CHAPTER 13
A LL her life she’d been a responsible person. For years now, she’d felt a driving sense of duty that kept her from most social endeavors, particularly romantic involvements. She knew she shouldn’t leave Millie waiting, especially under the circumstances: Millie claimed to have solid proof of the brutality and corruption in the SBC.
But . . . for once her heart overruled her head.
She stood and took Brett’s hand.
As if she’d accepted more than his offering of shared intimacy, his gaze darkened, heated. She felt it, too. They were on a precipice of commitment, and she couldn’t be happier—or more nervous—about it.
Walking backward, her hand held securely in his, Brett led the way into the small bathroom. “What do you have going on today?”
Audrey bit her lips, cleared her throat. Knowing what was about to happen, and how new it still was for her, it wasn’t easy to think right now. “A meeting with Millie, work, and then just errands.” She tried to sound blasé and failed miserably. “Why?”
He towed her into the room and shut the door behind her. With excruciating slowness, he tugged the quilt away from her one-handed grip and held it open wide. His gaze on her belly, he whispered, “I liked sleeping with you last night.”
Her heart swelled. “Me, too.”
Expression warming, he continued to look at her with the quilt at her back as if it were a barrier from escape. “Want to stay again tonight?”
She couldn’t breathe. “Yes.” Inhaling, she said again, with more conviction, “ Yes , I’d like that.”
Brett smiled, and it was unlike any other smile she’d seen from him. Dropping the quilt to the floor, he took a step back and peeled off his sweatshirt. “This could become a habit, you know.”
Mesmerized by his casual striptease, Audrey croaked out, “What?”
“Showering together. Sleeping together.” He shucked off his jogging pants, socks, and shoes and straightened in front of her. With a load of heart-melting meaning, he whispered, “Being together.”
For long moments, Audrey just concentrated on breathing, on refraining from throwing herself at him. But she was clear on one thing: “I’d like that, too. If . . . if it became a habit, I mean.”
Seeing how she looked at his body, Brett hauled her up close for a devastating kiss. But when she let her hands wander down his torso, he caught her wrists and laughed out an apology. “Sorry. I definitely need a shower before that gets out of hand.”
He turned on the water and retrieved towels; Audrey stood there watching him, thinking that she loved his heated scent, the feel of his sweat-slick skin over solid muscles. When he had everything arranged, he stepped under the spray and waited for her to join him.
Showering with a man was a unique experience, one of many that she’d had with Brett. In such a short time, he’d given her so much and made her feel more like a self-assured woman and less like a protester on a mission.
Having fun, they took turns washing each other—and it became a special brand of foreplay that tortured her already heightened senses.
“I don’t have a rubber in here.” Brett kissed her throat, her shoulder. “If I don’t stop now, I might not be able to. And neither of us wants that.”
She wasn’t so sure what she wanted anymore, but Brett had too much planned for his future to take unnecessary risks. Never would she want to be a burden to him.
She stepped away with a smile. “I’ll race you to the bedroom.”
Brett laughed, and even that, the husky timbre of his humor, excited her. After rinsing, they hurriedly dried and, still damp in places, rushed down the hall like children.
Very conscious of Brett trailing her, Audrey was only a few feet away from his bedroom when he scooped her up from behind and stepped into the room with her held in his arms. She squealed and laughed—and learned that lovemaking could be amusing as well as sizzling.
She hadn’t been this lighthearted for a very long time.
Spice leaped from the bed when they came down together onto the mattress, making it bounce.
Rising on his elbows, Brett smiled down at her. “I really like you, Audrey Porter.” He stole a soft, quick kiss from her mouth. “Everything about you.”
She smiled, too, but she knew it was a lie. As good-natured and accepting as Brett seemed, he couldn’t like her disapproval of his chosen profession. It was like a giant roadblock in the way of any real, lasting relationship between them, and it almost made her feel ill.
And if Millie had her way and they exposed the ugliness of the sport even more, what would Brett do? Could she let her personal feelings for him get in the way of what she believed was right?
“Hey.” Brett tilted his head to study her. “I didn’t expect my declaration to make you so gloomy.”
“No.” Shaking her head and wrapping her arms around him, Audrey denied it. “Your declaration makes me want to cry with happiness, because I really like you, too.” She pulled him down to her, desperate to take what she could before it all fell apart.
“Yeah? Show me.” And with that, he kissed her with the intent of making them both nuts.
There were no more words, and though Audrey knew she shouldn’t linger, she couldn’t find the strength to hurry things along, either. Luckily, Brett was in a rush of his own, taking her as if his control had left him, as if he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him.
He was braced on one arm over her, thrusting inside her, pushing her hard while plying her breasts with fascination, when Audrey gave in to an all-consuming climax. Through a haze of pleasure she watched Brett’s face, saw his nostrils flare, his jaw lock, and then he, too, came.
When they’d both quieted their laboring breaths, he fell to his side next to her. Audrey stared at the ceiling and relived each incredible moment. How Brett seemed to know exactly what to do, and when, amazed her. He was so in tune to her and her needs that he made her feel very special.
With him, she felt things she hadn’t known existed—but not just during sex.
Like . . . right now.
She turned her head to look at him, and there was such a connection to him that it humbled her. “Brett?”
“Hmmm?” He scratched his chest and then turned his head toward her. His small smile was one of pleasure and contentment.
God, she hated this. Best to just get it over with. “Millie wants to do a story.”
Maybe it was the way she said it, the dread she felt, but Brett went still and the smile disappeared. “What story?”
Because that one was hard to explain, Audrey said instead, “She called last night, but I didn’t hear my phone.”
“I know. You left your purse and phone on the sofa.” Now frowning, Brett rolled up to one elbow. “What story, Audrey?”
A deep breath didn’t help at all. Audrey sat up and wondered where her clothes had gone. She found them crumpled on the floor and gathered them into her arms.
She didn’t want to remain naked while explaining this. “Let me get dressed and you can”—she nodded toward the condom—“take care of that, then we’ll talk.”
After appraising her with a long look, Brett left the bed without a word and headed for the bathroom. Audrey was dressed by the time he returned. He walked past her to the closet and got out a clean T-shirt, then boxers, socks, and jeans from his dresser.
Standing with the clothes in his arms, his feet braced apart, he studied her. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
Nervousness growing, Audrey asked, “Will you join me for a cup?”
Seconds ticked by before he said, “I don’t drink coffee, but I’ll sit with you.”
For some reason, his words felt like a dismissal, so she started edging toward the door. “Okay. I’ll . . . be in the kitchen when you finish.”
She helped herself to the coffee and was sitting at the table when Brett came in and poured himself a glass of water. “Why do you make coffee if you don’t drink it?”
He didn’t join her at the table, but instead leaned back on the counter. “Other people do.”
He waited without pressing her, but Audrey knew she had no more excuses for not telling him. Millie was waiting on her, and then she had to get to work.
“I don’t have all the details yet—Millie will explain everything when I see her. But last night, when she was at Drew Black’s house—”
Brett’s eyebrows shot up. “She was at his house? Seriously?” He left the counter and pulled out a chair.
“Yes. You see—”
Leaning on the table, he asked, “ Why was she there? To represent WAVS in some way?”
Disapproval reeked in his tone, and Audrey felt defensive. “Someone—not from WAVS—was taking photos of Mr. Black and I guess he found out and chased the poor photographer—”
“ Poor photographer?” He leaned back in his chair. “Unbelievable.”
Already on edge, Audrey plunked down her cup and almost spilled the hot brew. “Are you going to let me tell this or not?”
Brett ran a hand through his hair, then gestured grandly. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
The beginnings of a headache set in. “The photographer ran away from Mr. Black, and in the process, he got hit by a speeding car and died.”
Going still, Brett muttered, “Shit.”
Vindicated, Audrey repeated what Millie had told her. “In a response to reporters, Mr. Black apparently expressed a total lack of remorse for the man’s demise.”
That locked up Brett’s jaw, but he kept silent.
Audrey leaned toward him. “It’s all very complicated, but . . . my understanding is that the owners of the SBC hired a publicist for Mr. Black, a woman to sort of make him over into a less offensive person.”
“That wasn’t entirely the plan, but yeah, I already know about her. What of it?”
Audrey’s mouth fell open. “You knew?”
“It’s not a big deal, Audrey. Lots of public figures have publicists.”
“But according to sources—”
“What sources?”
She had no idea. “—This woman isn’t just publicizing him, but rather trying to change his image entirely.”
Brett shrugged. “Trust me, that’s never going to happen. Drew is who he is, and most people either love him or despise him. But I can tell you this: the fans worship him. He made this sport. Hell, some believe he is the sport. In my opinion, the SBC is way off in how they’re handling this. It’s largely due to Drew’s image that we’ve gotten the recognition we have now. Far as I’m concerned, other than the personal conflict you witnessed, Drew Black is fine as is.”
Audrey pulled herself together. “How can you say that?”
“I know him better than you do.”
Smug, she asked, “Well, did you know that he’s sleeping with the publicist? No matter how you look at it, that makes for a huge conflict of interest.”
His exasperation was made clear with a drawn-out sigh. “Come on, Audrey. Why shouldn’t two mature adults get together if that’s what they want to do? Their relationship isn’t hurting anyone, and if you ask me, it’s no one’s business.”
No one’s business . He’d included her in that statement. But how could she ignore this? “Millie was there, and she got the whole thing on her recorder, including the fact that Mr. Black might be replaced within the organization.”
Brett straightened. “I don’t believe that.”
“She says her sources are secure. She . . . well, she interviewed the publicist, too. That’s the basis of her story, that Mr. Black corrupts everyone around him and even seduced a woman who he knew was off-limits to him.”
That brought out a guffaw. “I met Gillian Noode. Trust me, she’s not a weak woman easily seduced. If she’s sleeping with Drew, it’s because that’s what she wants to do, not because she’s a victim.” He shook his head. “And again, Audrey, how is that hurting anyone? Why does WAVS even care what a publicist does, with or without Drew Black?”
Audrey tried to drum up her earlier convictions. Just weeks ago, she’d have had her verbal ammunition loaded and ready to fire away. But now . . . now she saw both sides, and it made everything so much more complicated.
Her voice rose with the effort to make sense of it all. “The publicist is defending Mr. Black, trying to make him look better than he is. She and the SBC organization are hoping to hide his faults and cover up his brutalities. But Brett, you can’t just put a pretty face on the ugly truth.”
“What ugly truth are we talking about?”
Oh, God, the way he asked that . . . She did not want their growing relationship to come to a staggering halt, but how could she live with herself if she did nothing, and someone else suffered because of it?
Appearing almost saddened by her attitude, Brett reached for her hand. “Come on, Audrey. Tell me what you have against the SBC, and then we can talk about what really matters.”
How did he do that, cut straight to the core of her feelings? He wanted the truth, and . . .
Why not? Talking about it was so painful, but it’d be the easiest way to make him understand why she couldn’t just switch alliances. She needed resolution.
Audrey looked at his big hand holding hers with care. Brett was different; she was convinced of that. But one good example didn’t change the norm.
She met his gaze—and bared her soul. “Because of the SBC, my nineteen-year-old brother was killed. And believe me, Brett, that’s more than enough to make anyone realize what a horrible, bloodthirsty sport it is.”
DREW watched Gillian part the curtains with care. For hours now, throughout the night and into the early morning, she’d been pacing with anxiety. Every time she peeked outside, he knew it was with the hope that the nosy reporters had left so that she could escape the invasion of her privacy, the scandal . . . and him.
One by one throughout the long night, the fighters had split, and a few of the reporters had followed them. Only a few die-hard scandal-seekers had remained, but given the relief in Gillian’s shoulders, even those must have closed up their tents finally.
“They’re gone.” Face set in lines of determination, she started to hurry past him, but Drew caught her.
“Where are you going?”
For a heartbeat, she looked so lost, his guts knotted. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Home, I guess. I need to get hold of Fran, I need to do some damage control, I need—”
His phone rang, and it so startled Gillian that she yelped.
Eyeing her too-tense posture, Drew pulled out his cell phone, glanced at the number, and shrugged at the inevitability of it.
Knowing Gillian stood there in awful suspense, he put the phone to his ear and said, “Hey, Fran. What’s shaking?”
Gillian’s eyes sank shut and a cloak of defeat masked her usual confidence.
Fran asked, “Is she there, Drew?”
He watched Gillian. “Who?”
“You know damn good and well who I mean. Gillian Noode. Is she there with you even now?”
“Now, Fran, you know that’s none of your damn business.” Gillian’s eyes flashed open and she stared at him aghast. Shaking her head hard, she tried to discourage him. But what the hell? The damage was done, so why should he go down with a smile?
“My God, she is. I knew when I called and she didn’t answer . . .”
“It is damn early still.”
“Yet you answered.”
Drew shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’ve never kept regular hours. That’s one reason you’ve been riding my ass, right? To make me conform?”
“Enough.” Fran sucked in air to moderate her temper, and then she gritted out, “Put. The phone. On loudspeaker.”
Drew rubbed his head. “Fine.” Covering the mouthpiece, he said to Gillian, “She knows you’re here and she wants to talk to both of us.” Before Gillian could assimilate that, he uncovered the phone, hit a button, and said, “Go ahead, Fran. Let the vitriol fly, old girl.”
Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Gillian gasped, “Shut up , Drew.” Then, remembering that Fran could hear her, she looked ready to sink into the floor.
“Hello, Gillian.” Tone clipped and disapproving, Fran said, “I figured I’d find you there, all things considered.”
Gillian gave Drew a black scowl and cleared her throat. “Fran, good morning. I was going to call you to set up a meeting as soon as I got home.”
“Which would have been when?”
“At a more respectable hour, of course.”
Oh-ho! Score one for Gillian for that backhanded censure against Fran’s crack-of-dawn phone call. Grinning, Drew feigned a knockout punch as a sign of approval, and said, “Yeah, and speaking of respectable, why don’t we set up a meeting for later today, and we can all—”
“Obviously, Gillian,” Fran cut in, her voice raised, “this is not how I planned for you to transform Drew’s image.”
Gillian’s backbone came back in spades. “ This has nothing to do with Drew’s image. It’s personal and I don’t care to discuss it.”
“Well, my dear, you should have told that to the reporters who’ve been calling me through the night, asking for a statement.”
Gillian stiffened. “In fact, I did tell them.” She struggled for composure. “And as to our business agreement, I have been following a detailed and intelligent plan that I think you’ll find is adequately building a more unbiased perception—”
“You’re fired.”
Gillian’s mouth snapped shut.
Drew blew a fuse. “She fucking well did what you wanted her to!”
With ringing sarcasm, Fran quipped, “Oh, certainly, Drew. The transformation is astounding. I hardly recognize you.”
Gillian rubbed her forehead. “Drew, enough already. It doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit.”
Clearly mortified, Gillian straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. “I can see that there’s nothing more to discuss, then. Fran, I’ll be sending you a list of my arrangements for future speaking engagements I’d lined up for Drew. I believe if you follow through, you can still—”
Drew snorted. “No way. Because I quit.”
Stunned silence ensued.
Gillian blinked at him in confusion, and she blinked again when he winked at her.
He could hear Fran breathing. Finally, her voice shrill, she said, “You’re bluffing.”
“Nope.”
“I know you, Drew Black. You would be miserable if you retired.”
“Who said anything about retiring?” He gave Gillian a once-over, and she looked so adorable in her uncertainty that he couldn’t wait to finish the call. “Your snit changes nothing for me. I’ll be doing business as usual.”
Gillian didn’t understand—but Fran sure as hell did.
“Oh. My. God.” And then with ripe fury: “You’re going to another organization?”
Satisfied with her reaction, Drew propped a shoulder against the wall and smiled. “Now, Fran, we both know I won’t have to. They’ll be coming to me just as soon as Gillian and I do a press conference explaining that I’m free.”
“You bastard!”
After all of Fran’s plans to make him over, her attitude that she’d found him lacking . . . well, it felt damn good to have the upper hand again.
And he owed Gillian for that.
“Face it, Fran. You hired Gillian because she was the best. You told me so yourself. And with her representing my interests now, I’m going to come out of this smelling like a rose.”
“Gillian agreed to this?”
“You fired her. What do you think?”
As he spoke, Drew took in Gillian’s shock. The color had drained from her face, and her entire posture slumped. He saw it in her eyes—how she would try to defend him—so before she could start bowing and scraping on his behalf, Drew took the phone off loudspeaker and put it back to his ear.
“Have a good life, Frannie.” He heard Fran start to speak, but he shut the phone on her and slipped it back into his pocket.
Had Gillian really thought he’d let her just walk away? That he’d let her be fired while he stood by and did nothing? Like hell.
Right now, she looked wrecked, not at all her usual poised, classy self. But he’d take care of that.
Drew didn’t reach for her. Not yet. He didn’t know what she was thinking, if she blamed their affair for the sudden downturn in every direction. All he knew for a certainty was that they weren’t done. Not by a long shot. “You okay, honey?”
She shook her head. “You . . . you just quit. ”
Even now, during the proverbial shit-storm, teasing her appealed to him, so he said, “Damn, but you’re sharp. Nothing gets by you.”
Numbness waned beneath ire. Her impressive chest heaved, drawing his attention. “Are you out of your mind? You love your job!”
Drew shrugged. “Yeah, well, Fran was going to fire me anyway. Not permanently, you know, but long enough to manipulate me or punish me—one of those gamey moves women like to use to make men squirm.” He pushed away from the wall. “But you know I’m not a fan of squirming.”
As if his mood finally penetrated her fog, Gillian took a step back. “Drew . . .”
“Out of bed, that is. In bed . . . honey, you can make me squirm all you want. I’ll look forward to it.”
Her jaw loosened. “For crying out loud, Drew. I can’t believe you’re talking about sex right now!”
“I’m horny,” he said by way of explanation. “How about you?”
She stopped retreating and took a stance. “Drew, this is serious. When the firm finds out about this, they’ll fire me, too. My entire life is crumbling. No one is going to want to work with me after this.”
Drew couldn’t help but snuggle her in close. “Don’t be so dramatic. Everything is fine, I swear.”
She groaned. “You’re an idiot.” There was no real venom in her insult, just numb disbelief.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, being as conciliatory as he thought she needed him to be. “But, sweetheart, I am not a man without resources. Do you think the SBC is the only gig in town?”
She pressed back to stare at him. “I heard what you told Fran, but that was just a bluff, right?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t bluff about something that important.”
“But . . .” She slapped away his wandering hands as he tried to cuddle her backside. “You’ve told me over and over again that the SBC is the only gig in town, that it is the MMA organization, that no other organization can come close to comparing—”
“Yeah, because I was in charge.” Without her realizing it, he started easing her toward his bedroom. He hadn’t lied about being horny. Seeing her so vulnerable brought out his inner King Kong. And beyond that, she needed to relax a little so she could get things in perspective.
And once she did, she’d realize that she wasn’t done with him, either.
Whatever it took, he would make this right for her—after he gave them both some sexual oblivion. “Trust me, honey, I can build greatness again. I’m not worried about that.”
He’d just gotten her to the bed when she recharged, coming around with a vengeance. With her thoughts visibly scrambling, she said, “You’re really not worried?”
“Nope.” He cuddled a heavy breast. “And you shouldn’t be, either. Just think how much nicer it’ll be working for yourself instead of others.”
“Working for myself.” She sort of tasted that before she began grumbling again. “My God, Drew, you’re making this out to be an opportunity!”
“That’s exactly what it is.” He went to work on her shirt. “Fran knows it, too; that’s why she was so furious. And just to rub it in”—or possibly get himself repositioned in the company—“we’ll drop in to see her and Loren this afternoon. You can come up with a plan of attack before then, right?”
The shirt coming over her head muffled her reply. Distracted in a mighty way, she pushed away his hands as he reached for her breasts. Drew redirected his efforts and finished stripping her.
She paid little enough attention as her brain worked on strategies. “I suppose I could get a viable plan together. But I’ll need the names of the other fight organizations so I can do some quick research on them.”
“Not necessary.” Drew stripped off his own clothes. “I know everything there is to know about them already, including their lack of profits, what’s causing the losses, the faults in their future plans, and what each would need to do to become a contender in the market.”
Gillian gaped at him. “You’re—”
“Outrageous?”
Eyes wide, she shook her head. “I was going to say amazing .”
“You’re only just now realizing that?” Grinning, he tumbled her onto the bed. “Luckily, Fran and Loren already know it, as do the fans. Trust me, no one in the SBC wants me working against them.”
She put a hand to his jaw. “Most men would be flattened by all of this, you realize.”
“All of what?” Right now, he was flattened by how badly he wanted her. Every damn time, he wanted her like he’d been celibate for years.
“Bomb threats and lunatic bloggers, snooping photographers and sudden termination. But nothing fazes you, does it?”
He was fazed all right. But he was a man who liked to work through problems, not wallow in them. “You must not know me very well if you think I’d go to pieces over this stupid stuff.”
Suddenly her eyes flared wide and she straight-armed him, pushing him back enough that she could see his face. “That’s it!”
“What?” He caught her wrists and moved her arms up over her head so he could regain the physical closeness. He liked the feel of her breasts against his chest, her soft belly against his abdomen . . .
Struggling, Gillian said, “No one knows you, Drew. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what you say or how you say it. It never has. It’s about what you do.”
“Well . . . yeah.” He wished she’d stop talking and fighting against him. He wanted to be inside her. Bad. “Words are just words. I’ve always said that.”
She managed to get her hands free and tried to scramble out from under him. “I need you to tell me everything good about you.”
He caught her by the hips as she was half turned and plopped her onto her back again. “I’m a stallion in the sack.”
“Drew, I’m serious .”
“So am I.” He pinned her down and spread her legs with his own, settling between them so she’d have no misunderstanding of his intent. “Give me two hours, and you’ll know just how serious I am.”