CHAPTER 7
A UDREY flinched when she saw the disappointment on Brett’s face and the censure on Millie’s. He really was a nice guy—but her personal prejudice ran deep. Millie knew that, and she knew why.
Tonight they’d been through hell. Over her shoulder, she glanced back at the group of gawkers. Some were titillated, some frightened, some blasé. None of them had deserved this.
Most were without their coats, having left the building in such a rush. As the air thickened with the moisture from the impending storm, women huddled up to men for warmth.
Audrey would have loved to steal some of Brett’s warmth. But he’d lied to her, if not outright, then still by way of omission.
With her arms wrapped around herself and her shoulders hunched, she sat on the curb, shivering. At least Millie still wore her coat, had never taken it off, not when she hadn’t planned to stay.
As if she’d read Audrey’s thoughts, Millie bit her lip, and in an effort to break the strained silence, she said to Brett, “I’d only stopped by to say that I was going to take in a late movie. I knew Audrey wouldn’t be able to call me, because I’d have to turn off my cell. I just . . .”
She looked to Audrey for help, but Audrey turned away. God, she felt so stupid. Brett had walked her through the bar, handing out flyers to his friends . . . she remembered some of the looks she’d gotten, how puzzled many of the men had been.
The joke was on her. Had they laughed behind her back?
Sighing, Millie continued. “I knew you were planning to take her home but I wanted to—”
“He’s not,” Audrey said with no inflection at all. Now that she knew everything, she had no reason to let him continue with the deception.
Brett put his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “So that’s it? From one extreme to the next, just because I’m an athlete?”
“A fighter ,” Audrey stressed, even as heat rushed to her face. Brett knew how attracted she was to him—because she’d thrown herself at him.
“Same damn thing,” Brett said right back.
Though Brett’s tone wasn’t loud, his annoyance couldn’t be missed. Several people looked their way, including Jacki and Gregor.
No way would Audrey let him cause a scene. Millie hated crowds, and she especially hated being the center of attention.
A hand to her stomach, Millie seated herself beside Audrey. “I’ll drive you home, Audrey, you know that.”
No doubt Millie was anxious to get away before the situation got any worse.
Without humor, Audrey laughed. “You’ve already missed the movie now anyway, right?” She started to stand.
Millie put a hand to her knee, stalling her. “I’ll take you home, but Audrey, think about it. It was the club owner, the workers, and the fighters who took charge to make sure everyone got clear of the building.”
As thunder rumbled and the first few raindrops began to fall, Audrey stared at Millie. “You’re defending him? To me ?”
The weather worked wonders at breaking up the scene. Women rushed to their cars with men following behind. Lightning split the dark sky, prompting police officers to pull on rain slickers.
Like a different man, not angry but very impersonal, Brett stared at Audrey as he asked Millie, “Where are you parked?”
“Just down the street.”
“I’ll walk you ladies to the car before I go.”
Just like that, Audrey thought. With no explanation, no defense?
Millie gave Audrey a Do something look. In a hiss, she said, “The night should not end this way.”
No, it shouldn’t. She had a few things to say to Mr. Brett Bullman. Pushing to her feet, Audrey faced him. “You played me for a fool.”
“No, I just hedged my bets.” He glanced up at the sky, then pulled off his flannel and put it around her. “Doesn’t matter now, though, does it?” He started them toward the car.
He sounded hurt? But he was the one who’d duped her! And why walk her to the car now? He had to know she wasn’t going home with him. Not now, not ever.
A little voice inside herself suggested that maybe there were things about Brett that were true—like the protective instincts she’d witnessed tonight.
Audrey started to doubt herself.
Until Brett suddenly said, “You weren’t too worried about a bomb, were you, Audrey?”
“What?” She stalled, but Brett kept her moving until they were close to the car.
Looking suspicious, and disgruntled because of it, he used his hold on her arm to turn her to face him. “As I recall, you were more intent on ogling Gregor than on getting out of the building.”
She inflated with umbrage.
Yanking herself free of Brett’s hold, she squared her shoulders and stared him in the eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Brett shrugged. Audrey thought he looked cold, standing there in the damp wind in only a T-shirt. But he didn’t shiver, he just kept his arms closer to his body, his shoulders slightly lifted.
The wind plastered his shirt to his body, showing off wide shoulders and a solid chest.
Not that she cared about any of that.
His jaw tightened. “Got any men in your organization?”
“Why?” Never would she back down against a slur to her reputation. “No, wait, let me guess. Did a man call in the threat?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Millie finally caught on to Brett’s accusations. “You actually think that Audrey placed a bomb threat? Good Lord, you don’t know her at all, do you? Audrey would never do such a thing.” She harrumphed. “And to think I was defending you!”
Brett didn’t look at Millie; his attention stayed focused on Audrey. “Is that a yes or a no?”
Movements stiff with anger, Audrey peeled off his flannel and threw it at him. “There are no men taking an active role in WAVS.”
Millie scoffed at him. “The name ought to tell you that. It’s Women Against Violent Sports.”
“But,” Audrey said, interrupting her, “in case you want to accuse them, we have been backed by male senators and state representatives, and plenty of supportive men have given us cash donations for printing literature about the sport—literature that you helped to disperse under false interest .”
He dared to laugh, mocking her. “I thought I was pretty damned clear about my interest. And at least I was willing to listen to another opinion, which is more than you can say, right?”
“You didn’t give me a chance!”
“Come on, Audrey. What you thought of fighters was pretty clear. What was it Millie called us? Brutal specimens?”
Millie flushed. “I, ah . . .”
“I figured if you knew I was a fighter, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. And I was right, wasn’t I? The second you found out, you were pissed.”
Oh, no. She would not let him turn this around on her. “Because you didn’t tell me.” Audrey’s voice dropped, and she couldn’t hide the resentment. “I had to find out from your friends. Do you know how stupid that makes me feel?”
His brows pulled down more. He drew a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said on an exhalation.
Millie softened.
Audrey wasn’t so quick. Too much had happened today for a simple “I’m sorry” to make a dent. “For what, Brett? Not telling me that you’re a fighter? Or for accusing me of sending a bomb threat?”
Casting a furtive look around them, he winced. “Bring it down, will you?” He moved closer to explain, “Rumors can get started that way.”
Audrey couldn’t believe his belated concern. “ You started them!”
“And I apologized.” He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “It’s just . . . well, you sort of took everything in stride—”
“Oh, right.” Sarcasm rippled through her; her ponytail bobbed as she shook her head. “I guess I was supposed to scream in terror and panic?”
He eyed her militant stance.
She wasn’t through. “Maybe I should have collapsed, so you could have thrown me over your shoulder and carried me out like a hero?”
“Maybe.” At her ridiculous description one side of his mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t have minded. But you didn’t need rescuing at all, did you?”
“Neither did you,” she threw back at him. “But I didn’t sling accusations at you because of that.”
“I needed help,” Millie reminded them.
Audrey spared her a glance. She knew Millie wanted to help, but this was too personal.
She hadn’t known Brett long, but what he thought was important to her. “I’m incapable of something so unethical, Brett.”
Appearing regretful, he nodded. “I’m sorry. Again.” He glanced back at the police lights and chaos of investigation. “I hope like hell it was only a prank.”
“Me, too.” Audrey thought of the panic that the threat had caused. “But whether it was or not, it’s still unconscionable.”
“Yeah.” Affectionate once more, Brett again draped his flannel around her. He bent his knees to give her a cajoling smile. “Forgive me?”
She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Not much has changed, Brett. You’re still a fighter.” And he’d still misled her.
As if her stubbornness broke him down, he pretended weak knees.
“Come on, girl.” Grinning at her, he straightened again. “At least give me a chance to show you that fighters are nice guys, too.”
Not moving away from his nearness, Audrey slanted him a look. “I don’t know. The way you acted tonight wasn’t very nice.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right. I guess I’m not used to women taking threats in stride.”
“I’m a tomboy.” She always had been. Panicking was not her m.o. Fixing the issue—that was the course she liked to take whenever possible.
It was also how she’d gotten so involved in WAVS.
“Sexy tomboy,” he said, and then his grin faded. “The thing is, Audrey, I’m not going to be the only one to consider you. You were just at the club to protest the SBC. And the guy who called in the threat said he wanted to take out Drew Black and whatever fighters he could.”
Devastated, Audrey sucked in a breath. “And you thought that was me ?”
“Or a guy working for you.” Shaking his head in apology, he said, “I know how much you dislike him. And thanks to those flyers we handed out, so does everyone who frequents the club.”
“You’re right.” Good God, she could be a prime suspect. Her stomach went queasy. She looked at the officer and thought about going to him now, to get it out of the way. But he was so busy . . .
“It’s cold and it’s rainy,” Brett told her. “Let me take you home.”
Audrey weakened, but she didn’t give in. Not entirely. “Thanks, but it’s been a crazy night. I need some time to think.”
His disappointment showed, but still he opened the car door for her. “No pressure. But Audrey? If you change your mind, I’ll be at Havoc’s gym most days till five.”
And with that, he walked away.
Audrey watched him go with a pang of regret and a wealth of confusion. She understood his allegation; she really did. To most, she’d be a likely suspect. But that didn’t make it any easier.
It suddenly dawned on her that Millie had gone too quiet.
“Hey.” She touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
Millie nodded, but she looked shaken. “It’s so stupid, but it still shakes me up to think about that man.”
“Drew Black.”
She looked away. “I’m sure he has a lot of enemies, but I can’t believe the caller named him as a target.” Shaking it off, Millie started her car and put it in drive. “One of these days, he’s going to get someone hurt.”
Or worse, Audrey thought. One day, Drew Black might get someone killed.
ANOTHER furtive search amplified frustration; Drew Black was nowhere in the crowd. Why hadn’t he been at the bar tonight? And where was he anyway? Off fucking with someone else’s life?
His plans changed so often, and he was so unpredictable, sabotaging him wasn’t easy.
That just meant the challenge of destroying him would be more fun. And in the end the world would be a better place.
A sound disturbed Gillian, but after being utterly sated from hours of rigorous, mind-blowing sex, lethargy made it impossible to focus. Drew slept wrapped around her with one large hand cupping her breast and his chest hair tickling her back. The heat from his big body added to her lassitude.
Heavenly. Unexpected. And probably foolhardy.
But she didn’t care. How could she after what they’d just shared? She’d read about superhot sex, and she’d seen made-up examples in the movies. She’d never thought to experience it firsthand.
The sound came again, nudging at her tired brain until she realized it was a cell phone. Not her ring, so it must be Drew’s.
She stirred enough to lift her head, and before she could speak Drew snuggled closer and said, “Ignore it.”
A glance at his bedside clock showed it wasn’t late. Only about eleven P.M. Gillian smiled. They’d started their sexual marathon before dinner, and though neither of them were used to early nights, they’d both been sleeping soundly.
“It could be important.”
He shifted, and his mouth touched her shoulder at the same time she felt him press his erection against her bottom.
“ This is important.” The hand at her breast got busy, cuddling, stroking, exploring as if he hadn’t already gotten acquainted with her each and every curve.
Crazy as it seemed, desire started a slow burn inside her. “What if it’s Dickey?”
“I’ll kill him.” Opening his mouth on her nape, Drew sent tingles down her spine. His thumb circled around her nipple, then over it, and the already sensitive peak grew taut.
“Drew . . .” Breathless, she caught his wrist. “Wait.”
“I hope that’s a joke.” With her trying to slow him down, he slid his hand relentlessly along her body until he could press his strong fingers between her legs. “Yeah,” he said when he felt her heat and the way she tensed in pleasure. “Definitely a joke.”
The phone went silent. With that issue resolved, Gillian tried to move to her back to accept more of Drew’s attention, but he forestalled that plan.
“No, I like you like this.” And then lower, his voice a growl: “I love your ass.” He moved against her until his erection slid along her cleft.
“Drew . . .” He was by far the most sexual man she’d ever met. For him, nothing seemed forbidden as long as she enjoyed it, too.
“You like it doggy style, Gillian? Because I do.”
“I don’t know.” She was far from inexperienced, but her bedroom pleasures had always been less than adventurous. Missionary style with the lights low; never with so much chitchat.
“Yeah? Let’s find out.” He leaned up to look at her. “Stay put while I get a condom.” Hastily he rolled to his side of the bed. Lying on her left side, away from him, Gillian let her mind imagine all sorts of things, like how Drew would look as he handled himself, rolling on the condom. She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to turn and watch him.
In seconds, she heard the nightstand drawer open, the crinkling of a condom packet, and then Drew was back.
Arranging her as he pleased, he wedged one arm under her neck and across to her chest to give his hand access to her breasts. Cupping her knee with his other hand, he urged her right leg higher—and then she felt the head of his penis at her sex.
He didn’t enter her right away; instead he slid back and forth, each time making her wetter, more aroused. With every glide she wondered if he’d thrust into her.
He didn’t.
“Drew . . . ,” she warned.
“In this position,” he said, his voice rough, “I can get to your nipples and your clit.” As he said it, he did it, tugging on a nipple at the same time he found, and lightly pinched, her clitoris.
“Drew.”
“I like how you say my name, Gillian.” In one long, strong move, he thrust into her.
The shock of so much sensation all at once overwhelmed her and she moaned. But now that he was in her, he didn’t start the friction that they’d both need to come. Instead, he just pressed hard into her—and stayed there.
“Now, isn’t this nice?”
It was, but . . . “I need you to—”
“Move? Not yet.” He kissed her throat, the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, up to her ear. Sounding gravelly and aroused despite his control, he said, “You wrung me out already, so guess what? I can last for hours now.” He rolled her nipple, worked her clit with his thumb, and whispered, “Hours.”
Oh, God, she’d never be able to take it.
His phone rang again, and again he chose to ignore it. But even in a maelstrom of lust, it worried Gillian. “Do you always get this many evening calls?”
He ignored the question and slid out of her, only to drive back in. Hard.
The bed rocked. Gillian gasped. She forgot about the phone.
He did it again. And again. Each thrust was slow and solid as he almost pulled out of her and then buried himself deep. And with each thrust, he held on to her nipple, her clitoris.
Far too quickly, Gillian felt herself on the brink. When Drew’s phone finally stopped ringing, she reached back and clasped his hip, trying to make him move faster.
“Only drawback with this position,” he said, “is that I can’t suck on your nipples. Later, maybe after we’ve showered and gotten something else to eat . . .”
How in the world could he talk right now? Eyes closed and skin dewy, Gillian felt the building of a powerful orgasm pulsing through her nerve endings.
“. . . I’ll get you to sit on my lap, and let me take from you until I get my fill. What do you think, Gillian? Will you let me have an hour or so just drawing off these soft pink nipples of yours?”
The thought astounded, and stimulated, her. Hours? No, she’d never be able to do that.
“Or how about right here?” He caught her small turgid clitoris between fingers and thumb. Tugging gently, he asked, “You like oral sex, honey? Could I maybe sit between your legs, with them real wide, and suck on you here until you—”
Crying out, Gillian climaxed.
She heard Drew chuckle— chuckle —and wanted to strangle him. Later she’d get even. Somehow. She’d have to think about that one. But right now, thoughts were impossible.
He held her close as she came. Toward the end, as a great shuddering moan went through her, she felt him stiffen at her back, felt his hand hard on her hip, keeping her steady for his pounding thrusts.
And he joined her.
They both lay panting, limp. Gillian felt him leave her, and he rolled to his back.
Still breathing fast, he rested a hand on her hip. “I like how you moan, but it does me in.”
Trying to think of something to say, Gillian fell to her back, too—and his doorbell rang.
Both surprised, they looked at each other.
Gillian recovered first. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Popular tonight? First phone calls, and now a visitor.”
His eyes closed for the briefest of time, then frustration took over.
“Son of a bitch ,” he snarled as he launched himself out of the bed. “I don’t fucking believe this.” He stormed into the bathroom and came back with the condom gone and a towel in his hand. He wrapped it around his hips as he headed out of the bedroom.
“Be right back.”
He had no shame at all. “I’m not going anywhere.” Gillian knew he didn’t hear her because he’d already stomped through the door. She started to worry about Dickey, as he was the obvious choice for interrupting, but then it occurred to her that it could be anyone calling. Getting caught buck naked in Drew Black’s bed wouldn’t be a smart business move. She all but leaped from the bed.
Forgoing underwear, she stepped into her skirt and was still buttoning her blouse when she crept to the hall to listen in.
Peeking around the corner, she saw Drew look out the window first, and then with a muttered “What the fuck?” he opened the door.
A solid, uniformed officer stood there. He must have gone prematurely gray, because he looked to be in his late forties but had a full head of silvery hair. “Drew Black?”
“Yeah.” Drew leaned out the door to look beyond the cop. “What’s going on?”
“I’m Officer Sparks. Everyone is fine, but there was an incident I’d like to discuss with you.”
For Gillian, an officer at the door was a monumental thing, so she couldn’t believe it when Drew said, “It’s a bad time, Sparks. Can you make it fast?”
The officer’s face grew stony. “All right, I’ll try to cut to the chase, then.” His smile wasn’t pleasant. “A bomb threat was called in to Roger’s Rodeo.”
“No shit?” Drew didn’t seem particularly thrown by a bomb threat, either. “Anyone hurt?”
“No. We did a thorough check of the building and found nothing.”
“That’s great.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame. “So why are you at my door?”
“The caller specifically named you as the target for the bomb.”
Gillian’s automatic gasp drew the officer’s attention. He leaned into the entrance to look at her.
Oops. Too late to dart behind the wall as she’d like to do. It was unfortunate that she hadn’t tucked in her blouse or retied her scarf to hide the love bite on her neck. Chagrined, she stepped out into the open. “Officer Sparks.”
The officer did a quick, automatic once-over before nodding. “Ma’am.” He averted his gaze.
Attention lingering on her breasts beneath the white blouse, Drew sent her a chiding glance. Raising a brow, he turned back to the officer. “As you see, I’m a little preoccupied right now.”
Pen poised, the officer asked, “And she is . . . ?”
Drew repositioned himself to block Sparks’s view of her. “She’s none of your business.”
Shocked at the disrespect, Gillian gaped at him. “Drew, what in the world is wrong with you?”
Sighing loud enough for his neighbors to hear, Drew pivoted around to face her. “He has a notebook, honey.” When she just stared at him, he prompted, “For taking notes?”
Neither the officer nor Gillian understood.
“He’s investigating a bomb threat,” Gillian reminded him. “I imagine he wants to get his facts straight.”
“I’m sure he does.” Drew didn’t budge an inch. “But I’m the prez of the SBC, and someone apparently sent that bomb threat in my name. Given that everything with me goes public, this will sure as hell hit the Net, and probably the local papers and news stations. Even if the good officer is discreet, you know how jammed Roger’s place gets. Lots of folks would have gotten wind of this by now.”
“Oh.” Drew was trying to protect her. Gillian felt like a fool.
“So tell me, doll, do you really want him to write down your name, give details of how he found you, and share with others what it’s pretty clear that we’ve been doing?”
Her cheeks warmed at his deliberate provocation. “Of course not.”
Drew smiled at the cop. “There you go. The lady’s keeping mum.”
If she had something to throw, Gillian would have lobbed it at his head. How dare he put this all off on her? He didn’t want their intimate relationship known either. Sure, she had more to lose. But if the SBC owners found out, Drew could end up fired.
Officer Sparks looked between them with disinterest. “I take it one of you is married, huh?”
Gillian gasped, “No.” How dare he make such an assumption? Holding up her ringless fingers, she gave the cop a good frown. “It’s not like that at all.”
Drew silenced Gillian with a single look, and when he gave his attention back to Officer Sparks, his smile turned feral. “Neither of us is cheating, but again: it’s none of your business .”
Thankfully for Gillian’s peace of mind, the officer let it go. “Were you supposed to be at the bar tonight?”
Drew shrugged. It amazed Gillian that he was as at ease in a towel as he was in a suit. “Had planned on it, yeah.”
“What happened?”
“You’re kidding, right?” He referenced Gillian with a shrug of his head. “I found a better way to spend my evening.”
The fib left Gillian uncomfortable. Drew had changed his plans because of Dickey. Getting together with her happened after that. But maybe he had a reason for keeping Dickey out of the equation.
“Were you supposed to meet anyone at the bar?”
“Not a set meeting or anything. Just loose plans to hang out with friends.”
“Any of those friends maybe want to see you blown up?”
Drew laughed.
Asking the question forefront in Gillian’s mind, the officer said, “That’s funny?”
Cool, rainy air blew in through the open door, but Drew didn’t invite the cop in to extend his visit more comfortably.
“Look, in my position, someone always hates me. Threats are made.” He shrugged with indifference. “It comes with the territory.”
“How so?”
Holding out his arms, Drew said, “The buck stops here, baby.” Then, more seriously, he explained the scope of his responsibilities. “I’m the one who decides if a fighter gets a spot in the SBC or if he gets sent home. I choose the venues, not just here in the States, but in the rest of the fucking world, too. Everyone wants us, but not everyone can have us. So someone’s always crying foul play.”
Officer Sparks stopped writing to listen.
“I deal with overzealous managers and agents, and the athletic commission. On top of all that, I handle a lot of the press. Every pissant so-called reporter who doesn’t get a scoop wants to rip my guts out. And then there are the fanatics who think the sport is too brutal or who—”
Holding up a hand, Sparks cut him short. “Got it. You can be public enemy number one.”
Drew’s smile showed his lack of concern with the animosity. “Yeah, and sometimes I’m everyone’s best friend. Just depends on what’s going on and who’s involved. I can’t let any of that shit get to me or I wouldn’t be able to do my job. I’m sorry that Roger had the hassle, and I hope it didn’t ruin the night for anyone, but what the fuck? You can’t expect me to take it seriously.”
Gillian held back, but it wasn’t easy. Whether or not Drew saw any validity in the threat, it scared her.
The cop considered his attitude. “Actually, as long as I’m taking it seriously, I’d appreciate it if you did, too. So tell me, have any of the haters, past or present, seemed the type to issue a bomb threat?”
“Not really, no. But then I don’t exactly go out of my way to understand the mental workings of those who give me grief, you know?”
“Understandable. So who knew about your plans tonight?”
“Just some people in the business. Regular folks.”
“You know them all well?”
“Well enough that I wouldn’t accuse any of them of being bomb happy.”
The officer had several more questions, wrote lots of notes, and finally handed a card to Drew. “If you think of anything, even something that might not seem important to you, give me a call.”
Drew tossed it onto a table. “Thanks.”
Hands on his hips, Officer Sparks turned to Gillian. “If you want to maintain anonymity, I’d suggest you finish dressing and get out of here. The press was showing up when I left. If the owner of the club, Mr. Sims, mentions any details . . . well, you could end up with reporters at the door instead of me.” And with that, he tipped his hat and left.
After he closed and relocked the door, Drew surveyed her and groaned. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
Gillian stared at him in wonder. How could he remain so cavalier? “Most definitely. The sooner, the better.” Already on her way back to the bedroom, she shouted, “Get dressed and get me out of here, Drew. Hurry it up.”