Fight For Her (MMA Fighter Romance Book 1) Page 2

  The air was balmy and humid, a striking contrast to the air-conditioned interior. It wasn't the hot day that made me overheated. It was for an entirely different reason. As the door closed behind us, the noise of the restaurant and bar was became muffled. The sun was setting, the sky thick and hazy with the heat, yet a beautiful mixture of pink and orange. The lights of the buildings on the harbor were coming on, setting the water to sparkle even more.

  Couples and small groups chatted by the railing and around small arrangements of patio groupings, so he pointed with his drink-filled hand around the corner. There, it was quiet, and I moved to sit in one of two chairs that looked out over the harbor. Small boats cut through the water and in the distance, life jacket clad tourists rode in simple paddle boats shaped like swans.

  Since Christy was in love, she wanted everyone around her to have the same, but guys like Bob/Bill weren’t making me eager to change my Facebook status to In A Relationship. Regardless, she and Paul had tried to get me back out there now that Chris was away at college, but using this guy—holy hell. My life had been about raising Chris for so long, I didn’t know how to be just me, the woman, not the mom. And now, it was just me and this insanely good looking guy and I didn’t know what to do! It was one thing to talk to Bob/Bill, but I was flustered and tongue tied and overwhelmed by this man.

  “Would you mind if I sit with you?” His voice was deep, cool and calm, patient.

  My heart did that whole leap-into-my-throat thing as I looked up at him. Only a few feet away, he appeared a tad dangerous. His nose had been broken. I’d been right about that. There was also a scar that sliced through his left eyebrow, the whiteness of it a stark contrast to the dark hair. He smiled and waited.

  “Oh, um. Sure.”

  Gripping the back of the chair and leaning in, he asked, “You don’t seem so sure.”

  “I…I just wondered why,” I replied, sheepishly. My insecurities were showing. While I felt confident in myself, when it came to men like him and the blatant selection of younger and more nubile women at the bar, I felt lacking. With me safely away from Oyster Man, Mr. Bond could return to the bar, his chivalry accomplished for the night. I could take my grandmother’s advice and find a nice man at church, but that wasn’t my angle either.

  He frowned and a little crease formed in his brow. “Why?”

  “Why you want to stay here with me.” I pointed in the direction of the bar. “I’ll tell Paul you saved me. You’re off the hook.”

  He sat then, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his thighs. The corded muscles of his forearms were hard to ignore and I had to wonder what the rest of the tattoo looked like, hidden as it was beneath his dress shirt. All of his attention was once again squarely on me. “Maybe I don’t want to be off the hook.”

  Oh. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but realize he wanted to sit with me and I felt something shift inside. Something good. “Oh.”

  He looked down at his hand. “I brought you another drink.”

  He held a highball glass, filled with an icy concoction with two lime wedges floating on top. Condensation trickled down the sides. “Thanks, but I was drinking—”

  “Water,” he cut in, finishing my sentence and placing the glass on the low table in front of us. His dark eyes once again watched me closely, calmly. It was as if he could shut out all the other patrons of the restaurant, the noise of dishes being stacked, even the subtle music, and give me every ounce of his attention.

  “Yes,” I admitted, my eyes widening. How did he— “You’ve been watching me.”

  Paul gave this guy his seal of approval, but everyone who heard their neighbor was an axe murderer swore they had no idea. I didn’t see an axe, although there was no question by his solid, hard, amazing body he could hurt someone without one. I felt wary and nervous, now in a completely different way. I didn’t want him to be a creep.

  He leaned back in his chair and held up his hands in front of him. “Oh, hey, I don’t want to see that pretty smile go away. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to pick you up.”

  My spine stiffened and I felt my cheeks heat. “Of course not.”

  Why would he waste his time picking me up when there was the bevy of easy women inside? Surely, he just needed to crook a finger and they’d come to him panting. He was… really, really attractive. Intense. Bob/Bill was pretty handsome and he was a creep. This guy was more. He had presence. Confidence. He dripped testosterone from his pores and the way I was practically panting over him, pheromones as well. He wasn’t working it here—he didn’t have to. He just…was.

  He grinned, and that changed his entire demeanor. Relaxed by my sarcasm, he leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests. I, on the other hand, sat ramrod straight and ready to bolt.

  “Shit, that was really bad, wasn’t it?” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he winced. “Insulting. I have to admit, you make me a little nervous.”

  My brain stalled. “Me?” Both my eyebrows went up then. “I make you nervous? You’re so far out of my league,” I admitted with a frown. Now, he’d leave.

  He looked down at his feet, then back at me. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was quiet, almost resigned.

  “Wait.” I shook my head. “You think I’m…no way. Have you seen some of the women here tonight? They’re so…young.”

  His dark eyes raked over me, from my wayward hair to the tips of my polished toes and back. “And you're old?” He didn't give me time to respond. “Trust me, I’m right where I want to be.”

  Oh. I couldn’t help the little internal sigh at his words.

  He leaned forward once again, rasped a hand over his chiseled jaw. He'd probably shaved this morning, but he needed it again. Not that I minded. I wanted to run my fingers over his whiskers and see if they were soft or prickly. “Let me start over. Okay?”

  I cocked my head and noticed his chagrined expression. So I nodded, curious.

  “I’m Gray, Paul’s trainer.”

  Of course, he was a trainer. He looked it. Fit. But fit like he lived that way, not just by pumping iron. His forearms were corded with muscle, his hands rugged, fingers long. With the scar and tattoos, he looked downright dangerous, more like a fighter than a simple trainer. Perhaps he’d competed in the past. Boxer? What did I know about that stuff? I just knew what I could see. With the combination of brooding danger and a wicked smile, he was lethal to my senses and made my heart skip a beat.

  He held out his hand and I reached for it, shook it, but he didn't release me right away. Instead, he kept our fingers touching, held the connection.

  “I’m Emory. Christy’s friend.”

  “Emory,” he repeated, as if trying out my name, letting my hand go. “There we go. I didn’t screw that up.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled—I couldn’t help it—as I tucked my hand back in my lap. Every time he set me on edge, he put me at ease. “I guess I should thank you for rescuing me.” I angled my head toward the restaurant.

  He nodded. “Paul asked if I’d step in with his cousin. Told me he was a slimeball.”

  My eyes widened. “Paul said slimeball?”

  Gray grinned. “He had a more… choice word, but I don't swear in front of a lady.”

  The man was hot and a gentleman. What was wrong with him? Nothing that I could see.

  “Both of us could tell you weren’t enjoying yourself and when he put his hand on your arm and you flinched…”

  He didn't finish the sentence, but I saw the way his jaw clenched.

  I looked down at my fingers. I offered a noncommittal sound because there wasn’t much to say about Bob/Bill. “I should have ditched him before I needed rescuing.”

  “But you’re too nice, aren’t you, Emory?” he commented, as he watched me smooth my dress over my thighs. “He didn’t do anything, did he? Say anything to hurt you?”

  “Are you going to go beat him up if he did?”

  He shrugged. “Depends on what it was. At least teach
him some manners.”

  Wow, he was intense, his complete focus on me, worried about me. It was exhilarating. With his dark eyes on mine, I couldn’t look away. I had no doubt if I told him the guy had put his hand on my waist Gray would have gone back inside and broke his fingers.

  “No, he didn't do anything. Really,” I added, because he didn’t seem to believe me. I gave a small, dry laugh. “I could have gone home with him though.”

  Both of Gray’s brows went up at my mocking tone. “I can take you back if you want.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the bar. I could see a humorous gleam in his eye.

  I pursed my lips, trying not to smile. “He was really interesting actually. I now know the months to eat oysters.”

  He held up his hands in front of him. “I can’t compete with that.”

  I grinned at his ridiculous words. Gray had no competition, none at all, as far as I was concerned.

  “Clearly, I’ve been out of the game since I walked away from that winner,” I replied, my tone dry.

  He frowned, not picking up on my sarcasm. “Game?”

  “Parties, mingling, meeting people.” I circled my finger in the air. “Meeting men.”

  “You hooked the oyster guy.”

  It was my turn to frown. “Oh yeah, Bob/Bill is a great catch.”

  “His name is Bob Bill?” he asked, surprised.

  This time I laughed outright. “No. I don’t remember what it is. It starts with a B though. He was okay. An auditor.”

  “You’ve had lots of guys proposition you at bars?” He watched me closely, perhaps a little intently, for the answer. He made it seem as if this was something of a test.

  I frowned and pointed at myself. “Me? Really?”

  He didn’t answer, but posed another one of his own. He crossed his fingers over his very flat belly as if settling in. “If that guy doesn’t do it for you, what are you looking for?”

  He’d said he wasn’t trying to pick me up, so he wasn’t really interested in me. Perhaps for conversation, but that was it. My awakened libido would just have to go dormant once again. Perhaps this had me relaxing, for I could talk with a man, but I couldn’t talk with a man. A man who might actually be interested in me. I just had to think of Gray as Paul’s trainer and forget that he made my panties damp and my heart thrum and my cheeks flush.

  “You’re speaking of appearance only?” I asked.

  He considered. “Sure. We can start with that. You can’t use your husband or boyfriend’s description though.”

  I wasn’t out of the game that much to know he was fishing.

  “I’m divorced,” I told him, making it clear, perhaps more to myself than Gray, that Jack was long, long gone. I had every right to sit here with a hot guy and talk.

  Gray knew he was caught and grinned sheepishly, little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. How could he look so forbidding and dangerous, but be so… damn cute at the same time. “Thank you for clarifying.”

  I just looked at him, arched a brow.

  “Oh, you’re waiting for me.” He pointed at himself, putting the fingers of his left hand on his chest so I could see he wore no ring. “Single, never married.”

  I nodded, reassured I wasn’t poaching on some woman’s territory. Not that I was doing any kind of poaching. I was having a conversation. That was all. I doubted he was going to grab me and press me up against the restaurant's wall for wild monkey sex.

  “Well?” He stretched his legs out in front of him as if he had all the time in the world. His doing this allowed me to notice how the material of his dress pants stretched taut over very muscular thighs. It was possible I could see an outline of his… oh crap.

  Realizing I was ogling there, I looked up, his dark eyes held mine, then roved over my face. Self-consciously, I smoothed down imaginary wrinkles in my yellow dress once again. I felt my cheeks heat. I hadn't checked out a guy's package in… well, forever.

  “What am I looking for in a guy?” I repeated, trying to get my mind back on the conversation and out of the gutter. You. I could totally be into you. Gray pushed every one of my hot buttons, but no way was I telling him that, for it would be mortifying to have it be officially one sided when he laughed at me and walked away.

  “Yes.”

  I gave a little shrug of indifference, my long hair shifting. I’d put clips in to hold it back from my face, but with the humidity, the soft waves were falling loose, completely out of my control. “That’s easy. I’m not looking.”

  It was the truth. I had no interest in finding a man. After Jack had left me for his paralegal four years ago, I’d been in single-mom mode. He’d not only divorced me, but pretty much ditched his then, fourteen year old son, as well. Dealing with Chris and his anger toward his father, high school, moving back in with my parents, college applications, life, work, I hadn’t lifted my head up to get some air, let alone look around. Now, with Chris away for his first year of college, I had more time on my hands than I knew what to do with. I was, for the first time since I was nineteen, on my own. I was an empty nester and that term meant old.

  “Really?” He crossed his ankles. “I think you’re the only woman at the restaurant not on the prowl.”

  “And Christy,” I added. My friend had prowled enough and found her man.“What about you?”

  “I look,” he admitted. “I saw you, didn’t I?”

  “You rescued me,” I countered. There was a big difference. Paul asked him to save me. Still, I could feel my cheeks flush and I glanced away, uncomfortable with his words.

  “I’m not looking either, but I’m not not looking as well.”

  “Surprisingly, I follow you.”

  “Don’t you want your drink? It’s still pretty hot out.”

  I glanced at the glass, the condensation beading and sliding down the sides. The air was still muggy, even though it was well after eight.

  “I don’t drink from glasses given to me by strangers.” Oh my God. Had I said that out loud? I pinched my lips together afraid something else horribly bad would pop out. I was a complete and total dumb-ass. I’d just baldly accused Gray, who’d only been nice to me, of drugging my drink with a date rape drug.

  Christy was right. I had zero skills in interacting with guys—I talked oysters with Bob/Bill so maybe I was the dud, not him—but too much experience with my job had made me jaded. I’d seen too much of the real world pass through the ER to make me wary. Some people weren't nice. In fact, lots were downright cruel. I saw lives destroyed on a daily basis. Besides that, it had been almost twenty years since I’d dated. Hell, Jack and I had barely dated. We went from doing the whole college meet and hook-up thing to being surprise parents all in one year.

  Regardless of my personal failings, I didn’t need to insult Gray. I was such an idiot!

  “Oh shit,” I whispered. I shifted in my chair to face away from him. Tears burned the back of my eyes as the extent of my words sank in. He’d probably roll his eyes at how weird I was, consider me a psycho chick and leave. He could find a woman that offered a large amount of cleavage and a mile of exposed thigh who could have a normal conversation and who wouldn’t think twice about accepting a drink from him.

  “Hey. Hey, now,” Gray murmured, his tone almost soothing. “A beautiful woman like you is smart to have that rule.” I felt his fingers on my back, a gentle touch and I startled.

  I covered my face with my hand, willing him to go away. “I’m a little embarrassed over here,” I muttered. “I think my foot's still stuck in my mouth.”

  A group of men, talking loud enough to indicate they’d had plenty to drink came around the corner. I turned my head away even more, hoping none of them would notice me.

  I heard the legs of Gray’s chair scrape on the concrete floor. “Hey, guys, find somewhere else to hang,” he said as he stood in front of me, his voice calm yet powerful. The men’s voices ceased immediately and I had to turn and see what was going on. Gray stood and faced the group, hands on hips
, shielding me from them. I couldn’t see his face, but the men didn’t argue, only stared at him for a moment and retreated with a, “Sure, dude. It's cool.”

  I was able to take a brief moment and glance at Gray's butt, his broad shoulders, his entire back half I hadn’t been able to observe before. It was just as fine as his front.

  Gray turned, glanced down at me, then pulled the chair back into place, although this time when he sat, he was several inches closer.

  “Emory.” His voice made my name sound silky smooth.

  I met his eyes. His head was cocked slightly to the side, as if he were trying to read me. His dark eyes looked concerned yet didn’t lack in intensity.

  “I’m sorry,” I admitted quickly, licking my lips which had suddenly become dry. “I'm such an idiot. I told you I don’t know how to do this.” My words were thick with emotion and extreme mortification.

  “You were doing just fine.” He picked up the glass of water, took a big sip to prove he had no devious plan to drug me, then offered it to me. “Take the glass, Emory. It’s safe. I’m safe. I promise. But don't just take my word for it, ask Paul. Text him.”

  “He gave me the thumbs-up sign, so I have to assume you’re not a dangerous criminal,” I replied.

  “Dangerous, maybe, but not to you. Never with you. Text him later then, after the party. I want you to, so you aren’t scared of me.”

  Somehow, I knew he wasn’t as dangerous as he looked; tattoos, close cropped hair, scars. I was just naturally and ridiculously wary. If I were ever going to come out of my shell as Christy consistently prodded me about, I needed to start now. Gray wasn’t looking for something. Someone. He’d said as much. I’d seen him being friendly with Paul. He was just being friendly with me. So I reached out and took the glass, our fingers brushing. The spark I felt at the slight touch had my eyes darting up to see if he felt it, too. For a brief moment, we both held the glass, the world around me focused solely on the smallest of connection.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I told him, just before taking a sip of the cold water.