Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her Past\A Real Live Hero\In Her Corner (55 page)

He opened the minibar. “Drink?”

“Water,” she said. “Is there chocolate in there? I can never eat airplane food, and I'm starving.”

“I've got dinner waiting at home. I had Chef cook your favorite—spaghetti and meatballs.”

She gave him a wan smile and stopped rummaging to give him a peck on the cheek. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, settling his lips over hers. The kiss deepened, and she sighed.

“Mmm, I missed you.”

“I've only been gone a week.”

“Too long.” He undid her top button. “Take off The Suit, will you?”

“Hadrian, are you nuts? He'll hear.” She indicated the driver with a nod.

“You think this is the first time people have made out back here?” He tugged at her burgundy blazer. He wanted to rip the thing and force her to let him buy something new but knew she wouldn't appreciate that.

She slipped off the blazer and shimmied out of the pants so that all she wore was the white shirt and cotton panties.
So damned sexy,
he thought, undoing the top buttons as she straddled him.

Things were just getting good when he felt a buzz in his pocket.

“Oh.” Quinn arched an eyebrow. “That's different.”

“Ignore it.” He knew he should have turned his cell off. It buzzed again, and he reached down to yank it out. He might've rolled down the window and tossed the phone out, but Quinn grabbed it and looked at the number. “It's Blake Ames.”

Blake was the card manager for the anniversary fight. Hadrian's stomach pitched. Reluctantly, he took his cell phone from Quinn and answered. She slid off his lap and waited.

A minute later, a headache pounding through his skull, he tossed the phone onto the seat and pinched the flesh between his eyes.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Quinn draped an arm across his back and ran her fingers through his hair, raking her nails lightly across his scalp. He groaned. “Maybe I can help you.” She leaned over and nibbled his ear.

He closed his eyes and sank into the sensation. “Dodge is out.”

Her stroking stilled. She drew back sharply. “You're kidding me.”

For crying out loud.
Hadrian was his own worst cockblocker. “Broke his arm. He fell off a ladder while putting up Christmas lights.”

Quinn winced. “Someone should've told him to wait until after Thanksgiving.” She studied him. “What are you going to do?”

“Move the Smith-Burton fight up to the main event, I guess. They're not as big a draw as Dodge is, obviously, but what choice do I have?”

“Are you telling me that off the record?”

He frowned. “I'm telling you because I thought you cared about my problems.”

“Don't get snippy, Hadrian, I'm only doing my job.” She reached for her pants and knocked on the privacy window. It rolled down a few inches.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Sorry, change of plans.” She gave him the address of her apartment.

“I thought we were going to have dinner, Quinn. Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“I need to go home, get cleaned up and do some laundry.” Her cool tone got cooler as she donned her armor, pulling her arms through the sleeves of her blazer and buttoning her shirt.

“You can do all those things at my place.” He was tired of her running out on him, of her putting her job before him.

She flicked him an amused look. “You need to deal with this latest crisis. I'll give you time to figure things out before I hit you up with questions. You'll let me have the first kick at the can, right?”

He scoffed. “Don't I always?” He wasn't about to beg her to stay. She needed him more than he needed her, after all.

They dropped her off in front of her building, drawing a few odd looks from the residents loitering outside.

Without Quinn to share his dinner, he had no desire to go home. He told the driver to take him to the office instead.

It was going to take a lot of long hours to pull a miracle out of his ass and keep the show running.

* * *

“I
DON
'
T
KNOW
about this,” Bella said, picking at the tight blue-and-green-sequined gown clinging to her.

“You don't like it?” Ryan studied her as if she were some kind of rare exotic flower, turning her this way and that, one hand on her hip. He adjusted the straps and gave the low-cut dress a downward tug, exposing yet more cleavage. The moment he let go, Bella tugged it back up.

“I think it's a nice dress, just not for me. It's too flashy.”

“It's perfect. It evokes Carnival. It catches the eye.”

“It makes me look like a half-plucked peacock. Besides, my parents would have a fit if they saw me in this. I wasn't even allowed to wear makeup until I was twenty-one.”

“Do you really care what your parents think?” Ryan smirked and tugged at her above-the-knee hemline. “Maybe we can take this up a little.”

Bella didn't answer him. Of course she cared what her parents thought, to a point. Regardless of that, this dress was not her.

She swatted Ryan's hands away. “I'm changing.” She went back into the dressing room, peeled the dress off and pulled on her street clothes. Her skin was chafing from trying on so many obscenely impractical dresses. She'd just pulled her T-shirt over her head when the change room door burst open. A hot mess of red, orange and gold flew at her.

“How about this one?” Ryan brandished the gaudy dress like a sword.

“Ryan,” she snapped. “This is a ladies' change room.”

He tilted his chin to one side and his lips twitched. “Relax, sweetheart, you were already dressed. And even if you weren't, it's not like I haven't seen
that
before.”

She folded her arms and stared him down. He relented at her diamond-hard glare and gave a melodramatic sigh. “Fine, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have barged in like that. But if you don't want to be seen, lock your door next time.” He whirled back out, as if he'd been the wronged party.

As far as she was concerned, a closed door was a clear sign that she didn't want anyone intruding. But she let it go. He was already in a mood, and they'd been in that shop for over an hour. It wasn't her fault none of the dresses suited her—she'd told him so forty minutes ago. But he'd insisted on making her try them all on anyhow.

They walked out of the high-end boutique empty-handed, the saleswoman glaring at their backs.

“You have to wear
something
to the UFF charity ball. It's not as if you can show up in a rash guard,” Ryan said.

“That event is weeks away. I don't see why we have to shop for a dress now, much less go.”

“The only way you get out there is by being seen, networking and making connections. If you want to leave an impression, you need to flaunt yourself. Make people notice. You know, dress for the job you want.”

“What job is that? Slutty clown?”

“The dresses weren't that bad. Look, I'm your agent. Trust me, okay? I've been doing image consulting and PR for years. I'm not picking the skimpiest dresses I can find for you.”

She'd hate to see what the
skimpiest
dresses looked like. “Well, it's not as if I could've afforded them anyhow.”

“You don't worry about that. I would've bought it for you.”

She gave him a quizzical look. Maybe he had a budget for wardrobe or something.

After a too-pricey lunch at a fancy restaurant, Ryan insisted on driving her back to her apartment.

“Thanks, but my bike's back at Payette's,” she said.

“About that... You need to learn how to drive.”

“I
know
how to drive, but I don't
need
to. I get around fine on my bike.”

“It's not safe. And it makes you look ridiculous. You're a powerful woman. You should be driving a powerful car—something that makes a statement.” He glanced her way. “It's all part of the image, sweetheart.”

A powerful car. Like Kyle's convertible. She snorted, remembering how he'd humped back up the stairs and asked to use her phone to call Triple A. Poor Kyle had looked like someone had shot his dog as he watched his car get towed.

“Where do you live?” Ryan prompted.

“Take me to Payette's.”

“I'm taking you home. Tell me where you live.”

“And I'm telling you, drop me off at Payette's.” She wouldn't give on this. She was tired and cranky and she needed to get away from Ryan's smothering attention.

He glared at her for a beat, brow lowered. He yanked the car sharply left, tires squealing, and wove through traffic at high speed. At one point, he drove within a few inches of a guy on a bicycle, then cut in front of him, making the cyclist wobble and nearly tip over. He rang his bell furiously, and Ryan swore at him, even though the guy probably couldn't hear him.

Bella shot Ryan a look of disgust, gripping her knees tight.

As he pulled up outside the gym, she opened the door before he even put the car in Park.

“Not cool,” she said, getting out. She didn't want to be with him another minute.

“Wait, Bella...” His eyes flicked down. Maybe he'd realized his asinine behavior wouldn't earn him any sympathy, apology or leverage. “I'm sorry, but I have a temper when it comes to this kind of thing. I'm concerned for your safety. You should know I'm only doing what I think is best for you.”

She frowned. Some apology.

“I'll see you tomorrow for the photo shoot?” He gave a tentative smile.

She looked him up and down, the way her mother sometimes did when she was displeased with one of her children. Forgiven but not forgotten, she thought. Still, she had to work with the guy, same way she did with Kyle. “Yeah. I'll be there.”

He was her agent, after all. Her success was his success, and he wouldn't get paid until she did. And maybe he really was concerned about her career and welfare.

She headed into Payette's, trying hard to relax her face. No need to let Kyle see her irritation and have him interrogate her.

“How was the shopping trip? Did you buy anything?” Liz's face fell when she saw Bella had returned empty-handed.

“Nada. I don't even know why Ryan insisted on going out today.”

Liz opened her mouth but then clamped it shut as Kyle walked in. He gave Bella a questioning once-over.

“No, we didn't buy anything,” she said.

“Waste of a day.” He looked strangely pleased, giving her a wry smile. “Joe's here. You wanna wrassle?”

Music to her ears. After the morning she'd had, getting back on the mats with Kyle was exactly what she needed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE
PHOTO
SHOOT
was for a magazine feature about up-and-coming female athletes. Although Bella didn't know which publication it'd be for, Ryan had told her several times that he'd pulled a lot of strings to get her featured.

“The guy working on the piece owes me. I helped him a couple of years back when he needed interviews with some of my clients. He made his name on those stories.”

Weird. She would've thought Ryan would appreciate
any
exposure his clients got.

The photographer, Jamie, shook hands with her, appraised her carefully and then showed her the change room where a rack of clothing awaited. A young woman with thick-framed glasses fixed her hair—which basically involved adding extra hairspray—and applied a heavy layer of makeup with candy-red lips and thick black mascara. It wasn't Bella's usual palette, but this was a photo shoot.

She donned the trunks and rash guard provided, and did a few quick warm-ups to get her blood flowing. The photographer had her do tough girl poses and action shots. Ryan watched pensively from the far corner until his attention wandered back to his smartphone.

They moved on to a tank top and zip-up hoodie with shorts. Jamie had her do more brooding shots. Then he started joking around, telling her stories about other athletes he'd photographed. It was a lot of fun, actually. Bella liked the guy. He did his job well.

“Okay, I'm gonna take a quick smoke break while you put on the next outfit,” Jamie said, and ducked out while Bella went back to the change room. The hair and makeup girl met her with a hanger. A bunch of what appeared to be fat shoelaces hung from it.

She held it out with a nervous smile. “You might need help putting this on.”

“Putting what on?” She stared at the shoelaces. The makeup girl took it off the hanger and spread it out. Bella's eyes went wide.

It was a bathing suit. Barely. The thin white strips of fabric radiated from three tiny triangles. She could barely figure out how anyone would put this on, much less swim in it.

“Boobs go here. Your arms go through these holes, legs through here.” The hair and makeup girl tried for a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, it'll look fantastic on you. You've got the perfect body for this.”

Bella looked from the suit to the girl and back, her good feelings about this shoot melting away. “Ryan!”

The agent strolled in casually, smiling. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Did you see this?” She snatched the suit from the girl, who skittered away like a mouse from beneath a lion's paw. The laces tangled into a knot in her fist.

He looked calmly at the suit, then at her. “What's the problem?”

“What's the— Are you blind? I'm not wearing this.”

He gave a light laugh. “Sweetheart, this is a photo shoot for
Brash.
Do you have any idea how big that is?”

Brash?
The monthly glossy was barely more than a soft porn rag masquerading as a men's lifestyle magazine, with articles like “How to Tell Her Breasts Are Real” and “Three Steps To Dumping Your Long-Term Girlfriend.”

“I don't care. I told you yesterday I'm not comfortable in revealing clothes. This counts as revealing.”

“Sweetheart, it's okay—”

“No, it's not okay. And stop calling me sweetheart.” She threw the suit onto the floor. “You're my agent. Do your job.”

A storm boiled into his face. “
Do my job?
Listen, you. I have been doing my job. I've been working my ass off, even neglecting some of my other clients, so that you can make something of your little career. I deserve some respect, but all I get from you is your smart mouth.”

She stared at him, shocked by his hateful tone. “This is unacceptable. I'm walking away right now.”

He grabbed her, pinching the muscle between her shoulder and neck so tight she yelped. He pushed her hard against the wall and pinned her there. His nostrils flared as he got up close. His cologne stung her eyes. “You do not walk away from me when I'm still talking.
I
came to you. There are hundreds of fighters who'd kill to have me as their agent. If you want to be a star, you do what I say. You give the camera what it wants, and you do it with a smile. You dress the way I tell you to, and you do it happily. Otherwise, I'll make sure you never get another fight anywhere.”

Her heart rate ramped up, pushing blood into her head and hazing her vision. The expensive suit and fancy meals, the easy smile and casual airs—they'd all been stripped away to reveal the bully beneath.

In the three seconds it took her to rein in her temper, Bella could've broken his arm, smashed his nose and wrapped him in a headlock. She'd been trained by the best. But her training also meant she knew how to keep her cool. She looked him up and down and smiled tightly. “You know what, Ryan? You're fired.”

“What?”

“Fired. Out. Off the payroll.” She brushed off his suddenly limp hand and pushed past him. “I don't need you.”

“You think you get to leave me?” His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and he jerked her back to face him. “You're just like
her.
”

Okay.
Bella twisted her grip, catching his hand and pulling him against her. She spun, rammed her elbow into his solar plexus, pivoted on her heels, kicked his shin and slammed a right hook into his jaw. He collapsed to the ground, groaning.

Her harsh breaths stung her throat. “Don't touch me again. Ever.”

“I think you better do as she says.” Kyle's low, rough voice startled her. He stood in the doorway, massive arms folded over his chest, thunder in his face. She could see his fingers gripping his biceps tight, as if he were trying to contain himself. “I saw it all, Bella. Heard it, too.”

“You...both of you...” Ryan got up slowly. His lip was bloodied and he limped a little. “You think you can get rid of me?”

“Leave, Ryan. Or I'll call the police and report you for assault.”

“Assault? I didn't— She—” His face turned a shade of puce. He cut them one last glare before hurrying past Kyle. “This isn't over.”

Bella started trembling. Her heart pounded in her ears. She felt light-headed.

“Easy, easy.” Kyle was at her side instantly. He sat her down in a chair and pushed her head between her knees.

Her vision cleared as she breathed deeply to calm the jackhammer of her pulse. What the hell was wrong with her? She fought for a living. She'd fought against women and men tougher and better trained than Ryan. Why was she freaking out?

Kyle brought her a bottle of water, made her take small sips. “Do you want me to call the police?” he asked gently. “I heard everything. We could file a report.”

“No. It's not worth it. He didn't...
do
anything.” She was cold all over. Kyle must've had a sixth sense because he draped a big beach towel he'd found somewhere over her shoulders, then rubbed her arms roughly. She knew he was only trying to warm her up, but what she really wanted was his arms around her.

“Sorry.” She wiped at an errant tear, angry that she looked like she was crying when she wasn't. It was frustration moisture. “I'll be fine in a minute.”

“You did good,” he said. “I mean, you really decked him, but you stopped at the right time. If it were me, he wouldn't have walked out of here at all.”

“I didn't quite pull my punches, I'll admit,” she said on a half laugh. She looked up at his grim smile. “You always seem to be around when I'm in trouble.”

“I'm not stalking you, if that's what you're thinking.”

She frowned. “Wait a second. Why
are
you here?”

“I couldn't get through on your cell phone, and Ryan was screening my calls.” He wiped a hand across his mouth and glanced away. “It's... Oh, hell...”

“What? Tell me.”

He gave her a pained look. “The hospital called. Shawnese is in the E.R. She's been stabbed.”

* * *

T
HEY
LEFT
THE
studio with barely an explanation to Jamie. Kyle drove Bella to the hospital in a rental car. She hadn't even realized she was still clutching the beach towel around her shoulders until they arrived at the E.R. A few queries later, they entered a postoperative recovery room. A police officer stood inside.

Shawnese lay in the bed, eyes shut, breathing deeply. She was hooked up to several monitors and IV bags. Her hands were heavily bandaged, and her face sported several puffy bruises. Bella pressed a fist to her mouth.

“Oh, my God.” Kyle leaned against the door frame.

Bella looked to the officer. “What happened?”

“Bella Fiore?” The compact uniformed woman approached. “I'm Officer Sheila Jackson. I work in the Sixth District. I was the one who found Shawnese.” Bella shook the policewoman's hand absently, unable to tear her gaze from the girl in the bed. “She was semiconscious when I found her. She said your name several times, and we found this card on her.” She handed her one of Payette's business cards. One corner was stained with dried blood. Bella nearly dropped it.

“Shawnese is in a self-defense class I teach at Payette's,” she explained, finding her voice.

“I wondered. I'm a fight fan. I recognized your family name.”

Bella appreciated that the officer didn't make a big deal of it and stayed on task. “What happened to her?”

“When I found her, she was cut up pretty bad. Her hands and arms, mostly. She'd lost a lot of blood. Looked like whatever happened, she put up a really hard fight.”

Bella's stomach churned. She blindly sat in the chair by the bed. “Who did this?”

“Well, I have a few theories, but I can't say for sure until she wakes up and tells me exactly what happened. The problem is, I'm not sure she will.” Bella questioningly stared up at Officer Jackson. “Shawnese is...known to us.”

Code for she had a record. And, judging by the officer's sad look, a bad one. “A while back, she asked me to teach her how to defend against knife attacks,” Bella said. She had told the same thing to Reta but hadn't yet heard back from the social worker.

The officer flipped open a notebook. “Did she mention why?”

“No. I thought maybe she was afraid in general. She has trust issues.”

Officer Jackson nodded. “I thought if you were here, she might be more willing to talk. You're obviously important to her. She doesn't have anyone else.”

“I'll call Reta and let her know what's happened,” Kyle said, and hurried out.

Officer Jackson shifted her stance. “Listen. This looks like an attempted murder and aggravated assault case, and we want to open up a criminal investigation. But if she doesn't tell us what happened, a dangerous criminal walks free.” She pocketed the notebook and rubbed her eyes. “I'm going to get a cup of coffee. If she wakes up, talk to her, but be gentle. Let me know if she says anything.”

Seconds after the officer left, a raspy voice whispered, “'M not sayin' nothin'.”

“Shawnese.” Bella inched closer. “How are you feeling?”

The girl swallowed thickly and her eyes cracked open just barely. “Like shit.” Her cracked lip twitched. “Y'should see the other guy.”

Bella brought her a cup of ice and helped wet the girl's lips. “What happened?”

Shawnese's demeanor shuttered and she sank into her pillow. “Got jumped. Guy took my money.”

“But...your hands.”

“Fell into a pile of scrap metal.”

Bella sucked in her lip. “C'mon, Shawnese. You want to let whoever did this get away with it?”

“He already has.” She lifted her hands and made a face. “Better than being dead, I guess.”

“Who's
he?
”

She turned her face to stare at the wall. Bella tried another tack. “Why did you ask for me? Why not Reta, or one of the other Touchstone kids?”

“I'm just a junkie to them. You think they care what happens to me?”

“Of course they care. Kyle's talking to Reta on the phone right now.”

“You don't get it. I'm off the stuff, but they won't think that. I was trying to earn some quick money. I...I want to take more classes with you. Real classes to learn how to fight.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “No one's gonna believe that.”

All the pieces snapped together, painting a gritty, ugly picture of Shawnese's life. Bella had a pretty good idea how the girl had intended to earn her money, and it made her mad and sad all at once. “Who did this to you? I want to know the bastard's name so I know whose ass I'll be kicking when I'm training on the heavy bag.”

“Nuh-uh. You'll tell the cops.”

“I won't.” She gently placed both hands on her bandaged ones. “I swear.”

Shawnese closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “Andre.” It came out of her as though she'd been wrung out like an old washcloth.

Bella wrapped the name up in her mind and added it to the collection of pain and anger she kept tightly sealed away. She would think about this Andre on those days she needed to push herself past restraint. It was a dangerous practice, fighting angry. For Bella it was like hitting a turbo button on a Formula One race car—anger added a boost of power that could cost her her control.

Emotions made her lose focus, made her get sloppy. But for Shawnese, she would do this. She would make Andre a mental target and spend the rest of her life beating him into submission.

“You should rest. You were really brave.” Bella choked on her words. “I'm proud of you.”

“Don't let them give me any dope,” Shawnese murmured. “I'm clean now. Don't need any dope. I'd rather feel the pain than have to get clean again.”