Burning for You (16 page)

He took the camera off her neck, and the strap tickled. “You won’t. I’m not that superstitious aside from my lucky socks.” He pointed to a pair of red socks that looked rather ordinary. “Show me. It’ll give me a break. The waiting is the hardest part. If you think about things too long, you can psych yourself out.”

He began flipping through the images. “There’s a lot of me.”

The words rushed out. “I find you fascinating.”

“Which is probably more frightening than the guy I’m about to face,” Joe admitted. “I’ve beaten him twice. I’ll get him the third time tonight. No worries. I’m in even better shape now than I was last year. Where will you be afterwards?”

She named the suite. “Okay, I’ll shower and come up when I’m done. You going down on the floor?”

“I’m not really sure I want to be close enough to watch sweat fly.”

“Makes for some good shots.” He draped the camera back over her neck and lifted her loose hair so the strap went against her neck. He twisted a curl before letting a strand bounce. “I’m up next.”

“I should probably get back to the suite.”

He pointed. “You’ve got the band. Go ringside.”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to distract you.”

“You already do that.”

A thrill mixed with worry. “Then I shouldn’t—”

He put his fingers on her arm. The touch reassured. Soothed. “Once I’m in the ring, everything else fades to background noise. So don’t worry. You won’t destroy my concentration. You can do that after I win.”

“If you win,” she shot back, feeling more comfortable in the back-and-forth banter she was used to exchanging with him.

“Oh, I will. You can count on that.”

“Joe, you’re on deck in five.”

“Gotta go,” he told her. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, lingering for a second longer than necessary. “See you later.”

Her cheek tingled, watching him as he disappeared into the bowels of the locker room. She snapped a few more pictures, then made her way ringside. There, during the lull between matches, she found Ted and his son-in-law in their front row seats.

“Come to join us for Joe’s match?” Dean shouted over the blaring music.

“Yes,” she shouted back. She adjusted her camera, took more shots. “This is fascinating.”

Ted leaned forward so he didn’t have to yell. “Joe’s favored to win.”

“Just saw him. He says he’s ready.”

“Have you watched him box before?”

“No. Honestly, I don’t even know what happens. He wins if he knocks him out?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Ted explained. “The judge will count the power punches and jabs for an overall total punches. Light punches with no force aren’t counted. Then there’s—”

She held up a hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dean laughed with her. “Melanie doesn’t either, which is why she’s upstairs.” The music ended abruptly as the announcer stepped back into the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, but Taylor barely heard him. Her full attention was on the man waiting to climb into the ring. Joe’s challenger entered first, circled the ring to adoring cheers.

Then the announcer called out “… five-time undefeated Backstoppers champion, Joe Marino …”

Joe stripped off his robe, revealing a red and white sleeveless boxing shirt tucked into his waistband. He’d added it after they’d parted, she assumed. Like a phoenix, he rose the four feet to the climb through the ropes, and as he commanded the ring, Taylor added her screams to those of the audience. The energy was electrifying. He made a circle around the twenty-three-foot square, and she lifted her camera, catching his self-assurance and his predatory prowl. He was primal. Male. Magnificent. Dominant.

The ladies in the audience clearly loved him, and the men respected him, for the crowd chanted “Joe. Joe.” He was their rock star, their beloved champ.

The referee called the boxers into the center of the ring, spoke to them, and then gestured them back to their respective corners. Standing on the area outside the ropes, Joe’s coach gave him last-minute instructions and helped him slide on the red protective headgear. Then Joe was on his feet and the bell rang. As the two men crossed the canvas, Taylor held her breath.

She knew none of the mechanics, couldn’t tell an uppercut from a jab, but as Joe and his challenger engaged, the type of moves became irrelevant. Joe was the red Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robot. He landed punch after punch in a fury, and from the seats on the floor she could hear every
swack
and
flapp
as the gloves connected with skin or the protective headgear. To her, three minutes seemed to fly.

The bell rang and Joe headed back to the corner, where he sat on his stool.

“He won that round,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Ted confirmed.

Habit had her lifting her camera and shooting nonstop as coaches wiped sweat while Joe took a quick drink. His trainer retied his hair, the one-minute break almost over.

“Boxing is all about leg strength,” Ted told her. “To train, they run, they do sit-ups.”

“He does marathons.”

No wonder why Joe loved this sport. His burned legs might appear weak, but they were his key to victory.

“I did a few fights in my days. Back before the real world intruded and I gave it up after college. Your legs allow you to be grounded. Power comes up from the ground.”

Power comes from the ground.
Taylor could see how Joe would need that, how he’d determined to be strong so he could save others as he hadn’t saved his sister.

A woman in a sequined dress and high heels paraded around the ring carrying a Round Two sign. The bell sounded as she left the ring.

Taylor adjusted the zoom, allowing her to focus close on Joe’s face. His gaze rested on his opponent, nothing else mattered. The intensity overpowered her, and Taylor shivered. Then she pressed the shutter, tracking his movements as he landed the first punch; she shot through the entire three-minute round, which Joe won as well. Muscles bulged, sweat gleamed. He hadn’t tired, but she could tell he’d faded somewhat. So had his opponent. The bell sounded.

“One more,” Ted said. “He’s doing great. Unless he gets knocked out, he should win this easily. Getting good pictures?”

“Yes. Thank you so much for arranging this.”

Ted smiled. He was a genuine, down-to-earth guy. “Glad I could help. He seems like a good man.”

“He is.”

The bell again sounded, beginning the final round and the last three minutes. There seemed to be a renewed energy, as if every second meant avoiding sudden death. Then the opponent landed a deadly combination, and Joe staggered back. Almost fell.

The crowd, sensing something, jumped to its feet. Ted placed his arm on Taylor’s. “He’ll be fine. He just lost some points, that’s all. He’s a beast.”

Joe deflected the next set of blows and found his inner monster. The machine inside began a series of uppercut shots that had the challenger falling back. “See? He’s back.”

Sensing the advantage, Joe kept pummeling. The cheers around Taylor grew louder, and Joe never let up. She checked her immediate response which was “Shouldn’t he stop? The guy is about to go down.” The level of intensity frightened her, yet at the same time called to something deep in her biology. Here was a defender, someone who protected those he loved and fought for justice and absolution.

After watching him fight, she’d never desired anyone so much.

The bell rang, and within seconds the two men stood on either side of the referee, who took Joe’s hand and thrust it high into the air. He’d won.

Joe stood there, as the crowd screamed and cheered for his win. Then as the ref let him go, he took off his headgear, and arm muscles bulged as he held his arms down out from his sides, palms up, the muscles in his neck tightening and his eyes turning to slits as he opened his mouth to let out a primal scream, one Taylor captured. The emotions, so like Michael Phelps at the 2008 Olympics, went on for a few seconds before he pumped his fist into the air and seemed to float out of the ring.

As he disappeared from view, she headed back up the escalators to the suite. “Did you see that?” Marci asked when Taylor found her. “Your Joe was incredible.”

“He’s not my Joe.”

“Well, then I want him to be my Joe, as did probably every woman in this place. He’s smokin’.”

“Hands off.”

“Now the claws come out.” Marci laughed. “Meow. You know you want him.”

Taylor did. She sat in one of the comfortable chairs, scrolled through her images as Marci went off to the bar for another beer. The camera couldn’t capture the true essence of the man, but it had come dangerously close. As Marci returned, Taylor tucked the camera away in her bag. She wasn’t sure if tonight had made her a boxing fan, but it had shown Joe in another new light. She desired a man with too many dimensions to count.

Her phone beeped another text, from an unknown number. “Please stop blocking me. I just need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Owen.”

She deleted the text and blocked the new number, although really, she knew that wouldn’t do anything. Owen could be extremely persistent.

“Oh Taylor, good, you’re back,” Virginia said. “I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. Ginger wants her family’s portraits done, and I told her she must use you.”

Taylor stood. “I’d be happy to help.”

Virginia motioned. “Then follow me.”

*  *  *

“Great job tonight, Joe,” his trainer Hugh said as Joe exited the shower cubby clean and dressed in slacks and a red mesh polo. “The streak continues.”

Joe rolled his shoulder. Tomorrow he’d have a few bruises, but nothing he couldn’t handle. “He almost got me. That’s never happened.”

“I’ll review the tape and figure out what went wrong.”

“Thanks.” Although Joe already knew the answer. The periphery of his vision had seen Taylor and her camera. One millisecond, but it had been enough. She’d been on the floor for his fight, and his body had forgotten the fight and instead wanted something else.

He’d paid for it by failing to block a fast combination to the head. Speaking of, he squinted his eyes a few times, trying to rid himself of the headache that the two naproxen he’d ingested upon leaving the ring hadn’t yet cured.

“See you in the gym Monday?” Hugh asked.

“Tuesday. I work tomorrow and Monday.”

“Let’s hope it’s a light shift.”

“That would be ideal.” Joe rolled the other shoulder, stretching it out. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

His trainer gave him a pat on the back. “None of us are. See you. And again, great job.”

“Thanks.” Joe chatted with a few of his fellow competitors and then headed up to the suite.

Taylor was in conversation, but as soon as she saw him, she broke off and beelined over. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

He took a step toward the bar, but Taylor pressed a hand on his arm. He stopped. Gazed at her. “Can we get out of here?” she asked.

“Sure.” He didn’t need to socialize. Usually after a fight he’d head home. “We can go whenever, wherever you’d like.”

Taylor glanced over her shoulder. Joe saw the woman who’d been at the photo shoot in conversation with some guy. “Damn. I drove Marci and—”

Joe nodded. “It’s okay. No worries.” Her hand never left his arm.

“Give me a minute.”

As she moved away, he retrieved a soda from the bar and watched her speak with her friend. Then she was back, purse in hand. “Marci says Thad will give her a ride home.”

“Thad?”

Taylor led the way out of the suite. “He’s the son of someone here. In medical school at Wash U. I try not to judge. She’s a big girl. So you don’t want to stay around?”

Joe shook his head as they made their way down the escalators to the exit. “No. I normally go home, or to my parents’, and get some food and …”

They’d reached the ground level. She turned to him. “What? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Only a few people lingered in the area by the box office, most inside cheering the current bout. He pulled her to him, inhaling the floral of her shampoo. “You smell so good.”

Her hands were flat on his chest.

“Come home with me.”

“Joe, I …”

He could see in her eyes she wanted the same thing. “You drive me crazy. To distraction.” Admitting the truth didn’t lift a burden.

“I did get you hit.” She reached up to touch his chin and he winced. “Sorry.”

“Lost concentration for a split second, yes,” he admitted. “My own damn fault.”

“Still.” Her hands kept checking his injuries.

Joe looked at her and knew he was lost. She was touching him and driving him crazy. He couldn’t go multiple rounds with her. Couldn’t put her safely in a box. “I can’t fight this—us—anymore.”

“Then take me home,” she whispered, and Joe couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to.

Because she was in flats, he leaned down to kiss her. His mouth wasn’t gentle as he found hers, for his need had consumed him. He kissed past her lips, thrusting his tongue so he could taste her mouth, so he could fully possess her. He deepened the kiss until she made that soft little kittenish cry. He pulled back, stared into her eyes. He was hard as a rock.

“Yes,” she breathed. “My mom came home today so I don’t have to take care of the cats.”

He grabbed her hand. Led her out to the parking lot. “Where are you?”

“Over there. You?” Her chest heaved, and as they reached the car Joe pressed her up against her car door and kissed her senseless again. His hand found her breast, kneaded through the fabric. He’d take her right here but she deserved much more, and he wanted to take his time. Wanted to lose control for once. Wanted to trust that this time would be different. That she was different.

“Wait here until I bring my truck around. You can follow me. I live in St. Louis Hills. It’s not far.”

She appeared dazed as he helped her into the car. Good. He wanted her as affected as he was. “Hold that thought and I’ll see you in a few.”

The kiss stayed with Taylor the fifteen minutes it took her to drive to a four-family apartment building on the South Side. She parked behind the building, next to his pickup.

Few lights were on, which meant Elaina was probably out. Good, Joe thought as he led Taylor upstairs. He’d be off to work tomorrow before Elaina could question him about the strange car next to his.