Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her Past\A Real Live Hero\In Her Corner (69 page)

* * *

“W
ATCH
MY
LEG
, Bella,” Marco said, lifting his knee. “You see that opening? You reach around fast and grab it, and—”

Bella did as he instructed, giving his ankle a twist and a pull. Put off balance, he tipped to the side and fell over. She scrambled on top of him for the cross mount and then hopped off.

“Very good,” her father said. “Remember, watch out for Kamino's legs. She'd give up her guard if she thought she could surprise you.”

“Anticipate the unknown?” Bella chuckled as she shook out her limbs.

“Just watch out for surprises.”

“Advice like that, and she'll start wondering why we even came,” Marco said as he rolled to his feet. “C'mon,
Papai,
we need to step up her game, not baby her with the basics. Fulvio would never let us get away with this kind of beginners stuff for any of his advanced students.” He made a sour expression. “Not that he'd be crazy about us being here in the first place.”

“Don't worry about what your grandfather thinks.” Carlos Fiore ground his jaw. “I've listened to him for too long. I should've been here for Bella all this time, shown everyone the family's behind her. She's been through enough on her own.” He clapped his daughter's shoulder. “The basics will get you as far as any advanced technique, Bella. Kamino will be expecting something showy.”

“And so will Hadrian Blackwell, so we'd better work on your stand-up. If you take it to the ground too early, you'll risk boring everyone.”

“This isn't a show, Marco.”

“Of course it is,
Papai.
This is the UFF. You think people pay hundreds of dollars to watch two women grappling on the mat for five rounds?” He shook his head. “We need to cleanse your brain of everything Kyle taught you. I never should've trusted him.” He said that last part almost to himself. “We'll focus on your BJJ and stand-up. Those are your strong points anyhow.”

She was about to argue that what Kyle had taught her—apart from the fact that she should never have trusted her heart
not
to get involved—had been valuable, but then Bella caught sight of a familiar figure watching her from across the room. She bristled as the redhead approached.

“Bella.” Quinn Bourdain gave a tentative smile. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”

She snatched her towel off the bench and mopped her brow. She was still cross about the article the reporter had written. Quinn was only doing her job, but in Bella's opinion, it'd been a shitty job. “How'd you find me?”

“I waited outside your apartment almost half a day and found out from the guy in the shop below you hadn't been home. Said he hadn't seen your bike, either.”

“I've been staying with my father and brother. We have early mornings and late nights, so there's no point riding all the way home.” She didn't explain that she hadn't wanted to risk a confrontation with Kyle at her apartment.

“I had eyes and ears at practically every gym in New Orleans. It was only by chance that a friend of a friend recognized you coming out of here a couple of days ago. I thought you'd head to the Star Gym for sure. They have all the equipment and trainers—”

“I don't need anything fancy to train. Not with my dad and Marco here.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Quinn glanced over to where the two men were giving her flat, suspicious looks. “I didn't even know this studio existed.”

“Fiore trade secret.” The family had contacts all over the world who let them use their facilities when they were traveling. In this case, her father and Marco had managed to secure the whole upper studio for themselves in exchange for a week's worth of private tutelage.

“Does this mean you're still in the fight?”

“Someone saying otherwise?” Bella countered.

“Your sudden departure from Payette's has people wondering if you're committed to the card.” Her gazed sharpened. “Are you?”

“Hey, Bella.” Marco strolled up next to her, dark green eyes fixed on Quinn. “Is there a problem here?”

“Quinn Bourdain,
Las Vegas Sun News.
” The redhead stuck out her hand. “Marco Fiore, right? I've been following your family a long time.”

Marco shook her hand automatically. “I've read your work,” he said, wiping his palm against his shorts. “If you have business with Bella, Ms. Bourdain, it'll have to wait until after the fight. We're on a tight schedule.”

“I was hoping to do an interview—”

“You'll have to talk to her agent, then. Bella's on lockdown.”

Bella started to turn away. Then Quinn said, “I wanted to talk to you about Kyle Peters.”

She whirled around and shot the reporter a warning look. She hadn't told Marco or her father the details of her departure from Payette's, though they obviously had their theories. All she'd said over the phone was that she needed their help and they were on a plane the next day, no questions asked.

“Bella,” Marco called.

“Give us a minute.” She directed Quinn to the stairwell, away from her family. The door shut behind them. “Whatever it is you think you have on me or Kyle, I'm telling you right now, it's wrong. And I want you to know that piece you wrote about me and women in MMA was hurtful and just plain
bad.
What was the point of quoting Ryan? Why did you even mention that stuff about Shawnese? You were there, Quinn. She was in trouble, and you used it. You used her and me both.” Her pent-up anger came to a boil. “I don't appreciate cheap innuendo, either. All that stuff you put in about how I was getting special treatment from Hadrian was unnecessary.” The hurt intensified as she remembered how the article reduced Bella's role to token female fighter. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you were a professional.”

Quinn crossed her arms. “Look, I'm sorry I offended you, but I was reporting a fact. Hadrian
was
giving you special treatment, and I think you and I both know why.” Bella didn't respond, and Quinn continued, “Maybe I let my feelings fuel my writing too much, but the reality is that that story probably would've been buried in the back pages if I hadn't written it the way I did. Being edgy and interesting—that's how magazines and papers sell these days. My profile at the paper has been hit and miss, and with all the cuts and layoffs...”

Quinn glanced down and sighed. “Shit, I'm screwing this up.” She pinched the flesh between her eyes. “Look I did have a real point to make with that feature, but I realize that some of the things I left in were way off the mark. I'm sorry, Bella.”

Weirdly, Bella understood where the redhead was coming from—having to do whatever it took to make her career. Even if it meant not always making the best judgment calls. “Why are you here, Quinn?” she asked.

“I want to do another article on you—right some of the wrongs from my first piece. If women's MMA is going to stand a chance, we need champions. I want to properly showcase the women of MMA and highlight all the challenges you face as both fighters and women. I want to make things right.”

“How can I trust you? How do I know you're not here for another sensational story?”

Quinn's jaw set and she raised her eyes. “I can't promise it'll be a fluff piece. But it will be truthful. I ask hard questions—that's how I built my reputation. And not asking them is what got me into the mess in the first place.”

Bella regarded her a moment longer, making sure the reporter sweated a little. “Are you going to ask me about my relationship with Kyle?”

“I'll ask. But I can only report what you tell me.”

“And if I decline to comment?”

“Then I'll report that. But I can't promise I won't repeat what others have been saying.”

Heat flooded her face. “What are people saying?”

“That you had a big fight with Kyle about another woman. You've probably heard he has a reputation for this kind of thing. He had an instructor at Payette's—”

“I've heard.” She didn't want to gossip about Kyle with the reporter. “It really isn't anyone's business what happened between us.”

“All right.” Quinn folded her hands. “So will you do the interview?”

Bella sighed. It was probably more prudent if she talked to Joel first. Or Marco or her father. Or even Kyle. But she'd never before needed anyone else's opinion to know what the right thing to do was. “Yeah. Let's do this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

K
YLE
GLANCED
BETWEEN
the recycling bin brimming with crumpled sheets of paper and the clock. The note he'd been trying to write all afternoon wasn't great, but it was a start. He supposed he could have done it on the computer and saved his hand from cramping, but he felt as if it would've been too impersonal.

It had been a weird day, anticipating his date with Bree while thinking about another woman. After work, Kyle went home and showered, then got dressed. He changed his tie-and-shirt combo three times before opting for a polo top instead. Business-casual was overrated.

He made a detour on the drive to Bree's hotel. He parked under the tree next to the convenience store below Bella's apartment. Letter in hand, he started up the steps.

“She ain't home, man,” the store owner said from his stool on the porch. “I've been keeping my eye out.” It sounded like a warning.

“I thought I'd leave her a note. Would that be okay?”

The man shrugged and puffed his cigarette. “You leave what you gotta.”

Staring at the tiny envelope, Kyle hoped the note said all the right things—how sorry he was, how he wished things had turned out differently. But he wasn't a poet. All he could be was honest with her.... He pushed the note through the mail slot, letting his hopes for the best disappear through that dark slit in the door. Who knew whether she'd even get it?

He drove to the hotel. Bree stood beneath the carport in jeans, a light blue sweater and high-top running shoes. Even in plain street clothes, her tall, thin frame and radiant complexion made her effortlessly gorgeous. She pushed her blond bangs out of her eyes and waved, grinning toothily.

“Hey, you.” They exchanged kisses on the cheek, and she hugged him briefly. She felt like a small bird against him.

They drove down to the Garden District. Bree watched him steadily, and he became self-conscious. “You've changed.”

“Gained or lost weight?” he joked.

“Not weight. You seem...different.”

He deflected by asking about her flight. Her hotel. Her last job and the next one. Bree gave perfunctory responses, and he answered her questions about the gym and his family. He should've felt exhilarated to be out with one of the world's most beautiful women. Hell, he'd been expecting to have to hide his lap under a jacket all evening. Instead, he felt antsy. The last time they'd been together, they could barely keep their hands off each other. Now it felt as if he were going out to dinner with his sister, only Jess would've inspired more interesting conversation.

He scanned the street for parking. Bree pointed out a spot, but he zoomed right by it. It didn't look roomy enough to fit the convertible. At least, he didn't think it did. The truth was, he wanted to park a little farther from the restaurant. He felt as though he needed a longer walk. If he could make it through the meal and then get Bree back to her hotel...

Right. That was all he needed.

“You're awfully quiet,” she commented on the walk. “Everything okay?”

He tried for a smile. “I'm fine. Things have just been...busy.”

“Worrying about your client?”

He tensed up and glanced at her. Her lips were compressed into a thin line. “No. It's fine. She's fine.”

Eventually, they arrived at the restaurant, got a table, ordered and ate. He could see Bree watching him from beneath her lashes, but she didn't say much beyond the cursory comment about her meal.

“Do you want dessert?” she asked as the waiter took their plates away. “Coffee?”

He suddenly remembered Bella's invitations into her apartment. Compared to tonight's awkwardness, those moments had seemed like a breeze. “No thanks.”

“We can get a drink back at the hotel,” she said.

Right. A drink. He could use one.

At the hotel, Kyle handed his keys to the valet and followed Bree up to her room. His palms grew damp and his steps faltered. She was opening the door to her room when she looked over her shoulder. He was standing ten steps behind her in the middle of the hallway. “Kyle? Are you okay?”

“I...” His eyes dodged to her door. The look on her face asked the same question he was shouting at himself:
What is your problem?

“I have gas.”

Mentally, he facepalmed himself.

Bree made a face. “Ew. Well, don't trail it in with you.” She darted in.

He followed her a moment later. She dropped her purse on the side table, toed off her shoes and went to the fridge in the kitchenette, pulling out a bottle of white wine. She poured two glasses and handed him one. He took it, but too late—she noticed his shaking hands.

“Seriously, Kyle, I'm starting to worry here.” She made him sit on the couch. “You've been looking kind of sick all night. You barely touched your food.”

He tried for a smile, but a close, clammy feeling swamped his chest. She touched his chin. “Look at me, Kyle.”

He met her soft blue eyes reluctantly. “Hmm.” Her fingers delved through his hair. She sat on his lap. He stifled the urge to dump her from her seat. “I'm going to try something. Don't move.” She leaned in and kissed him.

Kyle closed his eyes, forced himself not to turn his head, not to get up and walk out that door. He tried to sink into her softness, the gentle swipe of her tongue against the seam of his tightly clamped lips. Her touch drifted down to his neck and across his shoulders, and his muscles jumped. He made himself slide a hand across her thigh. Finally, she broke the kiss and looked him in the eyes.

“I see.” She got off his lap, then picked up her glass and sat in a chair opposite him. Kyle released a held breath. “Tell me about her.”

“About who?”

“The woman you're in love with. The one you've been thinking about.”

“I haven't been thinking about anyone but you.”

“C'mon, Kyle. I know you, and I know when a man is thinking about someone other than the woman he's with. Henri was like that a lot....” She shook her head. “Your shoulders were hard as rock, too. And that was about the only thing that
was
hard.”

He gulped his wine. It burned the back of his throat. “I'm sorry. It's not you, really. I don't mean that as a line, either. I mean, who wouldn't want to sleep with you? You're a freaking supermodel.”

“And here I thought it was my personality you liked.”

He opened his mouth, flustered. “Well, of course—”

She interrupted him with a wave and sighed. “It's okay. I've got enough self-respect not to settle for being second in a man's thoughts.” She looked him over. “Something's changed since we were last together. You're more...serious.”

He stared intently into his glass. “People change.”

She didn't say anything at first. She simply sat back and gazed out the window. “Well, whatever you've changed into, I hope it's for the better. I care about you, Kyle. I hope you know that.”

“I should get going.” He put his half-empty glass down, feeling stupid and humiliated. “I'm sorry. I thought I could do this.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and told him to call her if he changed his mind or simply wanted to talk.

If the guys ever found out about this, they would kick his ass. A beautiful, sensual, willing woman who he knew could blow his mind had offered him everything, and he was walking away.

Not out of fear, though. He inhaled the sweet night air, and the knot inside him eased. The valet brought his car, and he got in, driving aimlessly. He'd been nervous, certainly. Uncomfortable. But it'd had more to do with the fact that he was with a woman who wasn't Bella than the fact he was with a woman.

He didn't want to think his feelings for Bella were that strong. It was residual guilt, he was certain.

But if that were the case, why was he parked in front of her apartment once again, hoping and waiting for a miracle?

* * *

H
ADRIAN
WATCHED
THE
crews set up the cage at the MGM Grand Garden Arena. The place buzzed with activity, but no one noticed him up in the stands, leaned up against the railing, reveling in his memories. The first really big UFF event had taken place here, with over eight thousand fans in attendance. That'd been the day he'd known that his business would take off.

“I remember when I first met you,” a familiar voice said. “It was right here, and I was a junior reporter at the
Sun.
You took pity on me and gave me an exclusive interview.”

“I gave you an interview because I was trying to get into your pants,” he replied. He didn't turn to look at Quinn. He was still mad at her, but not as angry as he'd been before Mrs. H. had given him that talking-to. Before he'd thought about what Quinn had done for the UFF and MMA. And for him.

“If that's what you want to tell yourself. I happen to know you're a lot nicer than you let on.” She leaned against the railing and looked down at the arena as the cage walls were slid into place and bolted down.

“How'd you get in here? I thought I took your press pass away.”

“A good reporter knows other ways in.”

He felt her eyes boring into the side of his head, but still, he wouldn't look at her, even though all he wanted to do was grab on to her and never let go.

“Listen, Hadrian. I came to apologize. The feature was unfair to you and a lot of other people.”

A part of him wanted to be petulant and hold that grudge. He didn't forgive easily. But as with everything else in his life, he had to treat this like a business decision. He'd already realized Quinn was too smart and too talented to kick to the curb. “I accept your apology.”

“I'm also sorry about what I said about us and...you know.”

“That the sex wasn't worth talking about?” Silence met him. He did look at her now, and boy, was it ever hard to keep his hands to himself. She was wearing a brand-new tailored gray pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse. Her silky reddish hair was piled into a loose bun. He cleared his throat. “I accept your apology for that, too. Though to be fair, I knew you were lying about that.” He smirked.

Her mouth crimped wryly. “And?”

“And...” He mustered his strength. Mrs. H. had said he would have a hard time doing this—she knew he was a stubborn goat. He wanted to prove her wrong. “I'm sorry I said all those things about you being jealous of Bella.”

She nodded but didn't say anything to acknowledge how hard it'd been for him to admit wrongdoing.

“I've just flown in from New Orleans,” she said. “I went to see Bella Fiore.”

“You found her? Her agent wouldn't even tell me where she was.”

“I went to bury the hatchet. We reached an understanding.” She didn't elaborate. Quinn played her cards close to her chest. It'd always been a struggle getting things out of her without giving up something in return.

He didn't want to play that game anymore. He missed her.

“You have passes for Saturday?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I do.”

“But not the VIP media pass.”

“No.”

He turned to her. “I'll fix that. You'll get it all back, Quinn. Your UFF credentials, access to the green room, everything. I shouldn't have pulled them from you in the first place.”

“Thank you.”

Those two simple words released the tight band around his lungs. He hadn't realized how much she'd needed to hear that simple admission. “We should celebrate. You can tell me all about your interview with Bella over dinner.”

She sucked in her lower lip. “Hadrian, we have to talk about this...
thing
between us. I can't have this with you anymore. I've been using you, thinking I could make this constant compromise because you were good for my career. We both deserve better than that. It's not fair to us. To what we could have.”

He smiled crookedly, feeling his happiness quickly slipping away. “I don't mind.”

“But I do. There's been too much accounting. Too much quid pro quo. I don't want us forever scratching each other's backs because we feel obliged to and not talking about the things that
should
matter to a couple.”

“I want to do more than scratch your back, Quinn,” he said with a grin, but silently admitted that that was exactly what he'd been doing—tallying up all her rebuffs when she'd refused his gifts and offers to move in with him. He'd always thought sex would make up the deficit—he realized now it hadn't and never would.

He could see in her eyes she thought the same thing.

“I don't want us to break up,” he said.

She gave him a sad smile. “Were we ever really together?”

He knew there was nothing he could offer her that would entice her to stay with him the way he wanted. There was one thing, though, that could prove he'd heard her. One thing he hoped would at least earn back her respect. “I have a story for you. An exclusive.”

She perked up and flipped her notebook open, pen poised. That was his Quinn. He'd once thought of her as mercenary, but she was simply keen, intelligent, determined and motivated.

“I reread your article and looked into the unequal pay figures you mentioned. We're overhauling the books and making sure all UFF employees are getting paid accordingly and equally. That means new HR standards for all employee assessments. We're also working on a cohesive sexual harassment policy and code of conduct to be implemented across the board in all the gyms and UFF facilities. I'm increasing maternity leave for female workers at all levels, and we're looking into on-site child care at headquarters, with subsidies for those in the international offices.”

Her pen had stopped scribbling. She was staring at him openmouthed. “For real?”