Hard to Handle (24 page)

“I want him to be happy. I don't want him giving up anything for me.” She shrugged. “He says he's not.”

“He says,” Eve confided, “that she's irresistible and he can't stay away from her. I know, because Dean was bitching about it.”

They all laughed.

Stasia enjoyed the female camaraderie, and how easily the women shared the male perspectives. “So if Harley doesn't fight Simon, then who?”

Everyone looked at Dakota.

She propped her elbows on the table. “Well, scuttlebutt has it that Kevin Kinkaid, better known as Killer, is due for a big fight. The way I think it'll roll out is that they'll fight Harley and Kevin, and whoever wins that fight will get a title fight against Andrei Mann.”

Stasia was amazed at her knowledge. “Killer Kinkaid?”

“Yeah, cute nickname, huh?” She rolled her eyes. “A few years back, he knocked three guys out in a row, and then broke the next guy's arm in two places.”

Stasia's heart skipped a beat.

“Don't look like that. He didn't do anything illegal or overly brutal, although he now has the rep anyway. Sometimes, when a fighter's adrenaline is pumping, he doesn't realize how close to jeopardy he is. The guy Kinkaid fought didn't tap, even in a tight arm bar. He was still swinging at Kinkaid, so Kinkaid applied a little more pressure and…snap.”

The women all winced.

“Even after the break, the guy didn't know he was injured. It was Kinkaid who clued in the ref. He stopped the fight, they called in the doc, and sure enough, she pronounced the arm broken. It wasn't until later that everyone found out just how badly broken it was.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Luckily, no.”

Stasia gulped. “So if Harley beats Kinkaid—”

“Don't let Harley hear you say
if
. And don't worry about it. I think he will.”

A fraction of Stasia's tension eased. “Okay, so he'll beat Kinkaid, and then he'll have to fight Mann?”

“That's my prediction, but it hasn't been announced or anything yet. Harley should hear something soon. Since Simon is retiring again”—she paused to smile and show her pride—“then it only makes sense for them to go through the ranks and pit the best together.”

“So you're saying that those with the best records are Harley, Kinkaid, and Mann.”

“That's right.”

“Gregor's in a different weight class,” Jacki pointed out. “But he'll be going for a belt soon, too.”

“Next time up,” Dakota predicted. “He's due. But for the light heavyweights…those are the three guys that I've narrowed it down to. We'll see.”

By the time Stasia left the lunch, she felt she had not only the “on paper” explanation of the sport, but an emotional take on it, too. Each of the wives had a different love/respect/acceptance for ultimate fighting, so their viewpoints differed. What stayed the same was their love of the fighters they'd married.

With fighters traveling so much, not just within the country now but all over the world, it wouldn't be an easy alliance. Training took major dedication, and while it seemed the men did a great job balancing it all, their career choice wouldn't be ideal for many women.

What Stasia wanted to know now, more than anything else, was the reason behind Harley's other missed title belt opportunities. She had a feeling Dakota knew, but Stasia hadn't asked, and Dakota hadn't offered.

They both accepted that it was Harley's private information to share, and they both respected that.

It was getting dark when Stasia pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. After a sunny, mostly mild day, night brought with it a definite chill. But after the horrid conditions at Echo Lake, she wouldn't complain.

Lifting her purchases out of her truck, she hurried across the lot and in the front doors. It surprised her to find Harley and Barber standing inside. Because Harley still wore his coat, she assumed he'd just arrived.

“You're early,” she accused. Just once she'd like to be totally put together for him. So far he'd seen her chopping wood, half-frozen and shaken from fear, and frazzled from a long trip.

Harley gave her a quick once-over, and he didn't smile. “I'm here to see Simon.”

His ice-cold iron control was back. Surely he and Simon weren't about to butt heads. She knew Harley would be disappointed at Simon's decision to retire, but she couldn't see him holding a grudge over it.

She looked around the hotel lobby. “Simon is here?”

“He's stopping by to see Barber.”

Stasia looked at Harley's friend. “You're staying here, too?”

“Roger gives the band a suite of rooms whenever we perform at the bar. It's part of our pay package.”

“Oh. That's nice.”

“And convenient.” Barber must've picked up on her concerns because he squeezed her shoulder. “They aren't going to maul each other, Anastasia. Meeting in my room guarantees no press.”

“And no photos,” Harley said.

“Oh, of course. An out-of-the-way place makes perfect sense.” She smiled at them.

They stared back politely, but as if they had other things to do and she was holding them up.

“Well…” Stasia started sidling away. “I need to shower and stuff, so I guess I'll see you in a little while.”

“I'll come to your room to get you at six.”

“Right.” Might as well use the opportunity to get more information on the upcoming evening. “You didn't say where we were going. How should I dress?”

Though he never looked away from her face, Harley's gaze grew heated. Almost as a challenge, he suggested softly, “Wear a skirt.”

The way he said that, Stasia knew the skirt was more for him than the sake of proper attire. But she wouldn't let him continue to fluster her.

She smiled without a care. “No problem. I can do that.” Luckily, she'd just bought the perfect outfit. She took two steps. “'Bye, Barber.”

“Enjoy the shower, doll.”

The last thing Stasia saw was Harley putting Barber in a headlock.

Barber's laughter followed her down the hall.

L
OUNGED
out on one of the two full-size beds in Barber's room, Harley stared toward the television, but he didn't really see or hear it. His thoughts centered on Stasia.

In the shower. Naked.

Would she wear a skirt as he instructed? Without realizing it, he smiled.

Stasia could be so unpredictable. She didn't pull her punches verbally or emotionally. He could count on her to give it to him straight—whatever it was she wanted to give him.

If she offered more half-baked analysis on his fighting style, he'd have to set her straight. Anything else…well, it'd be worth it to see her again. Something about her relaxed him. Even when she talked nonsense on stuff she didn't understand, he enjoyed her. Her face, her voice, the scent of her—

“Damn, brother, you look like a man planning a full-blown pillage.”

Harley spared a glance for Barber, who put the safety catch in the door so it wouldn't close all the way. “Just thinking.”

“About women. Or should I say woman—Stasia.” Barber left the partially opened door and went to prepare a fresh carafe of coffee. After turning down the sports station that neither of them was listening to, he dropped down to the other bed.

“She's up to something.”

He looked at Harley. “Not that you're paranoid or anything, right?”

“Just cautious.” Harley thought about what he said. He wasn't a man who shared a lot of himself, but now he found he wanted feedback. “She thinks I'm too controlling.”

Barber flashed him a sideways look. “Well, duh, doofus. I coulda told you that Stasia wasn't the type who'd take to handcuffs.”

Prickling alarm shot up his spine. Never, not once, had Harley told anyone, not even a best bud, about his sexual preferences. Beyond being respectful of the women he entertained, it was just plain private.

Only the women he'd been with, and Stasia, knew what he liked. But damn it, Stasia wouldn't have said anything. He trusted her sense of discretion.

Turning his head, Harley sent a menacing glare at Barber. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He lifted his brows. “Sorry, man, but chicks talk. You should know that. And your blond bimbo—what was her name? Gloria? Anyway, she's spreading the word that you tied her up and did the nasty to her, and she loved it.”

Gloria. “Shit.”

Barber sympathized. “Yeah. Nothing is sacred, huh? Not even a little bondage between kink-loving partners.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barber.” Harley sat up. If Gloria was shooting off her mouth, there was a chance the press could get wind of it.

How would the SBC react? Not that it was any of their damn business. His private life was just that—private.

“Don't sweat it, dude. Far as I could tell, everyone she blabbed to was either impressed or intrigued.”

Scrubbing both hands over his face, Harley contemplated how he'd handle the news if or when it came to slap him in the face.

“I say run with it,” Barber suggested. “It'll give the gossipers something juicy to sink their teeth into.”

“Can you be quiet one damn minute?”

Barber grinned. “I guess that means I can't beg details out of you?”

“No.”

“Come on, Harley. It's not a big deal.”

“I have too much on the line to let it get blown now over something so stupid.” Feeling antsy, unable to relax, Harley got to his feet and paced. “After three failed attempts at the belt…”

“Look at it this way, bud. All the delays have built the anticipation. I for one can't wait to see you take the title. I know a boatload of fans feel the same. The more the fans get to know you, the more they love you. You're a rebel. Everyone digs that shit, so
seriously,
don't go off the deep end, okay?”

But Harley didn't want more anticipation. He just wanted the fight. Now.

To change the subject, Barber said, “I'm sick of hotel rooms.”

Relieved to have something else to talk about, Harley said, “So get yourself a house.”

“I travel so damn much, there's no point.” Barber put an arm behind his head. “You like having a house?”

Harley thought about it. “Satch likes it.”

“Do you?”

“The privacy is nice.”

“Even with your uncle living with you?”

“I think he always will.” It was just a fact of life that Satch considered them an inseparable team. “I like the pool and having a basement full of gym equipment. And ya know, I even look forward to cutting the grass in the summer.”

“Yeah.” Barber chewed that over, then grinned as he came full circle. “Maybe if you let go of the ropes and chains, you could get Stasia to play house with you.”

“Butt out, Barber.” Harley wasn't about to discuss Stasia with anyone, not even a friend.

“So…
were
there ropes and chains involved?”

Too fast for Barber to duck, Harley snatched up a magazine and flung it at him. It whacked him in the head.

Laughing, Barber held up a hand of surrender. “You're so touchy these days.” He tsked. “If I could find the perfect woman, I'd settle down in a heartbeat.”

“Your idea of the perfect woman is already married, you ass.”

That took Barber's mood on a sour turn, and he cursed as he sat up. “Why the hell does everyone insist on thinking I'm still in love with Dakota?”

“That's what I'd like to know.” Simon pushed open the unlatched door. “It's damned annoying.”

Barber grinned. “You're early, Sublime.”

“Or you wouldn't have been discussing my wife?”

Harley watched Simon. Had he overheard Barber ribbing about bondage? If so, he didn't show it. As usual, Simon Evans was the epitome of control.

Only when it came to Dakota; then he always looked a little riled.

“Come on, Sublime! I have nothing but respect for her, I swear.”

“Yeah, right.” Simon came over to Harley and offered a hand. “Good to see you, Harley. How's the elbow?”

“Good as new.” They shared a handshake and then moved to the small round table in the corner. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“Not a problem. I need to visit Barber occasionally anyway, just to deliver a kick to the pants so he remembers that Dakota is my wife.”

Barber protested that with a laugh. “It's not something I'm likely to forget, now am I?” He turned a chair and straddled it. “I've moved on, Sublime. You know that. She knows that. In fact, I've got a new gal to sing with the band.”

“Yeah?” Simon eyed him. “If she's a clone of my wife, I'm definitely kicking your ass.”

That even made Harley laugh. “If she's the redhead I saw, she's not a thing like Dakota.”

“Not even close,” Barber agreed. “She's a girly girl. Manicure, superlong red hair. Prissy clothes. And she's got some extra padding.”

Simon's mouth twisted. “You're right—that's nothing like Dakota.”

“All that, and you're adding her to the band?” Harley asked, disbelieving the probability of it. She didn't sound like Barber's usual fare, or a woman who'd mesh with a hard rock, unruly group.

“She's got one hell of a voice.” The coffee finished brewing and Barber stood up to fill three disposable cups. “If you two are free tonight, stop by the bar and you can not only meet her, but hear her sing. It'll be a sort of trial run now that she should have some new threads that'll help her fit in.”

“What time?” Harley asked. He found he was equally curious about the redhead's performance and Simon's reaction to Barber finally moving on.

To Harley's way of thinking, Simon had been more than tolerant of Barber. If a flame from Stasia's past was still lingering around…

Whoa.

Harley quashed those thoughts real fast. What he had with Stasia sure as hell wasn't the lifetime commitment that Simon and Dakota shared. Not even close.

Right?

“Let's say nine or so. You in, Simon?”

“I'm sure Dakota wouldn't want to miss it.”

“Great.” A subtle tension eased from Barber's posture. “Get hold of Havoc and Gregor, will ya? We'll make a party of it to welcome the new songbird proper.”

Simon looked at Barber for an exaggerated time, then turned to Harley. “Do you get the feeling that he doesn't want to be alone with her?”

“I'm getting that vibe, yeah.” Harley scrutinized Barber, too. “She scare you, Barber?”

Barber sat the coffee cups in front of his friends. “Actually, my man, she shocks me.”

“How so?” Simon took a sip of the too-strong coffee, made a face, then drank again.

Barber leveled a look on him. “My admiration of Dakota is no secret to anyone. Hell, half of Harmony feels free to comment on it twice a damn day.”

Scowling, Simon plunked down his coffee.

“So being that Jasmine Petri isn't a damn thing like Dakota, I can't figure out why I'm considering breaking one of my cardinal rules.”

Being facetious, Harley asked with feigned disbelief, “You have rules? Since when?”

“They've always been there.” Barber held up a finger. “Number one rule—no sleeping with band members.”

Harley choked on his coffee. “Well, that's a good thing. Other than Dakota, all the band members have been guys.”

“Yeah, but it applied to Dakota.”

Simon bunched up from his knees to his ears. Harley thought that if Simon didn't have a shaved head, his hair would stand on end.

“She wouldn't have had you, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Barber grinned. “But the point is, I never even tried. Didn't want to cross any lines, you know. The thing is, with Jasmine…She really is good, no disputing that. But I'm not sure having her in the band is worth
not
having her in my bed. Or maybe the rule doesn't seem so important now that it applies to Jasmine.”

“And you've known her how long?” Harley asked.

“Long enough that I can't seem to stop picturing her buck-naked in my mind.”

A tentative tap sounded at the door. Barber froze. Without looking, he said to Simon, “Don't suppose you closed it all the way?”

Simon took unparalleled delight in saying, “Nope. You had it open, so I left it open.”

“Shit.”

Fighting to keep his face straight, Harley leaned forward to see the door. A red-faced, redheaded girl stood there, fuming. “Ah. You must be Jasmine, right?”

“Yes, hi. I'm Jasmine Petri.” Staring daggers at the back of Barber's head, she asked, “Am I interrupting?”

Barber closed his eyes a moment, then spun around with a welcoming and cocky grin. “Not at all, Jassy. Come on in.”

She tripped over her first step.
“Jassy?”

“Yeah. I think it suits you.”

“It doesn't!” Reddish brows pinched down over a lightly freckled nose. “I prefer Jasmine, thank you very much.”

Barber shrugged. To Harley and Simon, who were both now on their feet, he said, “Given the scathing reprimand I received yesterday for failing in my social duty, I suppose introductions are the thing.”

Though Jasmine's face was hot, her voice sounded sweet. “Now, Barberosa, if it taxes your brain too much, we can forgo common courtesy. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself.”

“Barberosa?” Harley asked. “No kidding?”

“Damn,” Simon said at almost the same time. “I like her.”

Harley liked her, too. He elbowed Barber aside and held out a hand. “Harley Handleman. It's nice to meet you, Jasmine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Handleman.”

“Harley, please.” Her hand was soft, gentle in his, and quickly withdrawn.

She nodded. “I've met Stasia. She's very interested in your profession.”

That took Harley off guard. “You don't say.”

“Several of us went shopping, and then we all had lunch together. Stasia kept the conversation very interesting.”

Going cold inside, Harley wondered just what the hell they had talked about. Did Stasia now feel at liberty to discuss him in idle conversation?

There had been a point in his life where everyone gossiped about him, and he didn't like it worth a damn. He made a mental note to share his displeasure with Stasia first thing.

After delivering that zinger, Jasmine turned to Simon. “And you must be Mr. Evans. Dakota is so very proud of you.”

“Call me Simon. Any friend of Dakota's and all that.”