Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her Past\A Real Live Hero\In Her Corner (63 page)

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hadrian interjected. “Joel and I will work it out. Don't you worry yourself about this. I'll take care of everything, darling.” He strode off.

Kyle led her to the shelter of the tent away from the public eye. Bella ran a hand through her hair, unable to hide her trembling. “Kyle?”

He glanced down, dark eyes hard. “Yeah?”

She exhaled sharply. “I don't want to sound like a wuss, but I'm kind of freaked-out.”

Thank God, he knew exactly what she was asking for without having to say it. Wordlessly, he gathered her close and wrapped his arms tight around her. She closed her eyes and absorbed his strength.

* * *

K
YLE
DIDN
'
T
WANT
to pull away. He kept his arms around Bella's waist, hand resting against the small of her back. She was breathing deeply, as if she'd just sprinted a hundred meters. Probably the comedown from the adrenaline kick, he thought. He knew that feeling well—he was experiencing it himself. He'd been ready to follow the bouncers out and make sure Ryan never bothered her again. But Bella needed him more. And he wanted to be here for her.

He started to run his palms over her back, but stilled. It would've been a soothing gesture, nothing more, but the old Kyle was rearing his head. Those thoughts brought on others, making things stir that didn't need stirring.

Bella leaned into him and burrowed into his shoulder with a sigh, making disentanglement impossible. If he stayed like this much longer, he was going to embarrass himself again.

Luckily, Dom saved him from that. “You need someone's knees broken?” he asked in a low growl. Kyle kept one arm around Bella's waist as she eased away. “I know that guy. He was Bruno DiMartino's manager when we had our big match a few years back. He didn't even visit the guy when he was in the hospital.”

“Thanks, but I can break my own knees,” Bella said.

Dom nodded. “So what happened? What's his deal?”

Haltingly, she related the sordid tale, and a few of the other fighters closed around her to listen. Kyle envied how brave she was, telling this story to a bunch of big, macho guys. He'd expected them to dismiss Ryan's behavior. But they listened, and they didn't interrogate her or try to make excuses for Ryan. She didn't gloss over any details, either—she told them the story in minute detail, right down to the horrendous bathing suit he'd tried to make her wear. They laughed the way people did at stories that were only funny in hindsight, but there was anger and disbelief there, too. Their faces twisted in shock when she got to the attack he'd witnessed.

“Motherf— What a douche.”

“I'll tell all my students and teachers about this guy—make sure none of them sign on with him.”

“If he'd done that to my sister or my daughter...”

Now Kyle wished he
had
decked Ryan. The guy was a criminal, but Kyle had a feeling Bella still wasn't going to press charges. Then again, the way things were going, Ryan Holbrooke would be blacklisted for the rest of his life. The MMA community was a close one, and despite the rivalries that developed, no one ever wanted to see a fighter get stuck with bad representation.

Bonded by this horror, the guys did whatever they could to make Bella feel better, making jokes and telling their own stories, acting like goofs—anything to wash away the moment that had marred the evening's festivities.

As close as Kyle stayed, he was eventually pushed to the sidelines when Bella was dragged onto the dance floor. He watched the group hop around wildly, swinging her this way and that. She laughed and stumbled and eventually stopped to take off her sandals.

Kyle brooded.
He
should be the one down there with her. He should be the one to make her feel better. He downed a mouthful of champagne—the real stuff, not Hadrian's colored water—and made his way across the dance floor where she was grooving with the UFF's current featherweight champion. Her killer stilettos nearly took his eye out as she swung them around on one hooked finger. He grabbed her waist and spun her to face him.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly, cheeks rosy. She quirked an eyebrow. “I thought your knee wasn't letting you dance tonight.”

“Screw the knee.” He narrowed his eyes at the featherweight, who raised his hands, mouthed a smiling
sorry
and backed away.

Bella wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laughed. She had a terrific laugh, full and rich. Kyle wanted to swim in the sound of it. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much.”

He locked his arms around her and cinched her closer. He couldn't stop smiling. Considering how the night had gone so far—first with the dress emergency, then arriving late, the encounter with Ryan, and fending off Hadrian and the other men—he shouldn't have been so pleased, but he was.

He didn't pull away and try to hide his arousal. Until now he hadn't allowed himself to feel the full force of his attraction to Bella. He'd been suppressing it since the day she'd come barreling toward him on her bike. And now, he had her pressed against him, soft and warm and practically purring. Maybe it wasn't professional in the strictest sense, but frankly he didn't care. All he knew was that it felt right, even if it was miles from safe or smart. Maybe tonight was the night they'd explore this thing between them further, continue where they'd left off after that explosive kiss.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked, threading her fingers through the hair at his temple as if reading his mind. A shiver of pleasure made him stiffen further.

Yes
rested on his tongue, melted there. But he couldn't say it without first making sure she wouldn't regret tonight. Maybe he was really asking for himself. “You're the guest of honor. Wouldn't you be missed?”

She didn't say anything in response as she towed him toward the exit. He spotted Jess by the bar, nursing a martini, and she craned her neck. “Hey! Where're you two going?”

“We've got training to do,” Bella said with a mischievous grin.

Jess's gaze moved to Kyle. She grinned and toasted him as they ducked out.

* * *

B
ELLA
'
S
BODY
BUZZED
. She wondered if she'd accidentally sipped some real champagne. In the limo, she and Kyle only held hands, but it was the most erotic hand-holding she'd ever experienced. He traced circles over the top of her skin, dragging his fingertips down to the Vs between each of her digits before turning her palm up and massaging the center with his thumb.

Maybe he knew some magical pressure point, because she swore she nearly came right there.

The limo pulled up to the hotel and they got out. The walk across the lobby took forever. They got on the elevator with an old man and woman who smiled at them as they rode up. They must have been in their seventies, and they were holding hands. What an adorable couple. Bella caught Kyle's eye and bit on her lower lip to keep from giggling.

The elderly couple got off on the fifth floor. The old man said, “You two have a good night,” and chuckled as if it were the funniest thing ever.

The moment the elevator door closed, Kyle grabbed her around the waist and kissed her deeply, backing her up until she leaned against the cool, mirrored wall.

“I think that old man knew we were up to something,” Bella said, fingers delving beneath his tuxedo jacket. His flesh was hard and hot under the fine shirt.

“The list of
somethings
I want to be up to with you goes on forever.” He buried his nose against her neck and inhaled as he drove his hips against her.

Bella gasped as the hard length of him hit her dead center. She was shivering on the edge, holding back, but Kyle was relentless. He hitched one thigh up and pressed her against the wall as he bit down on her exposed shoulder and gently ground his hips in delicious figure eights.

He didn't even need to be inside her. Her climax spiraled and rushed through her limbs. The elevator reached her floor with a loud
ding!

Her heart fluttered and her head spun as she languished in what she was sure would be the first of many orgasms that night. The elevator doors slid open. Together, they fumbled with the key card and entered the suite. Kyle half carried her into the living room, kicking off his shoes as he went. She dropped her sandals on the floor and climbed her way down his body until she was cinched against his erection once more, his hands supporting her thighs. They groaned together as she gyrated.

He breathed deep. “Better not do that too much or it'll be over before we get to the real fun.”

“Tap out if you want to stop,” she teased, letting herself slide the rest of the way to her feet. She pulled at his bow tie. “You're wearing too much clothing.”

He quickly divested himself of his jacket and tie. Bella undid the top buttons of his shirt, their lips dipping and tasting as he backed her toward the couch. She got his shirt undone all the way to the navel, exposing his firm, rippling abs. She needed him touching her, surrounding her, buried inside her.... She shoved him hard. He toppled back onto the couch, his eyes wide.

“Sorry, Coach, too rough?” She straddled his lap, fingers playing through the light smattering of hair on his chest and stomach. His eyes softened when she guided his hands up to her breasts, then grew intense as he gently kneaded, thumbs caressing her nipples. Slowly, he drew down the single strap of her dress and deftly unhooked the strapless bra.

Cool air hit her, and she broke out in all-over goose bumps. Kyle's body heat dispelled the chill quickly. He kissed first one breast, almost chastely, then the other, before applying himself to the task more ardently.

Bella's eyes rolled back. Of course Kyle would be good at this. He'd had so much practice with all those girls....

Don't think about that,
she scolded, trying to dive back into the moment...the feel of Kyle's tongue and lips, the way he was thrusting slowly against her.

She reached between them and unsnapped his pants, scooting back so she could gain access. Kyle tried to slow her down, but she wanted him in her hand, wanted to make him crazy and drive him to the edge.

“Bed,” he bit out, scooping her up under the knees and carrying her into the bedroom. She squealed, distantly thinking how not even Antonio had made her squeal. Kyle dropped her onto the mattress, pulled off his shirt and quickly shucked his pants, underwear and socks.

Bella had seen a lot of nearly naked men. Symmetrical abs and ridged obliques with well-formed but not overly pronounced pecs declared Kyle an ideal specimen of man. Her gaze drifted lower to where other muscles twitched to get her attention.

Make that a perfect and virile specimen.

And how many college coeds have thought that exact same thing?

She yanked off her dress hastily, hoping he hadn't detected her flash of reservation. Kyle was going to be the best bang of her life. She needed this. She deserved it. She'd earned it, dammit. She made to take off her panties, but he caught her wrist and stopped her. “Let me.”

He crawled onto the bed, kissing her toes, her ankles, calves, thighs, hips, waist, breast...up, up, up he climbed until their lips molded together. The moment bare skin met bare skin, she melted. She couldn't stop thinking how good he was at this, how completely in touch he was with her body, knowing when to touch her, when to slip his fingers through her slick folds and plumb her depths. She wriggled beneath him, arching for more. She was used to being in charge of her own pleasure, and here he was taking her right to the brink again....

No. She wouldn't come again, not until he was deep inside her, panting her name.

She wanted him begging. She wanted him helpless and squirming and unable to say anything but “yes,” “please” and “oh, God, Bella.”

She turned over abruptly and pushed him flat onto his back, pinning him as she straddled his hips. His eyes went huge. “What are you doing?”

“Just lie back and enjoy yourself.” She pinned his wrists to either side of his head and started to climb down the length of him.

Every muscle in his body tensed, snapping her out of her lustful haze.

“Get off, get off!” He swore as he bucked, nearly kneeing her in the face. He scrambled to the edge of the bed, his back to her, breaths rasping harshly through his lungs.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

B
ELLA
STARED
AT
the stranger at the other end of the bed. The rank smell of fear lay thick in her nostrils. Her skin cooled, and though she felt every sensation clearly, her head was fogged. “Kyle...did I hurt you?”

It took him a long moment to reply. “No.”

She reached for him, but the moment her fingers made contact, he leaped off the mattress. “Don't touch me.”

She flinched. Slowly, she drew the comforter around her. “Did I do something wrong?”

He didn't respond. Instead, he pushed off the bed and hurried into the en suite bathroom, slamming the door.

Bella ran a hand over her hair, finding the gold-and-pearl barrette still tangled in the mess. She heard the sink running at full blast, followed by the sounds of Kyle rinsing his mouth and splashing his face. She heard his deep, gasping breaths and wondered if he was on the brink of throwing up. Had he had too much to drink? Was he feeling sick?

She replayed the evening in her head, hunting for clues to what had gone wrong. They'd been getting along fine. They'd been having fun. Kyle had finally given in to his attraction to her. He hadn't been shy about it, either. She'd assumed he'd simply wanted a night of steamy sex to get all that tension and frustration out—that'd been what she'd wanted.

He finally came out, eyes cast down. He gathered up his clothes, bunching them up around his semi-erect penis.

“Talk to me, Kyle.” Her voice came out soft, even though she was trying to show him that his rejection couldn't hurt her. Not that she'd ever admit she was feeling insecure. She cleared her throat and tried for a smile. “At least tell me it wasn't food poisoning from the canapés. If it is...”

“It's not.” He stepped into his boxer briefs. He hadn't even stopped to check that they were inside out. He started to pull his pants on, and Bella sensed him already on his way out the door. Running from her. Running from his problems, whatever they were.

“Please don't walk out on me. It's killing me to think I hurt you. I didn't mean to. Please. Tell me what I did wrong.” She sounded as though she were asking for help with her wrestling techniques. “Whatever it is, I'm right here for you, Kyle. Right here.”

He froze and sat heavily on the corner of the bed, his back still to her. “I'm sorry. It's...it's not you.”

Maybe it was selfish to be relieved by that statement, whether or not it was true. It was a while before he continued.

“About a year and a half ago, I had a...
relationship
with a trainer at Payette's named Karla. You've probably heard about it. It wasn't supposed to be anything serious. My dad had passed away a few months earlier, and she'd been really nice to me...”

“And when you broke it off with her, she didn't like it.”

“So the guys did tell you about it, then.” He blew out a harsh breath. “There were phone calls in the middle of the night. Emails. Letters. Packages. I had to change my phone number, but that didn't stop her.... I had no choice but to fire her.”

He linked his hands behind his head, and the muscles on his bare back bunched as he wrung the tension from them.

“A few weeks after her termination, she called and told me she wanted to bury the hatchet. Said she wanted to apologize. I gave her that chance. I guess I didn't think too hard about it at the time—I just wanted it over with. So I met her at a bar. We talked, and she said she was going to Ireland or something. She was leaving the country for good to work at another gym, and she didn't want her crazy behavior to reflect badly on her. Wanted a letter of recommendation. I was happy to give it. I wished her good luck and we had some drinks to celebrate....” He jammed his thumbs into the base of his skull. “Then I started feeling crappy, so I went home. I can't remember much more. They say that's what happens....” His voice grew hoarse. “I woke up and she was there. On top of me. And...I was inside her.”

Bella's insides turned to ice. She didn't dare breathe for fear of the wrong words coming out. Or worse, laughter. Because that's what she wanted to do—laugh. Not because this was funny, but because she simply had no other response for it.

Nothing about this was funny.

“She'd dropped something in my drink—at least, that's what I'm guessing. Maybe I wasn't handling my beer well that night. I didn't eat much that day. Just a hot dog.”

Strange detail to remember, she thought distantly, but then, bad memories did that. He turned his head, but his eyes didn't meet hers over his shoulder. “I guess she'd taken me home and put me in bed. I...” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “She told me I should go with it, that it was one last night before she went away for good. I thought it was a dream. I told myself I enjoyed it...” His hands fell limply to his sides. “She was gone in the morning.”

Bella felt ill. Karla had never left Kyle—she was still here, haunting him. He'd been powerless to stop her....

Hadn't he? Bella surveyed all that muscle and those big, strong hands. Of course he could've stopped her. He'd picked Bella up like she weighed nothing. She'd seen him bench-press his own weight.

But did that mean anything? If he'd been drunk or drugged...

“I found out later from Hadrian that she'd gone to the UFF and threatened to expose me, bring a scandal to the whole organization. Their solution was to find her a swank job in another country and pay her off. Then Hadrian called me, told me he knew everything. He chewed me out. The fact that I had proof of her insane behavior... It was the only thing that saved my job.”

She chewed on her lip, found herself struggling to believe him, and it made her sick. Why wouldn't he defend himself more ardently against Karla's allegations?

She thought of Shawnese suddenly, lying in that hospital bed, afraid to speak the truth, embarrassed by it, helpless and stewing in her own anger and mistrust.

Bella opened her mouth, but no words came. What was she supposed to do? Apologize for her gender? She tried to imagine what other men might say. Make jokes, maybe. Tell him they wished they could wake up every night to a woman riding them.

Bella didn't know what to say. She wasn't accustomed to being this useless. How was she supposed to make him feel better? Dragging him back into bed and trying to make him forget all his worries with sex seemed insensitive to say the least.

“You must think I'm the worst,” Kyle said finally, letting out a wry laugh that sent shards of guilt stabbing through her, “telling you all this when I've never told anyone.”

“Not even your family? What about the police?”

“You think they'd believe me?” He shook his head.

“But if you were drugged...and you've got a bum knee.” She winced. Wrong thing to say. Definitely the wrong thing to say.

He gave a snort. “Yeah. 'Cause they'll really go for that story. My dad didn't even believe I had an injury. He thought I was faking it right up to the day he died—kept insisting I try all these radical therapies to make my knee better, but he didn't get that all I wanted was to stop....”

Meu Deus.
All Bella could think to say was, “I'm sorry.” It was the only platitude she had to offer. Weak. Insincere sounding.

“No, I'm sorry. This wasn't the way this night was supposed to go,” Kyle said casually, almost by rote. He scoffed. “I might as well tell you you're not the first girl I've left in this state. They all thought I was just a doped-up loser who couldn't get it up.”

Jokes. That was his shield. He used humor to hide his suffering. And all those pretty young things he went around with, all of them petite and nonthreatening and easy to abandon—they were all part of the facade. The playboy still playing his game as if nothing was wrong.

Part of her still couldn't believe big, bad Kyle had gone through this trauma. She was still expecting him to turn around and say, “Gotcha!” It seemed like a Kyle thing to do. He'd fought with her, got in her space, avoided her, played her white knight, shied away from her. They'd never been able to get out of each other's way—it'd only been a matter of time before they'd crashed headlong into one another. And now here they were, naked and unfulfilled and completely exposed.

“This is why you don't sleep well, isn't it?”

He exhaled, his whole body sagging. “It's hard to fall asleep when every creak sounds like someone in your house.”

* * *

H
ADRIAN
STUDIED
THE
final photos of Bella Fiore for the special edition
UFF Brawl
magazine and hummed in approval, her smoky, sexy eyes beckoning the reader to
Buy me!
It wouldn't hurt sales if she showed a little more skin, though—maybe he could get the art team to make her shorts smaller.

Mrs. H. knocked on the door frame. “Quinn called again,” she said, handing him a message slip. “She really wants to talk to you.”

“Not now.” He'd been giving her a taste of her own medicine since the last time she'd ditched their plans to chase a story. Quinn hadn't even come to the gala after everything he'd done to get her on the VIP guest list. He'd even booked a limo and a personal stylist to help her get ready. But she'd blown him off to cover some press conference about a retiring baseball player in New York.

His P.A. frowned. “You can't keep putting her off.”

“Of course I can. I'm busy with work, too, you know.” He spotted another slip clutched in her hands. “What's that?”

“He won't stop calling,” The uncharacteristic worry in Mrs. Hutzenbiler's voice made Hadrian sit up tall. “He insists on talking to you.”

“He, who? A lot of people want to talk to me.”

“Fulvio Fiore.”

Oh. Him. He stalled. “I'm surprised, Mrs. H. I've heard you yell at heavyweight fighters without blinking. Fulvio Fiore's in his seventies. Don't tell me an old man is scaring you.”

She gave him a narrowed look. “He threatened to come and speak to you in person if you don't take his call.”

Hadrian sighed. Fiores didn't bluff.

He picked up the phone and hit the line. “Fulvio, how are you?”

“Don't you ask me how I am! How could you do this to my family?”

Hadrian swung around in his chair to face the window as Mrs. H. departed and quietly shut the door behind her. “If you mean sign Bella on with the UFF—”

“Caralho!”
On the other end of the line, something slammed down hard. “She is not capable and not ready.”

“Now, hold up a minute. I think you underestimate her.” He didn't appreciate being yelled at by anyone, not when it came to his business. “I've seen her fight and she's good. Better than good. She's star material.” He picked up the photo again. Definitely a good choice.

“Only because you can't find anyone better. I know you called three other women before you called Bella. How stupid do you think I am?”

He closed his eyes. Of course. Fiore-trained BJJ teachers were scattered across the globe. Some of them would have dutifully reported Hadrian's call to their old master. In the world of MMA, everyone talked. You couldn't stub a toe without someone on the other side of the world hearing about it. “Bella wasn't my fourth pick. She's my first. They all were. I'd sign them all on if they came to me now. The others simply didn't want to step into the cage with such short notice.”

“No, they don't want to fight Kamikaze Kamino, you bastard. How can you put my granddaughter up against that maniac?”

“Ayumi's not a monster, Fulvio—her methods are just a bit unorthodox. Anyway, this is business. Bella's signed. She wants to fight. You can't stop her.”

As the terse silence on the other end of the line stretched on, Hadrian pictured them standing in an arena, Fulvio dressed as a bull, while he waved a red cape at him. “You leave me no choice. If you don't cancel this fight, I will cancel Fiore sponsorship of all UFF events.”

He ground his teeth. The Fiore BJJ School provided a good chunk of cash to the organization and the Starlight Foundation.
But
all kinds of sponsors had recently been stepping up to get their logos on the first ever UFF women's match.

It was only money, he thought.

Hadrian hated antagonizing the head of one of the most influential MMA families around, but as far as he was concerned, Fulvio was an old man whose hold on his family was slipping. He was an aging lion unwilling to turn his pride over to the younger generation.

“I'm not canceling this match,” Hadrian said firmly. “The show is sold out. The media loves Bella, and the world will, too. She's going to make history. Why can't you accept that?”

“Women do not belong in the cage. You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.”

Silence, and then Fulvio said, “You will regret this.”

Hadrian smiled at the photo of Bella. “I don't think I will.” And he hung up.

* * *

B
ELLA
STOOPED
OVER
the sewer grate and vomited up her breakfast smoothie, gasping for breath, heart pounding.

“You have to stop.” Kyle stood by, watching impassively. “Let's walk it off back to the gym.”

“I'm good,” she insisted as she rinsed her mouth and spit. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Let's keep going.”

“No.” His firm tone told her he would not be argued with. “You've been pushing yourself too hard ever since we got back from Vegas. That's the second time you've thrown up in four days. You're going to hurt yourself. You've got to know your limits.”

“I know my limits. I haven't reached them yet,” she snapped irritably. “I ate too much is all.”