Back in Black (28 page)

She gave him an
Exactly
look of satisfaction.

Brett shook his head. “Honey, Drew isn’t the devil. He doesn’t beat women or kick puppies. He pays his taxes; he raises a shitload of donations for more charities than I can count; he’s not a drunk or on drugs. He’s a brilliant entrepreneur with standout leadership quality, who’s passionate about his business. He’s flawed, like we all are. The difference is that his flaws are highlighted in the media because he’s a celebrity of sorts.”

He could see that doubt blossom in her demeanor and pressed his point.

“Gillian Noode is a woman hired to do a job. No way should she be a target for WAVS.” He put his hands on his hips. “Look at it this way, Audrey. You’re sleeping with a fighter who will defend the sport to anyone. Does that mean that a crew of reporters and cameramen should converge on you, dig through your past, and invade your privacy?”

She paled. “No.” Shaking her head, she repeated more strongly, “No, of course not. But it’s not that easy, Brett. This is Millie’s story. She’s excited about it and, given her history with Drew Black, she feels totally justified in exposing every aspect of his life. This is the big bomb she’s been waiting for to . . .”

“Get even?” Even he hated how that sounded. “And using an innocent woman to do that is okay?”

Audrey wrapped her arms around herself and paced away.

“You realize, of course, why this is important to me.”

She glanced at him with empathy. “Your past?”

“My dad caused more damn scenes than a circus elephant on the loose. I could never bring anyone around to our place, even after he split, because I never knew what shape my mother would be in.” God, he hated talking about this, but he needed Audrey to understand. “I know what it is to be publicly humiliated.”

“You were a child, Brett. No one would ever fault you for your parents’ . . . shortcomings.”

He almost laughed. Fault him? No, most wanted to put him up on a fucking pedestal for surviving it.

Brett decided it was time to lay it out there. “Bottom line here, honey: I can’t be involved with trashing Ms. Noode. I won’t be. Not even by association.”

Her head snapped up and her brows came down. “Meaning your association with me?”

“Meaning your association with WAVS.” He caught her shoulders. “Protest the SBC and Drew all you want, hate him for what you think he is. I can deal with that. Drew can deal with that. But if your group uses Ms. Noode just to hurt Drew, then how can you point the morality finger at anyone else?”

“You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’m telling you how I feel. I’ve been on the hot end of scandal, and it sucks. I can’t condone doing that to anyone else. Not for any reason.”

“That’s not what I do.”

“It’s what Millie will do if you don’t kill this story.” She rubbed her head. “I have to think about all this.” Rigid and offended, she turned away. “But for now, I really do need to go or it’ll be a moot point, because Millie isn’t going to wait on me forever.”

Brett hesitated, but damn it, he didn’t want to drive her home in strained silence. Pulling her around for a quick hug, he said, “I’m sort of missing you already.”

Her frown eased away. In a sincere whisper, she said, “Same here.”

W
HILE Gillian showered and changed clothes, Drew returned phone calls on his cell and took a self-guided tour around her modest home. They’d made it out of his place with only one return-reporter trying to snag a scoop. The guy wore Coke-bottle eyeglasses and a wrinkled dress shirt, but he knew his MMA. He asked some great questions, to which Drew replied, “I’ll be doing a press conference later. Give your card to the lady and she’ll let you know the time and location.”

When he started to take a photograph, Drew stepped in front of Gillian and blocked him. “None of that or you’ll be uninvited. Got it?”

The lanky kid scowled. “For sure you’ll call me?”

“And give you dibs on the first question after I’ve explained things.” Drew stretched out a hand. “What do you say?”

The kid accepted his hand.

He had a knack for handling the press—when he didn’t let his temper get in the way too much. He’d be tested today, Drew knew, because the first jackass to insult Gillian would get cut out of the loop—for eternity. He didn’t give a fuck if it was ESPN. He wouldn’t let her be hurt by this.

Since the early morning nooky, she’d been in good spirits. He intended to keep things that way. And thinking about it, how she’d felt and tasted and sounded in her lust . . . yeah. It might have left her relaxed, but it had damn near made him shatter with the effort to keep control.

Taking her like a marauding fiend afterward hadn’t really been part of the plan. Not that she’d complained.

In fact, about the only time Gillian complained was when he knew he had it coming. And then she came at him full-go, never whining or teary-eyed the way some women did. Gillian had more than her fair share of feminine wiles, but she didn’t use them to manipulate.

Drew could hear the water running in her bathroom, and he pictured her naked, wet, suds sliding over all those full curves . . .

Shit. He needed to think about something else before he joined her in the shower. She needed some time without him pawing at her, and they really did have other issues to deal with. He was first and foremost a businessman, and getting things back on track would now have to be a priority.

As he strolled around her apartment, he made note of everything. Gillian had a nice place, girly like her, but also orderly and functional. High-end pieces filled the place, telling him that Gillian liked the finer things in life. But he didn’t have a problem with that. He could afford to give her anything she wanted. With him, she’d never want for anyth—

Whoa.
Drew put the brakes on that thought, which encompassed the foreseeable future. Dragging out their relationship was one thing; he loved having sex with her, and her company pleased him.

But was he ready for anything more?

Being with Gillian long term wasn’t an insufferable thought. God knew, she looked like a million bucks; any guy would be proud to be seen with her. And in all social settings, she had a classy way of presenting herself that made her stand out from the crowd. She wasn’t intimidated by him, even when he lost his temper. And she didn’t simper the way some women did.

She was honest but tactful, sincere but strong willed . . . Losing her, now that would be intolerable.

How did she feel about it?

Drew paced into her kitchen and over to a set of balcony doors that overlooked a fountain in the courtyard. Gillian was independent enough that she wouldn’t
need
a man. Not for anything.

He was used to fight groupies coming on in droves, but a woman like Gillian was unique. She enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he did, but did she want him beyond the physical?

Maybe he should start with that—find out how she felt—and then he’d figure out his own feelings.

With that decision made, Drew was able to concentrate on his messages. The price of business was that he spent more damn time on the phone than doing anything else.

He’d gotten through four return calls to promoters and sponsors before Fran started calling. Repeatedly.

Knowing he had her in a panic, Drew didn’t take her calls and instead let them go to voice mail.

Let her stew, he decided. He was still pissed off over her rudeness to Gillian.

He was on his sixth call, talking to Marcus Gorman, the hard-boiled investigator he’d hired after the bomb threat at Roger’s Rodeo, when Gillian came into the kitchen. She’d already dressed and fixed her hair and makeup. She looked sexy, beautiful, and ready to take on the world.

Drew marveled at her serene expression and innate poise. Since knowing him, so much had happened to her, most of it unpleasant. But it didn’t get her down. It struck him then that while she was as feminine as a woman could be, she had a fighter’s spirit. Beneath her voluptuous curves and silky soft exterior was the core of a champion, with the same unrelenting heart and never-die determination.

Drew laughed, and not only did his caller pause, but Gillian glanced at him with a brow raised.

In that instant, any doubts he’d felt were gone. He knew he didn’t want to let her go, not ever.

Silently, she mouthed,
What?

He covered the mouthpiece and said, “You’re beautiful. That’s all.”

With an exaggerated eye roll and a special little swish to her backside, she turned away. As she began making coffee, Drew forced his attention back to Marcus.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“The police found the car that hit your photographer.”

“Not
my
photographer.” Drew snorted. It was too bad the schmuck had died, but he wasn’t about to lay claim to him. “What of it?”

“It was abandoned by the riverbank, and get this—someone had doused it in gasoline and then torched it. All that was left was a heap of metal and the barely distinguishable license plates.”

“Any idea who it belonged to?” Not that Drew expected it to be that easy.

“Yeah, but that’s a dead end. The guy had reported the car stolen earlier in the night. I have the owner’s name if you want it. He’s an older guy, retired, and he’s never even heard of mixed martial arts. He had the car insured, but he’s mostly broken up because it belonged to his deceased wife. She passed away two years ago.”

“Damn.” Drew turned to Gillian. “Write something down for me, will you, honey?”

“Oh.” She opened the drawer he indicated and took out a pen and some paper. “Okay, shoot.”

Drew got the man’s information from Marcus and shared it with Gillian. She didn’t ask any questions, just took down the name and address and then went about her business.

Drew intended to contact the man. He couldn’t do anything about the car or the sentimental loss. Drew knew he wasn’t personally responsible, but the man had been affected because of some nut-job’s vendetta against him, so he’d touch base to see if the man needed anything.

“Is that it?” he asked Marcus.

“Not quite. You know that woman you wanted us to do the background check on?”

“Millie Christian. What about her?”

At the mention of Millie’s name, Gillian paused, but not for long. As if she refused to let it bother her, she returned to her breakfast preparations.

“Well, the cursory check sparked some interest, so I went ahead and dug a little more. I figured you’d want that.”

“Damn right.” Drew watched the innate, feminine movements of Gillian’s body as she stood at the counter mixing eggs in a bowl.

Today she wore a vintage-looking dress with a portrait collar that showed off her throat, collarbone, and a tantalizing amount of cleavage. The waist cinched in, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and hips, and the skirt hung loose to her knees. The light blue color brought out the bluer shade of her eyes. She’d pulled her shiny black hair into a simple twist and fastened it with a clip.

For so early in the day, she looked downright edible. It hadn’t been that long since they made love, but Drew was starting to think he could have sex with her ten times a day and it wouldn’t be enough to keep the lust at bay.

He turned away from her. “I’m listening.”

“Christian has a criminal record a mile long. Dated. Nothing new for a couple of years now, and nothing too serious. Petty theft, harassment, driving under a suspended license, and some drug use. Also, probation a few times, and one court-ordered stint through anger-management classes.”

Drew whistled low. “Anger management?”

“It’s sketchy, but apparently she flipped out on a friend when they had a disagreement. She slugged her several times in the face and then kicked her when she went down.”

“Damn.” He could barely picture it. To him, Millie looked like a tall, redheaded frump. “Some friend.”

“I thought you’d be interested in all this.”

“There’s nothing recent, huh?”

“Not for the last two years. The thing is, she moves around a lot. I’ve had to gather this stuff from three different states. If there is anything more recent, I haven’t found it—yet.”

“Keep digging. And try to find out where she was last night.”

“You think Christian had something to do with that photographer?”

“Makes as much sense as anything else. The woman makes no bones about thinking I’m the devil incarnate.” Wouldn’t that be a kicker, if it was Millie Christian causing all the trouble? Talk about vindicating himself . . . “How far does she live from where the car was stolen?”

There was a pause and a rustling of papers, and then: “Huh. Less than five miles.”

“Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’ll get right on this, and I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything. In the meantime, given how things are escalating, I think it’d be a good idea to put a tail on Ms. Christian. How do you feel about that?”

It’d raise his bill astronomically, but what the hell. “Do it. And while you’re at it, you have someone you can put on my house to keep an eye on things?”

“I have some very discreet people I work with. Consider it done. What about your lady friend?”

“She’s going to be staying with me.” And Drew knew he sounded possessive when he said, “I’ll watch over her.”

“Ah, got it. Okay, then. I’ll be in touch.”

When Drew turned back around, Gillian had crossed her arms and was watching him.

“Who are you talking about?”

Ignoring yet another call from Fran, he closed the phone. “None other than Ms. Millie Christian.”

Gillian shook her head. “No, I got that part, and you’ll explain the details in a minute.” Crossing her arms under her breasts, she took a challenging stance. “Who’s going to stay with you so you can watch over her?”