CHAPTER 2
B RETT walked past Ms. Noode, where she stood motionless, staring at . . . nothing. He put a hand to her back.
“Ms. Noode? You okay?”
She blinked and focused on him. “What? Oh, yes. I just got outplayed, that’s all. But no worries, I’m better at this game than that chauvinist jerk thinks.”
Brett had no idea what she was talking about, but he assumed the jerk was Drew Black. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
“Ha!” She stowed the small business card she was holding into her purse before turning to him. “I need to go now. There are plans to formulate.”
She was so serious, Brett had to fight a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Did you want me to walk you out?” Roger’s Rodeo was a nice enough bar, in a nice enough area. But a parking lot was no place for a lady alone.
“I don’t want to put you out.”
He looped his arm around her. “I was leaving anyway.”
She went along without further argument. “That’s very sweet of you, Brett. Thank you.”
At the exit, he asked, “Did you have a wrap of any kind?”
“Not tonight. The weather is just beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Not bad.” For late March, the temperatures had been mild even through the night. Even in this commercialized area, spring flowers bloomed everywhere, filling the air with sweetness.
They stepped outside to a full brilliant moon—and feminine chaos.
“Oh, my word.” Gillian got jostled by a gathering crowd of women.
Frowning, Brett took notice of one particular woman. Blonde hair bounced around a pretty face dominated by big brown eyes. She wore no makeup that Brett could see. All serious business, she was handing out stacks of flyers to the other women, who all talked at once.
“What do you suppose is going on?” Gillian asked.
“Don’t know.” He reached out and snagged a flyer for himself. No one paid any notice to him. He skimmed the words— WAVS: Women Against Violent Sports —and laughed. “Drew isn’t going to like this.”
“What is it?” Gillian accepted the flyer he handed to her. She read it quickly, then let out an exasperated breath. “My job just got harder, didn’t it?”
Brett barely heard her. He and the petite blonde had locked gazes. She was small enough that she’d barely reach his chin. Not exactly a good physical fit, but the lower parts of him didn’t seem to care.
He smiled and gave her a nod.
Color rushed to her face and she jerked around, giving him her back as she talked to a redhead. Brett didn’t mind the snub because it afforded him a quick survey of her hips in the slim, faded jeans.
Cute. Real cute.
Gillian elbowed him. “Really, Brett. Men are so easy.”
Drawn back to her, he laughed and took her arm, urging her across the street. He’d come back and talk to the blonde after he saw Gillian safely to her car. “And you think women aren’t?”
“Not in the same way, no.”
“Amen to differences.”
Gillian smiled, too. “It doesn’t bother you that she’s protesting your sport? What did the flyer call it? Human cockfighting?”
“She doesn’t understand it, that’s all. No big deal.” A lot of folks were misguided about the level of dedication it took to compete in MMA fighting. It wasn’t just one discipline of fighting but a complex, complementary set of combat techniques including boxing, kickboxing, martial arts, grappling, and wrestling.
He sure as hell wouldn’t let a feminine fear of the sport keep him from pursuing a woman who interested him.
“You plan to explain it to her?”
“Why would I?” They reached Gillian’s sporty RX8, and Brett waited for her to unlock the door.
“You don’t feel defensive about it?”
He shook his head. “Everyone has a right to his or her opinion. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Well.” She slid into her seat. “You show admirable restraint. If it was me—”
“You’d be bristling, I know.” He braced a hand against the roof of the car and leaned down toward her. Grinning, he said, “I saw you get all miffed about a supposed insult to those groupies trying to get a free pass at Drew.”
She lifted her chin. “It was an insult.”
“The comment about their implants? Just a fact, nothing more.” He tapped the roof of the car and stepped back. “Man has a right to his preferences.”
She peered across the street toward the protesters. “Such as a preference for that one?”
Brett looked, too. She was short and slim in a very sweet package. “Yeah.”
Gillian laughed as she shook her head. “Good luck, then. But you know, as soon as she finds out that you’re a fighter, you’ll be at a disadvantage.”
Probably. “If she doesn’t ask, I won’t tell her.” Brett closed her door. “Drive safe, now.”
Still smiling, Gillian started her car and drove away.
Heading back over to the cluster of women, Brett saw the little blonde take note of his approach. Visibly flustered, she made herself busy real fast.
The act didn’t deter Brett; at least now he knew that she was aware of him, too.
He’d always been partial to little gals, and this one, with the mulish set to her mouth and her determined air, especially intrigued him.
Rather than scare her off by being too direct, he asked the group, “You ladies enjoying the night air?”
Almost as one they turned to look at him and went mute. A few twittered. One smiled at him. And another said in a low, throaty tone, “Well, hello, there.”
The redhead, in a protective gesture, stepped in front of the blonde who interested him.
Brett grinned. He’d always enjoyed female attention, and now was no exception. “Hello back atcha.”
The blonde stepped out from behind the redhead and huffed. “Excuse me, but we’re trying to work here.”
“So I see.” He held up the flyer. “Got a protest planned, do you?”
She planted her hands on her hips and tipped her head back to stare up at him. “Do you care?”
“Nope.” Roger’s Rodeo had more than adequate security. If the women got too rowdy, they’d be shown the door. “Just curious.”
The smiling female sidled up close to him. “Audrey organized us tonight just to hand out the flyers. But we do hope to stage a protest soon. Would you like to join us?”
“Well, now, I don’t know.” He glanced back at the blonde. “You’re Audrey?”
She hesitated, but finally nodded. “Yes. Audrey Porter.” She held out a hand.
Brett engulfed it in his own. Small, soft, with short, clean nails. “Nice to meet you, Audrey. I’m Brett Bullman.” He watched her face for any signs of recognition, but saw none. Huh. So Audrey protested the sport without knowing the competitors. Interesting. Not that he was a headliner . . . yet. But he soon would be, especially after he signed with the SBC and won his first fight there.
He smiled at her. “You’re the one in charge?”
As if seeking courage, she glanced around at the other women. “Yes.”
He held on to her hand. “Did you plan to go inside to hand out the flyers, too, or just out here?”
“God, no,” the redhead rushed to say. “We wouldn’t go in there.” She looked as though the idea horrified her. “Fighters hang out in there.”
She said fighters with the same disdain she’d give to demons. Brett smothered a grin and nodded. “Yes, ma’am, they do indeed.”
“It could be dangerous,” she insisted. “They really are brutal specimens.”
“They can be.” In a fight, a mixed martial arts fighter could take as well as give major punishment. “I have a solution. How about you ladies wait out here, and I’ll escort Audrey inside so she can hand out more flyers? You’ll be double-tagging the customers. What do you say?”
“Absolutely not!” the redhead said.
Audrey sputtered. “No, I couldn’t . . .”
But the other women supported his cause with enthusiastic encouragement.
Ignoring the nays, Brett nodded. “Great. Give us twenty minutes.” Teasingly, he said to the disgruntled and surly redhead, “You can hold down the fort until I return Audrey, can’t you?”
“Of course, but there’s no way Audrey will—”
“It’s okay, Millie,” Audrey assured her friend.
Then she handed Brett her stack of flyers. “I’m only going in if you give a flyer to everyone in there.”
“I’ll do my best.” Tugging Audrey in his wake, Brett got her away from the clinging Millie and just inside the lobby of the bar, near the coat check. Suddenly she dug in.
Over his shoulder, he saw her wide eyes as she looked beyond him into the crowded, dark, noisy bar. Music blared, strobe lights flickered, and people laughed. Roger’s Rodeo had great atmosphere, but Audrey looked like he wanted her to enter a brothel.
To be heard, he moved closer to her. “Something wrong, Audrey?”
Her slender fingers contracted on his before she pulled her hand away. She twisted her hands together. Swallowing, she glanced up at him. “I have a confession.”
Damn, but Brett wanted to kiss her. Bad. Right here, right now. He could give her all kinds of things to confess.
Instead, he leaned one shoulder on the wall in a deceptively casual stance. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“I’ve never been in a bar.”
Unbelievable. He missed a few beats there before asking, “Never?” When she shook her head, he asked, “Why not?”
A preoccupied couple stumbled out, and it was obvious the woman was tipsy. Her date held her up, laughing with her, nuzzling her neck while she tried to stroke him.
Audrey looked aghast. She stared so hard at the couple that Brett caught her chin and brought her attention back to him.
“They must have been celebrating.” He smiled.
“Oh.” She turned to get one last look at the couple before they stepped outside. “A little too much celebrating if you ask me.”
Brett preferred not to judge. Over the years, too many people had drawn conclusions about him, and found him guilty by association. He hadn’t liked it, so he tried not to do it.
Besides, to him, Audrey looked more fascinated than repulsed. Had she lived such a sheltered life that she’d missed out on some fun?
He planned to find out. “You don’t visit bars because . . . ?” he prompted.
Again flustered, she frowned and said, “I don’t drink.”
Nice. Brett had few aversions regarding women, but smoking, too much drinking, and cruelty of any kind were dead turnoffs for him. “Me, either.”
His admission surprised her. “But . . . then what are you doing here?”
“There are other things to do at a bar besides get hammered, especially at this bar, which is more like a club, ya know?”
Suspicion inched her back a step. “What else do you do here?”
Laughing, Brett leaned down to her to say, “Little Audrey, it’s not a whorehouse, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nothing wicked going on, I promise.” He put an arm around her and got her moving again.
People jostled them, danced around them, and along the way Brett handed out the flyers. A few of the fighters he’d met gave him a funny look, but they accepted the paper when he held it out, especially after they peered around him to see Audrey.
Despite some misconceptions, most fighters were not dumb louts. Fighters in the SBC were more often astute than obtuse, and with one look at Audrey they surmised exactly why Brett was passing out her info.
By the time Brett got them to the other side of the room, he was out of flyers—which meant he now had both hands free. He tugged Audrey over to watch the antics on the mechanical bull for a while.
In no time, her eyes went wide with exhilaration and curiosity.
When one fellow got tossed hard, Brett felt Audrey’s gasp and gave her a short, quick hug. Bending close to her ear, he whispered, “He only hurt his pride.”
They shared a smile, and Brett said, “Come on.” He got her as far as the hallway, then she resisted going any farther.
“I should get back out front . . .”
Brett held her elbow in a light grasp. It was quieter here, but music from the band filtered in, overlain by the drone of laughter.
He glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes yet. Let me show you around the rest of the bar.” When she balked, he added, “That way, if you stage a protest, you’ll already have the lay of the place.”
After biting her bottom lip, Audrey agreed.
He wouldn’t mind nibbling on that soft, plump lip, too—but it was too soon for that, so Brett showed her the billiards room instead. Next he let her peek in on the arcade, and he then took her to where they served food on the upper level.
In awe, Audrey walked to the railing and looked down on the crowded barroom floor.
“I had no idea the bar itself was so . . . huge.”
Leaning back against the rail, Brett watched her. Colored lights from below flickered over her face and in her eyes. She looked . . . mesmerized. And hot.
“Wanna come back with me sometime?”
She jumped as if he’d goosed her, and then she turned those big eyes on him.
Oh, yeah, Brett thought. He had to have her.
“Research,” he fibbed, remembering that he had to play it cool. “The more you know about the place, the better. Early evening during the week, the fighters are scarce. We could come on a weekday, and you could plan things out then. Like where best to stage your protest, what day of the week, and what time. All that.”
When she still looked wary, he lifted both hands, palms out. “No obligation or anything. Just thought I’d offer to help.”
“I don’t know.” Her brows pinched down as she studied him. “Why would you want to help?”
Pushing off the rail, Brett stepped closer to her and again, he put his fingers to her chin, lifting her face. “I think you’re cute as hell, Audrey Porter, and I want to get to know you better.”
Her chin tucked in. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, yeah. You have no idea how hard it is not to kiss you right now.”
“Not to . . .” She couldn’t even finish.
“Kiss you.” He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip, then dropped his hand and took a step back. Damn . “But I can tell you’re not ready for that yet, are you, Audrey?”
She snapped her mouth shut and scowled at him. “No, I am not.”
“Then I’ll just practice patience.” Brett held up a flyer. “But this is important to you, right? So for now, I’m okay with just helping out. For you.”
Giving him the same study she’d give a two-headed toad, Audrey put a hand in her hair. “This is nuts. How am I supposed to respond to all that?”
“How do you want to respond?” Before she could answer, Brett said, “Don’t think about what you should do. Just tell me what you want to do.” He tried a persuasive grin. “Come on, Audrey. Fess up. You know you want to.”
She gazed over the rail again—and nodded. “I’m very curious, I admit.”
About the bar, or maybe about him, too? Brett hoped for the latter.
When she turned back to him, she caught him looking at her backside, and she started scowling again.
Brett grinned without shame. He wanted her, and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise. But because he didn’t want her to change her mind, he retreated a little. “What time do you get off work?”
“Depends. I’m a photographer, and if we have a big shoot to do, it can run over. But usually nine to five.”
“A photographer, huh? Like in a studio?”
She nodded. “Picture This.”
He’d seen the kitschy studios in malls. “Those places are everywhere, right?”
“Just like fast-food chains.” She made a face. “If I can save enough money, I hope to have my own, classier place someday.”
That disclosure surprised Brett. “A great goal. I’m sure you’ll get there.”
As if she only then realized that she’d shared a dream, she straightened. “Anyway, Mondays are usually light, Fridays are insane. The rest of the week is somewhere in between.”
So she didn’t work weekends? Good to know. And since he usually stayed in the gym till five, her hours meshed with his. “Let’s say six o’clock, Monday. Can I pick you up?”
“No.” She laughed as if the idea were absurd, then caught herself and cleared her throat. “I’ll just meet you here. Out in front of the bar, I mean.”
Rather than push his luck, Brett nodded. “Already looking forward to it.” After handing out the rest of her flyers to the diners, who set them aside without really looking at them, Brett walked her back out front to rejoin her friends.
To the women waiting, he made a show of holding up his empty hands, proof that he’d kept his word. Impressed that he’d given out all the flyers, the ladies made a show of congratulating him. Millie moved protectively to Audrey, as if she’d just returned from war, and spoke quietly with her. But Audrey must have reassured her, because after a quick and private conversation, Millie relaxed with a smile.
That one, Brett decided, was a true mother hen. But it didn’t bother him; since he’d grown up without it, he’d always considered protectiveness to be a good quality. And if Audrey had friends who cared so much for her, it spoke of what a good person she was.
Brett bid them all a good night and headed for his truck. He’d have some questions to answer later, if any of the guys bothered to read the flyer. Though even if they didn’t look closely, he didn’t know how anyone could miss the headline:
STOP THE VIOLENCE. BAN THE SBC NOW!
Imagining Drew’s reaction, Brett couldn’t help but chuckle. Joining the SBC had already been interesting. Now, with Audrey Porter in the picture, he had even more to look forward to.
GILLIAN arrived at Drew’s impressive home at six o’clock sharp. She had to knock twice before he answered, and then he came to the door looking as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. Naked except for a medium-size towel that barely reached around his hips, he held the door open for her.
She gaped. She looked at her watch, frowned, and made her attention go to his face—instead of his chest or shoulders or, God forbid, his tight abdomen. “You did say today, at six, yes?”
“Yeah, yeah, six. Come on in. I had some shit run over so I’m behind a little. No big deal.”
She maintained her position on the other side of the door. “If you need to reschedule . . .”
Loosely holding the towel together with one hand, he reached out and grabbed her arm to haul her in. “Quit acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.” He secured the door behind her. “I didn’t buy that shit about you being in your forties, but you’re sure as hell not a blushing schoolgirl, either.”
He turned away from her, and Gillian saw how the towel parted over his hip, down to his thigh. Her mouth went dry. “This is not at all professional.”
“Screw professional. Do you know what my schedule is like? No? Well, Loren does, and he still let his pain-in-the-ass sister sic you on me. So if we’re going to do this, we’re going to have to make it work. If you can’t do that . . .”
He left the question open-ended so that Gillian was forced to either agree to his unorthodox manner or call it quits.
She couldn’t quit, though, not with so much at stake. Feigning an air of indifference, she gestured at his towel. “Flounce around buck naked if it pleases you. It’s no matter to me.”
He barked a laugh. “Flounce? Yeah, I bet you’d love for me to lose the towel, wouldn’t you? Admit it. And here you pretend to be so proper.” Shaking his head, he didn’t give her a chance to correct him or take umbrage. “Grab a seat and take a load off. I’ll be right back. And Gillian?”
She met his gaze with a raised brow.
“No peeking.”
Rolling her eyes, she gave him her back and strolled across the room to take a seat. When he disappeared from sight, she let out the breath smothering her.
For one heart-stopping moment, she’d thought he would drop his towel, and she’d been very undecided on whether to leave, or stay and get an eyeful.
Her pulse still sped and she felt too warm. Moseying into the dining room, she set her purse and briefcase on the table and then removed her black linen-blend jacket. For hours, she’d agonized over what to wear, but in the end, she decided not to let Drew Black influence her wardrobe choice.
She liked dressing feminine, so she’d opted for a sleeveless, scoop-neck, sheath dress with a tailored fit. It hugged her in all the right places, emphasizing her waist, and ended just below her knee. The black and white pattern of the dress went well with her dark hair. Black pumps were always businesslike, and these were heeled enough to give her needed height in dealing with Drew.
To keep herself from picturing Drew getting dressed, she looked around at what she could see of his house.
His front door opened into a spacious living room with high ceilings and lots of natural light. He had enormous plants, traditional furniture, modern art . . . altogether it looked great. Very stylish. She wondered if he’d decorated on his own or hired someone.
She was just about to peer into the kitchen when music started, and she turned to see Drew standing a few feet away, dressed in worn jeans and an open, casual white shirt, bare feet braced apart. As he stared at her, he buttoned up the shirt.
Gillian’s mouth went dry again. What was it about barefoot, jean-wearing men that was so . . . elemental, so macho? “I hope you didn’t rush on my account.”
His gaze slid over her, hot and personal, studying her throat, bare shoulders, and cleavage, before it tracked down to her legs.
One side of his mouth quirked up. “You’re making this really easy, you realize.”
“This?”
Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, he approached her. When he stood right in front of her, he said nothing, just kept looking at her while he finished with his shirt.
“Drew?” Damn him, he left her so unsettled. “Really, I don’t—”
With his voice deeper than usual, he asked, “Do you ever wear your hair down?”
Her jaw loosened. “I don’t see—”
“Because I bet you look sexy as hell loosened up a bit, don’t you, Gillian?”
Her stomach fluttered and her breath caught. Get a grip, Gillian . Standing her ground, she thrust her chin up and glared at him. “You are outrageous.”
“I know. But it’s still true. You look hot all spruced up, but I’m betting you look even better freshly tumbled.”
He found her sexy? Freshly tumbled? Gillian shook her head to clear it. “Enough of that, Drew. We have business to discuss. Important business.”
“That we do.” He looked into her eyes, and his were so dark, so filled with purpose, that she felt herself falling. “But we’ve got all night, don’t we?”
All night. What did he mean?
He said nothing more, but Gillian was so aware of him, her every nerve ending started to tingle.
As he reached around her, she found herself leaning in—and caught his small smile.
“Have a seat.”
The fog cleared. He’d . . . pulled out a chair at the table for her? And she’d thought . . .
Heat rushed into Gillian’s face, but she tried to pretend it hadn’t. Her voice trembled, ruining her crisp tone when she said, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He circled around to a fancy bar situated in the corner of the dining room. “Drink?”
“No, thank you.” Obviously she needed her wits about her to deal with him.
“I ordered dinner. It’ll be here in an hour. If you’re hungry now, I could grab something to snack on.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.” In fact, given her overboard reaction to him, she’d do well to get this done and skip dinner completely. She tried a smile. “Maybe we can get started?”
“I’d love to.”
Now why did that sound so sexual? Maybe it was that expression of his that accompanied the words.
She started to speak, and he said, “Fran told me they’re paying you well.”
Sensing a trap, Gillian went still. Cautiously, she masked her expression and took the time to consider her response. She did make a ton of money, and she had no reason to be embarrassed about it.
She put her shoulders back. “With my record of success, I now earn a top-of-the-line wage.” Without modesty, she added, “That’s because I’m the very best at what I do.”
Ignoring what she said, Drew slouched in the hard seat and studied her. “ Outrageous , I think is how Fran described it. She said she’s paying you an outrageous amount of money.”
Unwilling to let him bully her, Gillian got out her paperwork, set it neatly aside, and folded her hands on the tabletop. “Your point?”
“You don’t want to lose this job.”
“Ha!” An understatement, but surely he had more at stake than she did. “ You can’t afford the repercussions if I should quit.”
“Touché.” His gaze warmed. “So we both want this . . . arrangement to work, agreed?”
Bantering with Drew Black was like playing with fire—tricky, and she could get burned so easily. Warily, Gillian said, “I suppose that’s a fair statement.”
So much satisfaction showed in his expression, Gillian felt like running. I will not let him get to me.
The corners of his mouth curled up. “The thing is, if you quit, or if you can’t handle the heat, Fran will just find herself another broad to harass me. But she won’t shit-can me, Gillian. She and Loren might not want to admit it, but they need me.”
Gillian feared he was right. Even while ranting about his less-than-sterling qualities, Fran Ferrari had extolled his business virtues. “I can see that you believe it.” His conceit knew no boundaries.
“I know it. They might have funded this venture, but I’m the one who made it worthwhile. I’m the one who took a floundering organization and turned it into a multimillion-dollar enterprise.”
Very true. She gave a blasé shrug. “So?”
“So when it’s all said and done, I’d prefer to work with you.”
She would not be flattered by that. Raising a brow, she asked, “The devil you know?”
“The devil I’ve already met.” His gaze dipped to her mouth, then her breasts. “A sexy devil.”
She started to remonstrate with him, and he cut her off. “But if you hightail it out of here, I’ll still be around, make no mistake about that. Fran and Loren might want me reformed, but they still want me.”
Gillian gritted her teeth. “Again I ask—what’s your point?”
“I have a deal for you.” He sat forward, hands flat on the tabletop. “You can take it or leave it, and to hell with consequences. But make your decision knowing the consequences will be worse on you than on me. I might get stuck with a woman less appealing than you. But you”—he rose from his seat—“won’t be able to meet your financial goals.”
What did he know of her financial goals? Damn Fran for broadcasting her private business. What she wanted, how long she might have wanted it, was not his business.
Rather than let him know that he’d gotten to her, she pretended it didn’t matter. And it wasn’t easy, because now that he was standing, Gillian felt almost vulnerable in her seat.
She tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. “Are you going to get to the deal anytime soon?”
He grinned and walked around to prop a hip on the table by her chair. The side of his calf brushed her knee. “You think my cursing and my temper are the root of all evil, right? No, don’t answer. I’m not an idiot. I know how women like you think.”
Affront made her forget some of her determination. “Women like me?”
“Yeah.” His voice went deeper. “Women who want to homogenize the sexes. You pretend disdain for men who act like men. You want us to be all smooth and glib and proper. But deep down”—he leaned toward her—“at night, in your bed, you know damn good and well you want a real man.”
Gillian opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“You want a guy who’s comfortable in his own skin. A guy who is different from a woman, in every way.”
As heat rose beneath her skin, she sputtered. “You . . . are so full of it.” And maybe a little right. But it was her dreaded secret, and she would never admit it to him.
He let that go. “You want me to control myself in public? No problem. Half the shit I do is just for effect anyway. But if I suck it up and censor myself, then you have to put up with me being me . . . in private.”
Oh, now that was too provocative for her to stay seated. Gillian slowly stood before him. “What, exactly, are you saying?”