The only thing you did wrong was not letting it all happen."

I scowled at the phone.
"You're not a pimp, and I don't work for you that way, Mr. Cort."

"All I'm saying, in
a purely modern, girl power kind of a way, is that the only way to find out how
you both really feel is to do the deed. Am I right? Or are you a Victorian
revivalist set on being courted?"

I hated to admit there was
some sense to what my boss said, so I stayed silent.

"Yeah, I'm right. I
know," he said. "So, let's weigh it out. On one hand, you have the
fictional idea of professional dignity and maybe the rainbow unicorn of
integrity. And on the other hand, you have a bonus, an office, and a tight
little mortgage on that new house you picked out. Plus, one unforgettable night
of sexy sex with a sexy man."

"Please never say
'sexy sex' ever again." I turned the shower off. For as much as James Cort
touted my good girl reputation, he treated me just like one of the boys, and I
loved him for it. "Alright, boss, good pep talk. Now, I've got to chase
down our next big client."

"Hey, at least his
billboards are up everywhere. You can just stop people on the Strip and ask which
way he went," James said.

I laughed and hung up. He
was right. I had chased off Fenton too soon and for all the wrong reasons. If I
found him and told him that, there was still a chance I could get him to sign
off on the vitamin supplements endorsement. Anything else that happened could
be separate, just between two unattached, consenting adults.

#

I fidgeted all the way
down in the elevator. I tried to tame my curly hair. I used the mirrored walls
to fix the smudges of makeup under my eyes. I checked my phone and laughed over
the encouraging and raunchy messages my boss left. I also tried to brainstorm
ways to track Fenton's movements, but every time I thought about him, I got
distracted.

The strong grip of his
hands did not change the soft, electric way he caressed my bare shoulders. His
hard forearms locked tight around me, but never squeezed. His strength flowed
against me as if our bodies fit perfectly.

The elevator doors opened
and I stepped out into a chaotic scene. A small knot of young men was
complaining to three security guards. Apparently, their buddy had snapped a
candid picture with one of the MMA guys only to be assaulted. As one guy waved
a digital camera around, I caught a glimpse of the photograph in question.
Fenton's black hair and sharp blue eyes were cut off by a dirty high-top
sneaker.

"You pretended to
kick Fenton Morris in the face?" I asked. "Ever hear the phrase
'don't poke the bear?' Go look it up and try to learn something, but first tell
me which way he went."

They all turned to look
at me, mouths open.

"You heard the lady,
the conversation is over," the bald security guard said. "Your man
got kicked out, but I think he grabbed a cab from the lineup."

"Thank you," I
said.

I strode up to the
cabstand guy. "The security guard in there said you would help me." I
waved at the guard and he looked confused, but waved back. "Where did that
guy go?"

The uniformed man looked
up at Fenton's billboard and then handed me a crumpled piece of paper.
"It’s no place you want to go, Miss."

"It’s not the place
I'm after, but the person," I said.

He opened the cab door
and helped me inside. Two quick taps on the roof and we were off. I felt light
and optimistic, despite the cab driver's concerned looks. "You know this
address is a strip club, right?"

I nodded. In my head I
imagined Fenton sulking in a dark corner of some seedy strip club where he
would not even look at the women. He would see me, and his blue eyes would
brighten. He could not hide the way he liked seeing me. I would tell him the
truth.

"I've decided I can
mix business and pleasure if you can," I practiced in my head.

"Miss, I don't feel
right leaving you here," the cab driver said. "You go ahead and look
for your guy. I'll be out here if you need me."

"Thanks, but I'll be
fine," I said. I paid him in full plus tip and opened the cab door.

I took a deep breath and
plunged into the dim tunnel of the strip club entrance. It took a moment for my
eyes to adjust and when they did, I wished the bright lights of Fremont Street
had blinded me.

Fenton was surrounded by
fawning strippers, flashing a fan of cash in one hand as he knocked back shots
of tequila from the bottle with the other. There was a bruise on the left edge
of his jaw and a cut above his eyebrow. In the short time since he left me,
Fenton Morris had lived up to every detail of his reputation.

I watched as a bouncer
tried to kick him out. "Come on, I bet I can take you in eight
seconds," Fenton told the mountainous man. Then, he turned and saw me. His
smile disappeared, but not as fast as I did. I was out the door with the whole
scene scarred into my memory.