Knock Out (The Billionaire's Club: New Orleans) (4 page)

“Okay, Rennie,” Bas said, holding up his gloved hands. “Show me what you’ve got. Don’t hold back, either.”

She didn’t, giving it all she had, wanting to show Sebastian all of her skills. She didn’t want him to think he was wasting his time or his huge vats of money by taking her on. More than that though, she wanted to show him that she was a capable boxer, she wanted him to appreciate her skill and talent and strength. She knew if Bas admired anything, it was his opponent’s skill.

Dance back, bob, weave. Right, right, left. Left hook, right hook, uppercut, right cross. Dance back and repeat. She sank into the rhythm of the sparring, focusing on her target, hitting Sebastian’s gloves wherever he held them. He barked orders as she swung, pointing out a lack of follow through on one punch, ordering her to tighten her footwork, praising a good jab. He coached, guided, criticized, and corrected, everything she would have expected of a trainer.

It was like the years had fallen away. Back in the day, they’d met at Hard Knocks, when Renata and her father had come into the gym in search of a no-nonsense training space. The gym already had an excellent reputation for producing winners, and Sebastian had been on his way up even then. Renata’s father, Salvatore Giordano, had been a bantamweight boxer in his time but hadn’t made it to national prominence. Still, he’d convinced Armand Duparte to give Renata a chance. She’d taken it, stepping into the ring and showing everyone what she could do. That included Sebastian, who had happened to be at the gym that day.

She’d squared off against one of the bantamweights who’d made the mistake of treating her like a girl instead of a girl with boxing gloves. By the time she’d dropped him on his ass for the second time, everyone in the gym knew she’d meant business. Including Sebastian. Twenty-five to her twenty-three, he’d already had national recognition and was prepping for the next major leap in his career. They’d fallen hot and hard and fast for each other, their sexual attraction akin to pouring water on a grease fire. She should have known it was too good to last. She should have known he’d throw her over for the next step to a world championship. Hell, she’d probably have done the same thing if their positions had been reversed.

Sebastian tapped her shoulder hard. “You’re not paying attention! Where’s your mind at?”

Crap. She shoved her thoughts away. “I’m paying attention.”

“The hell you are!” he barked. “Stop wasting my time. Pull your head out of your ass and act like a boxer.”

“I am a boxer!” Anger flooded her. Wasting his time? She was not a fucking waste of time!

Growling, she went on the attack, putting her all into every punch, every jab and uppercut, growling and grunting with each swing. She backed him into a corner, her aim less refined with each swing. Her vision blurred and it took her long moments to realize it wasn’t sweat stinging her eyes, that Sebastian wasn’t returning her jabs or even trying to defend himself.

Shocked at herself, she backed away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—oh God, I’m apologizing to you. To you, when you’re the one who should be apologizing to me! You stomped on my fucking heart, Sebastian Delacroix. Stomped on it, pissed on it, then disappeared like we had nothing. My dad said it was for the best but I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to believe him because I believed you were better than that. But you didn’t even come to his funeral. Now here I am, giving you an apology! How ridiculous is that?”

Renata started laughing, and once she started, it was impossible to stop. She laughed until she couldn’t breathe, until the force of it doubled her over. Only when Sebastian’s arms went around her did she realize she wasn’t laughing at all.

“Renata. Rennie.” He cradled her against his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other firm around her waist. When had he removed his gloves? “I’m sorry, Rennie, so very sorry.”

The softness of his tone as much as the words themselves pushed her overboard. She buried her face into the sweat-soaked cotton of his shirt and bawled. For the loss of her father, the love of this man, the years they should have had together. All her frustrations and pain and confusion raced up and out, eager to be purged through her tears.

When the tears subsided, embarrassment set in. “God, that was such a girl thing to do.”

He loosened her gloves, pulled them off, then tossed them to the mat. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said, wiping her tears away with gentle sweeps of his thumbs. “I happen to like girls. Especially girls who can kick ass.”

Embarrassment gave way to relieved laughter. She felt more than a little punch-drunk, even though she knew Sebastian had blocked more than attacked. “Yeah, well, I obviously had some pent-up emotions I needed to work out. Thanks for taking it.”

“No problem. I’ll be your punching bag anytime.”

Shit. She belatedly realized that his father had done much the same to him, using a young Bas as a human punching bag for his drunken rages. “Oh, God, Bas—”

“Don’t.” His arms tightened around her. “I know the difference between what you did and what he did, Rennie. Like you said, you had some stuff to work out and I wanted you to let it out. Besides …” He smiled down at her. “Unless you aimed for my nuts, you weren’t going to do a lot of damage with those gloves on.”

“So you’re saying I’ve got a long way to go before I can take on Andropova?”

“Not at all. But you’d have a long way to go if you were facing me in the ring. Beginning with adding on another eighty pounds.”

She knew that. Bas had been formidable during his time in the ring. Very few of his matches went the full time. He was just that quick, that brutal, that good. That focused. It was why she had no problem with agreeing to train with him. Even with their personal issues unresolved and strained, she could learn a lot from him professionally.

His expression sobered. “I’m sorry about your father.”

Her heart twinged with old sorrow. She still missed her dad, even though it had been two years since he’d passed. “I don’t need your condolences, Bas. I know we weren’t together anymore by then, but you knew him. I would have thought you’d come to the funeral at the very least.”

“I was there.”

“What?”

“I was there. At the interment. I offered my condolences to your mother.”

She blinked, trying to find words, trying to speak past her shock. Bas was at her father’s funeral, and her mother had never told her? His absence was the one thing that had pissed her off more than anything else. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He spread his hands. “I didn’t want to make a difficult day even more difficult for you. Besides, you were leaning pretty heavily on Cooper by then. I figured the last thing you’d want was for me to show up, but I owed your father my respect. He was a good man and he obviously loved you.”

He cupped her cheeks. “You have every right to be angry with me. You have every right to never forgive me. But I’m going to try to make things up to you, starting now. We’ll work together to get you back that title.”

She looked up at him, exhausted, bewildered, and turned on despite herself. Her body instinctively reacted to his as if they were chemically bonded. “Why? Why would you do all this for me? The training, staying here, the endorsement deal—you’re doing way more than you need to. So why?”

“Because of this.” His eyes glittered with intent as he stared down at her, mesmerizing her, making her breathless with anticipation and want. He cupped the back of her head in one large hand, then angled his mouth to cover hers.

Yes! Her body ignored the warnings in her brain, swaying into him as he kissed her with a thoroughness that curled her toes. This was what she remembered most about him, missed most about him. This hard man, this rough, tough brawler, who had the lips of an angel and the skill of a devil.

Thrusting her hands into the black silk of his hair, she allowed herself to fall into the sensual spell he wove, parting her lips and questing with her tongue. He sucked in a harsh breath then tangled his tongue with hers, dueling with her, plundering her mouth as she raided his. Splaying his hands across her ass, he dragged her closer, lifting her up to rock her hips against the hard rod of his arousal. God, she remembered that too. Remembered it with such potent clarity that she still mourned the loss of it.

She’d had lovers since Sebastian, but none of them could make her body sing the way he could. None of them came close. She realized then that she hadn’t wanted them to. If they had, then she would have had to settle. Like she’d almost settled for Roddy. Almost ignored her instinct to pay more attention to her lover-slash-manager and what he was doing to her career and her finances.

Just like that, her passion dried up. She pushed against Sebastian’s shoulders. He let her go, but he took his time doing it, the imprint of his ready body branding her senses.

They stood a foot apart, staring at each other, their breathing loud in the expansive room. Damn him for looking so damn good. Damn her for being weak enough to want him after he’d broken her heart. And damn Roddy for not being good enough to make her forget Bas and be happy with him.

“Damn you,” she seethed, breathing hard, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. “Damn you for making me want you again. For making me want you still.”

He laughed, no humor in the sound. “If you think you’re alone in feeling that way, your powers of observation aren’t worth shit.”

Her anger bubbled up again. “You expect me to believe that you want me for any reason other than I’m a convenient piece of ass?”

His cheeks flushed red. “Fuck, Rennie, you know damn well how I popped a hard one whenever you walked into the gym. We fucked every chance we got, even when we were so damn tired after training we couldn’t even move but we just had to be inside each other. You were
never
just a convenient piece of ass, and you sure as hell aren’t one now!”

“You really expect me to believe that? You dumped me with that lame excuse of not being good for each other or whatever the hell it was and after five years of no communication, you expect me to just jump back into bed with you like nothing happened?”

“I don’t expect anything, but I want everything.” He stomped closer to her, his expression set in harsh lines. “I want you, Renata. I want you under me in my bed, above me on this weight bench, beside me in the sauna. I want to know if you still taste as sweet as I remember, if you still whimper when I fill you, or if you’ll pull my hair like you used to do when I buried my face between those thighs. I want you every way I can have you. But not angry, not coerced. If we do this, it’ll be because you want it.”

A week later, Renata had to question her sanity. Not about the training. That was going fine. Better than expected even. Sebastian focused completely on her training, pushing her body to its limits, knowing when she had more to give and when to back off. Already he’d erased old muscle memory with improved techniques. Even Duparte was impressed. She doubted she could have found a better trainer, and it made her wonder where her career would have been if she’d been able to train with him for the last five years.

Yeah, Sebastian was an excellent trainer, and he behaved as if that was all he’d ever been to her, as if he’d never had her naked beneath him, as if he’d never ripped her heart out.

She was the one having difficulty keeping her mind focused on her training. Her body remembered Sebastian all too well, and it was eager for a reunion. She remembered the sounds he made when he worked out, the sexy grunts and groans that reminded her of their sex. Remembered the intoxicating smells of sweat and focus and dedication, the smell of this particular man.

She wanted it, wanted it desperately. Wanted it so much she couldn’t hold onto her anger anymore. When he touched her now as he talked about how better to extend her reach, or working on her center or loosening her hips while concentrating on her core muscles, her nipples always pebbled and her breath shortened. She’d wait for his hand to glide up her arm to her shoulder, grasping the back of her neck to pull her close for a kiss. Or his hands would drop to her hips, dragging her back against all that hardness and the burning brand of his erection. Then he would spin her around, he would kiss her, and she would forget about everything but getting skin to skin as fast as possible.

If he noticed her reaction to their closeness or guessed at the thoughts in her head, he gave no sign. He didn’t even get hard—and she knew she would have noticed that.

“Renata?”

She blinked, startled to find Chris, Bas’s personal assistant, standing in front of her, his ever-present tablet in his hand and Bluetooth on his ear. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you were ready to change for the photo shoot.”

“Change?” She looked down at her cherry-red sports bra and shorts. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“This.” He reached out to tap the logo on the left leg of her shorts. “Hard Knocks has its own line of sportswear. We can’t have our new spokesperson photographed wearing a competitor.”

“Oh. Makes sense, I guess.” Changing wouldn’t be a hardship since she didn’t have any particular brand loyalty, instead choosing whatever made her comfortable for her high-intensity workouts. “Do you have anything in a size medium that I can wear?”

Chris smiled. “There’s a full wardrobe in your size in your sitting room. I had a range of colors and styles shipped in. You’ll be wearing HKA sportswear from here on. A few of the outfits are prototypes, so Mr. Delacroix will be very interested in your opinion.”

“Really.” She looked around for “Mr. Delacroix,” but there was no sign of him in the gym. Shortly after breakfast he’d disappeared into his office, leaving Chris to walk her through what she could expect from the shoot. She’d spent the last half hour doing light tests with the photographer and a videographer and discussing her general workout routine.

“Ms. Giordano,” the production assistant, called, “we’ll be ready for you in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, I just need to change. I’ll be right back.”

She headed down a flight to her bedroom, still reeling from the whirlwind changes in her life. Two weeks ago she thought she’d have to beg Duparte for help. Now she not only had her former lover and one of the best boxers in the business as her trainer and erstwhile manager, she also had a lucrative endorsement deal that, if she managed it carefully, would ensure she’d never have to worry about money again. She would have thought it an elaborate scheme on Sebastian’s part to get into her pants if it weren’t for the fact that, aside from that smoldering kiss the first day, Sebastian hadn’t made a single move to seduce her.

Not that he had to. She was doing a stand-up job of seducing herself.

Her mouth dropped open as she stepped into the sitting room that connected to her bedroom. Chris hadn’t lied when he said she had an entire workout wardrobe. Dozens of jackets, pants and shorts in varying lengths, a wide array of tops from full coverage to scandalous, all bearing the Hard Knocks Athletics logo. She had so much new gear she wouldn’t have to wear the same thing twice during her entire pre-fight prep.

She decided on a pair of high-cut compression shorts in black with bright blue piping. Looking more like a modest bikini bottom than a pair a shorts, they were the style she usually favored for working out because the compression material provided the support her muscles needed but still kept her cool. She picked out a blue cross-strapped sports bra in the same compression fabric, trying to tell herself she didn’t pick the color because it reminded her of Bas’s eyes.

After adding socks and a pair of lightweight training shoes, she surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. Though her body-fat percentage was low, she’d inherited her Puerto Rican mother’s ass and her Sicilian grandmother’s C cups. Both were impervious to diet and exercise but at least the compression material would offer extra support while making the most of her workouts and wicking the sweat away. Figuring that sex appeal sold products, she drew on some waterproof eyeliner and lip gloss, then pulled her hair up into her standard high ponytail. Feeling suitably prepared, Renata grabbed a couple of extra outfits then headed back to the upper level. She soon discovered just how unprepared she was.

On the edge of her consciousness she realized that the gym was crowded with more people and equipment than it had been when she’d left. The rest of her brain attempted to process the triple vision of masculinity standing before her.

Sebastian, gorgeous and powerful in a navy tailored suit, looking every inch the master of all he surveyed. She’d seen him in workout gear. She’d seen him dripping with sweat. She’d even seen him in all his male glory, deliciously nude. But something about a man in a suit flipped every woman’s switch. It sure flipped hers, and as needy as she felt, it wouldn’t take much to send her up in flames.

Beside him stood a tall, blond, sun god dressed in loose-fitting black shorts and a white tank emblazoned with the Hard Knocks logo and the words “Earn It.” He looked as if he needed a surfboard beneath his arm. The third man, dressed in a more somber version of Sebastian’s suit, had hair darker than Sebastian’s, midnight eyes, and a soulful glower perfect for a warrior-poet. Everyone gave them a wide berth, recognizing apex predators when they saw them.

Sebastian noticed her first. His eyes, God, how she’d missed that look in his eyes. His hungry, feral gaze slowly roamed over her from her ponytail to her face, then slower still as it dropped to her throat, chest, abs. Warmth blossomed between her legs as she felt his gaze on her thighs then down to her toes before slowly reversing course. By the time his eyes reached hers, she was sure he’d pictured her naked and spread for him.

“Renata.” A gravelly quality entered his voice as he stepped to her, placing a possessive hand on her lower back. He guided her toward the other two men, keeping his body between them. “This is Raphael Jerroult and Gabriel Devereaux, the other two-thirds of DJD Holdings. Gentlemen,” he said, putting soft emphasis on the word, “Renata Giordano, champion welterweight boxer and our new spokesperson.”

Gabriel Devereaux had intensity and edginess, and looked as if his nose had been broken more than once. Not that it detracted from his handsomeness. No, the broken nose kept the man from looking unfairly beautiful, leaving him at the too-gorgeous-for-words level. Raphael Jerroult was the golden angel, the Crescent City Casanova with the brilliant smile, and even when he loved them and left them, he left them smiling and sighing happily.

Neither man could compare to Sebastian in her opinion. Sebastian with his midnight hair and Nordic blue eyes that so many thought were as cold as his personality. She knew that iciness was a shield he’d put up as a young teen, a shield that allowed him to survive his father’s drunken rages. A shield that hid a smoldering will she was powerless against.

Raphael gave her a smile guaranteed to melt the panties off a nun as he took her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Giordano. Please call me Raphael. After all, any friend of Sebastian’s is a friend of mine.”

She sensed Bas tensing beside her, but chose to ignore him. Tried to, anyway. “Thank you, Raphael. And please, call me Renata.” She noticed the braided crimson bracelet around his left wrist. “Do you follow the Kabbalah or is that for a particular awareness cause?”

The smile fled his face as his free hand clamped down on his wrist, covering the woven band. “No. It’s for … remembrance.”

“Oh. Okay.” Sure that she’d committed some social faux pas, she gestured at his shorts. “I suppose you’re also participating in the photo shoot today?”

The grin returned. “Actually, I was the original focus for the shoot. Since I’m the prettiest of the bunch, they put me in the ads to pimp our products. Then Bas had one of his rare brilliant ideas to have you endorse the women’s line. I gotta say, you wear our logo well.”

“Thank you.” Heat stained her cheeks, heat that leveled up a notch as she felt Sebastian’s fingers stroke her bare spine, just a gentle touch to remind her that he was still there. As if she could forget with the way her body kept sending out little zings of electric awareness. She darted a glance up at him. His face was impassive but she could clearly see the tightness of his jaw. He wasn’t very happy with his partner’s flirting. Perhaps if he’d spent the past couple of nights focused on her body’s other needs, he wouldn’t have need to worry.

She turned to the other man, holding out her hand. “Hello.”

“Ms. Giordano.” His hand, large and warm, engulfed hers, giving her a clear look at his bruised knuckles.

“You still fight?” she blurted out.

“Yes, but mostly underground,” he said, as if a billionaire indulging in illegal cage fighting happened all the time. “It amuses me.”

Those space-dark eyes took her measure, daring her to object. Her instincts told her that getting on this man’s bad side would be a very bad idea. “Everyone needs an outlet.”

Gabriel nodded, then flicked a glance at Sebastian. “Good choice.”

He could have meant the endorsement deal or her being their next meal. No hint of warmth emanated from those fathomless dark eyes. Devereaux was definitely more warrior than poet. A billionaire who fought in underground cage matches for the fun of it was clearly no one to fuck around with.

As if sensing her unease, Sebastian’s hand splayed across her back as he subtly turned to place more of his body between her and the other two. “When Devereaux’s not busting balls in the cage, he closes our more difficult negotiations and handles most of our overseas production. Raphael’s the charmer of course, and takes on most of the public relations and charity work we do, as well as handling our nutritional and weight management products division.”

At his limit, Sebastian propelled Renata away from his partners before he did something rude, like bash in Raphael’s pretty face. Taking her to the last quiet corner of the gym, he spun her to face him. About to warn her off Raphael, he made the mistake of looking down at her chest and nearly bit his tongue off.

Fuck
. Her nipples pressed defiantly at the lightweight fabric that was a sorry excuse for a top. At least for the general public to see her in. “Are you cold?”

“No. Why?”

Double-fuck
. That meant she was aroused, as aroused as he was from the moment he’d seen her in her tight, tiny shorts and even tinier top. Gritting his teeth, he shot a pointed glance at her chest. “So that’s because of me?”

She blushed, and damned if that wasn’t hot. “Don’t flatter yourself!”

“It better not be because of Raphael. I’d hate to break the man’s jaw, friend or no.”

Her chin lifted, the golden highlights in her dark eyes flashing. “What about Gabriel?”

“He’s vicious enough in a fight to make me question the odds, but I have righteous anger on my side.” He stared down at her, trying to determine if she was serious or not. “Are you going to make me fight my friends, Renata?”

Her eyes widened. “No, of course not!”

“Then let’s see if we can find something other than my hands to cover your tits, okay? That would kinda ruin the shoot.” He steered her toward the production assistant, his voice dropping to a low growl. “No one sees your nipples but me.”

He hid a smile as she tripped then quickly righted herself. It felt pretty damned good to know that Renata wasn’t impervious to the heat between them. He’d had to wear cups for all their workouts in order to keep his erections concealed, and the damn things were beginning to chafe.

He’d given her a week. Seven days to prove how serious he took her training. Problem was, working out with Renata, watching her body stretch, flex, and tighten was as much an aphrodisiac as a platter of oysters. Some of their best sex had come after high-intensity workouts. She had to remember that, just as she had to know that her skimpier and skimpier clothing choices were driving him insane. He was done with waiting. Today was the day he’d officially reclaim Renata.

The production assistant started the prep work, and Bas realized his torture had just begun. They oiled her up to highlight the definition in her muscles. Then they misted her to simulate perspiration shining on her already glowing skin. Then, oh, God, then she warmed up, demonstrating just how flexible she was as she loosened her body with stretches that had all eyes focused on her. Both the photographer and videographer had a field day as she launched into her workout. Arched back on the medicine ball for sit-ups. On her hands and knees, feet crossed at the ankles as she went through push-ups. Jumping rope. Working the speed bag then the heavy bag, fake perspiration giving way to the real thing. She was beautiful.