Knock Out (Worth the Fight)
Read Knock Out (Worth the Fight) Online
Authors: Michele Mannon
Knock Out
By Michele Mannon
Logan Rettino never imagined she’d fall so far. Dropped by her ex on national TV, she’s gone from prima ballerina to ring card girl, reduced to revving up the crowds before MMA bouts. However distasteful she finds her new job, it pays well...and she needs the money if she’s ever going to rebuild her life. Promised a huge bonus if she can convince a brooding, gifted welterweight to keep fighting, she’ll do whatever it takes to earn his trust.
Keane O’Shea is unbeatable in the octagon. A former marine, he fights with a ruthlessness no gym jockey can match. He knows his brutal strength is too much for the delicate ex-ballerina, regardless of how fascinating he finds Logan’s tight dancer’s body. But one private performance and he’s drawn to her in a way he can’t—or won’t—resist.
As Logan discovers the heartbreaking truth that lies beneath this handsome warrior’s rage, she’ll need to forfeit everything she thought mattered for the one thing that matters the most: saving Keane from himself.
89,000 words
Dear Reader,
It’s unbelievable to me that the holiday season is here already. I feel as though I was just stuffing myself full of holiday cookies, spiced wine and all of the wonderful chocolates sent to me during the holidays. But here we are again in what some call the season of joy, while others call it “the season where I avoid all shopping malls for at least two months.” If you’re one of those avoiding all of the seemingly endless holiday tasks, preparations and shopping, let us help you procrastinate with another fantastic lineup of books. If you’re one who revels in the season of joy, not to worry, these books will only add to your enjoyment of the season.
This month, we have so many returning authors who are fan favorites, I’m not sure where to start. So instead, I’ll start with those who are new, either to readers, to Carina Press, or both. Beginning with debut author Michele Mannon, whose book first came to my attention two years ago during a cold-reads session at a meeting of New Jersey Romance Writers. During that session, I gave Michele some suggestions for strengthening her opening and she worked on it for several months before going on to win a few contests and eventually pitching it to me, at which point I acquired it with great enthusiasm. I hope you’ll check out her fantastic love story of a former ballerina turned ring girl and a brooding, sexy fighter in
Knock Out
, book one of the Worth the Fight trilogy. And don’t mind me while I claim partial credit for the opening line...
Joining Michele with a debut book is Timothy S. Johnston and his science-fiction thriller. It’s Agatha Christie meets Michael Crichton in
The Furnace
as homicide investigator Kyle Tanner travels to a remote space station to solve a mysterious death that may have enormous consequences for the human race.
Our third debut author makes her appearance in one of my annual holiday collections. These have become a tradition at Carina Press, and one that I love, since I get a chance to work with a new variety of authors every year. This year, we have four collections. Last month saw the release of two of them:
Gift of Honor
, a military holiday collection, and
Season of Seduction
, an erotic holiday collection.
This month we release the two contemporary holiday collections, and it’s in
For My Own
that Shari Mikels makes her writing debut with her novella
Christmas Curveball.
Joining her in this contemporary romance collection are new-to-Carina author Kinley Cade with her novella
Kissing Her Scrooge
, and fan-favorite Alison Packard with
A
Christmas for Carrie.
In the second contemporary romance holiday collection, returning authors Christi Barth, Brighton Walsh and Kat Latham join together to offer some holiday love and forgiveness in
All I’m Asking For
with their novellas
Tinsel My Heart
,
Season of Second Chances
and
Mine Under the Mistletoe.
Also new to Carina Press this month are authors Keri Ford, Ann DeFee, T.C. Mill and Daryl Anderson, each offering up something different for reader entertainment. Keri Ford brings us a fun contemporary romance in
Never Stopped Loving You
, in which the heroine has to remind herself: don’t date your friends—and definitely don’t
ever
date your friend’s brother. Ann DeFee’s
Beyond Texas
is a fast-paced contemporary romance of mystical lights that dance across the desert as the hero and heroine, Cole Claiborne and Twinkie Sue Carmichael, discover love while thwarting an evil cult, giving new meaning to the old saying “Don’t Mess with a Texan.”
In T.C. Mill’s male/male fantasy novella,
Gardens Where No One Will See
, Nemaran’s gentle attentions inspire Renad to go beyond the boundaries he’s set for himself for so long—but can they help him break free of even crueler bondage?
And last in the new-to-Carina category, Daryl Anderson is on the scene in
Murder in Mystic Cove.
In this new mystery, a former Baltimore homicide detective thought she’d put murder cases behind her—until she discovered a resident in her father’s retirement community shot dead in his golf cart.
Returning to Carina Press with contemporary romance
Love Me Not
, Reese Ryan introduces us to struggling artist Jamie Charles, who finds refuge from the painful secrets of her past in her art and prefers living on the edge—without the complications of love—until she encounters charming ad exec Miles Copeland, who is harboring his own dark past and is determined to have her heart.
Fantasy romance author Shawna Thomas has the third installment in her Triune Stones series,
Journey of Wisdom.
It’s not too late to catch up before the series wraps up with the last book,
Journey of the Wanderer
, in February 2014.
If you’re looking to spice up your holidays with a BDSM erotic romance,
The Dom Project
by Heloise Belleau and Solace Ames will keep you warm, even when it’s cold outside. When buttoned-up university archivist Robin Lessing agrees to spend one month submitting to a sexy, tattooed colleague, she presents her new Dom with a firm set of rules. But once they begin their stimulating sessions, it’s not long before she’s ready to beg him for more—much more.
Also this month, we have three powerhouse fan favorites with new books. Shannon Stacey returns to the Kowalskis with the much-anticipated
Love a Little Sideways.
When Drew Miller had a casual rebound fling with his best friend’s sister, he thought she’d go back to New Mexico and stay there, but now Liz Kowalski has come home to stay, and Drew’s feelings for her might not be as casual as he thought.
After a two-year wait, Lauren Dane is back with
Blade to the Keep
, the follow-up to
Goddess with a Blade.
Rowan Summerwaite is no ordinary woman. With the power of an ancient goddess in her belly, she’s the perfect candidate to re-negotiate the fragile Treaty keeping the peace between the Vampire Nation and the last line of defense for humanity, The Hunter Corporation. And she’s got to do it as she attempts to manage a politically awkward romance during a trip back to a place she escaped nearly fifteen years before. No pressure.
Wrapping up this month is
The Principle of Desire
, the final book in the Science of Temptation trilogy from Delphine Dryden.
1
Sexy Switch
+
1
Nerdy Newbie
=
A
Master Class in Seduction.
Last, no matter what your religion, or what you celebrate, books are a common bond, so from all of us at Carina Press, we wish you a wonderful season of reading. May there be incredible books, stories and characters on your ereaders all year long!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
To my mother
For being the grounding force in a family of dreamers; for telling me at a young age to be fearless and that I could be whatever I wanted to be; for being such an amazing person; and for being more than just a parent, for being a true friend. Love you, Mom.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my editor, Kerri Buckley, for her hard work, terrific feedback, encouragement, and for loving my story as much as I do. Thanks to my critique partners and wonderfully talented friends at
www.thevioletfemmes.com
, with special thanks to Joanna Shupe and Jenna Blue for their helpful suggestions and for drooling along with me over my hero, Keane. Thanks to the New Jersey Romance Writers for all the support and opportunities to grow as a writer.
Finally, a heartfelt thank you to our soldiers who risk their lives for our country, and who often arrive home with wounds deeper and less obvious than their physical injuries. According to the
Associated Press
*, one out of eight soldiers returning from Iraq and/or Afghanistan suffer from PTSD, but only half seek assistance. If you would like more information about how to help veterans suffering from PTSD, please visit
http://www.homebaseprogram.org/general-information.aspx
.
*(
http://www.nbcnews.com/id/5334479/ns/health-mental_health/t/returning-soldiers-suffers-ptsd/
)
Contents
Chapter One
OCTAGON GIRL: Responsible for announcing mixed martial arts (MMA) bouts by hoisting a numbered card overhead and walking around the eight-sided cage
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
“Yo, it’s the fuckin’ ballerina.”
The shout rang out from high up in the back row of the jam-packed arena.
Logan Rettino notched up her chin. No matter how many times fame reared its ugly head, no matter how many times a stranger’s eyes lit up in recognition, she’d never get used to her ever-growing notoriety and the steady chipping away of her private life. Her secrets.
A classic Van Halen song boomed out of the loudspeakers and the crowd went berserk. Sammy Hagar crooned loudly, prodding her onward toward the eight-sided cage they called the Octagon. She tried to shake it off, hoping she’d read the crowd wrong, that they still considered her just a half-naked ring babe with a sign. Step by agonizing step she headed down the ramp and into the main belly of the arena, until disbelief numbed her nerves and gave her pause. Inhaling sharply, she looked around.
Hundreds of widened eyes swung her way and, in one simultaneous swoop, lowered to her chest. Though no one gave voice to the words that followed, they didn’t have to—their broad smirks said it all.
The ballerina with the huge knockers
.
Great, just great. If tonight’s raucous crowd was this thrilled about a notorious ballerina turned ring card girl, you could bet no place was safe.
Logan might have become the fan favorite since her debut as Octagon Girl a month ago, but she was also broke, desolate and weary from the endless media attention, which didn’t exactly make this job a cakewalk. Now that her ex Pierre’s vicious lies were prime-time news, and these MMA fans knew who she
really
was, all she wanted to do was hightail it back up the ramp and keep on running.
No, she couldn’t claim to be New York’s most promising ballerina any longer. But hell, the show must go on, right? That’s what she was being paid good money to do. Just walk around the edge of a cage and hold up a sign.
Ultimate Fighter fans were gathered at Pittsburgh’s Mellon Arena for what was being billed as “The Rumble on the Rivers,” a mixed martial arts match-up showcasing the best fighters around, along with a few amateurs striving to make a name for themselves.
Logan was somewhat familiar with boxing and wrestling but Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu sounded more like frou-frou drinks at a suburban chain restaurant than fighting styles. Hey, whatever floats your boat, as long as it pays the bills. Logan knew little else about the world of ultimate fighting, except it paid well for everyone involved. With four bouts under her belt, most of her overdue medical bills had been paid off.
Becoming an Octagon Girl was her ticket toward restoring some semblance of her prior life. Money earned to pay off debt, then save toward the bigger dream of opening her own dance school.
If she could just make it through this bout.
Her knuckles tightened around the Round One ring card as she braced it high overhead. Making her way up the stairs, her pink Nike sneaker caught, and she missed a step. Stumbled, really. Having one’s troubles aired in front of an audience had a tendency to do that, make someone falter.
Logan’s spine stiffened. As she climbed the final stairs to the cage, the crowd saw a radiant smile, plastered there on her face from years of practice. A dancer’s determination to never let them see the pain.
Just you wait
,
Pierre.
Payback is a bitch
. If it wasn’t for him sweet talking her into that ridiculous reality TV show, she’d be on stage at Lincoln Center right now.
This was not the type of fame she’d aspired to. Public perception of her had belly-flopped into something much uglier. Something of Pierre’s making. Infamy eclipsing her hard-won public admiration. All that commitment and self-discipline, blood, sweat and tears. For what?
Considering the crowd’s reaction tonight, “make Pierre suffer” shot to the top of her bucket list.
With a defiant toss of her curly blond hair, she leaped up onto the thick mat and positioned herself on the wide rim just outside the fenced-in cage.
The crowd burst out, chanting, “Luscious Logan, dance for us!” For a second, the nickname gave her pause. During her last—and final—ballet season, the audience had dubbed her “Lovely Logan.” Evidently, that woman was no more and instead, she had morphed into something more lewd.
Yes, this audience was unlike any she’d ever imagined. But they wanted a show. They wanted her to dance. It was all the encouragement she needed.
Might as well give them something worth talking about.
At the next corner, she paused. Lengthening her body with arms stretched upward, she came up on her toes. Three perfect pirouettes caused the crowd to come to its feet.
For a moment, she was back on stage...a real one.
Encouraged, a genuine smile replaced her seasoned performer’s tight grin. She leaped sideways, toes pointed downward, and landed gracefully. A perfect landing near the ledge and a hair’s breadth away from her eager fans a few feet below.
She spiraled and danced across the narrow space to the next corner in perfect rhythm to Sammy’s crooning lyrics. Gracefully kicking out her legs, she arched backward. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the appreciative nod of a well-dressed woman in the front row. Evidently, she wasn’t the only one out of place in this crowd.
No
,
this is my place.
The present.
A
high-paying job I need to keep at any cost.
With masterful precision, her arms circled in a clean rotation as she made for the next corner. The ring card rotated as well, neatly missing the mat as it made its way back overhead.
“Luscious Logan, dance for us!” The loving audience fist pumped the air—another first for her, in a long, long list of them.
She danced toward the eighth and final corner, and cameras flashed. Blinking from the sudden burst of light, she spotted the flurry of activity flanking the steps, blocking the only exit. For a split second, she considered fleeing and turning back the way she’d come and well away from the unwelcoming clutches of a gossipy media.
Win them over
,
Logan
,
just like you’ve always done.
A determination ingrained in her as a young, aspiring ballerina, seasons of performing for sold-out audiences, and the fact that she’d not only fallen short of completing her last televised performance, but she’d actually
fallen
—been dropped, to be more precise—made her relish the moment.
She finished with flourish, her heart pounding deep within her chest. As the music faded, her legs bent into a perfect plié.
With eyes closed against the pumping fists and camera lights, she stole a moment to breathe in the long awaited, elusive applause. Though instead of sweet roses, it smelled stale and thick with sweaty testosterone.
“Hey, Octagon Girl, is it true you fell on
America Gets Its Groove On
?” Felix Dexter inquired into his mic, his voice resonating loudly from the direction of the broadcaster table running alongside the cage.
Felix thrived on narrating a bout’s play by play, most times well before a punch was thrown. How
he
imagined the fight would unfold, like a little boy boasting about a new video game yet to be opened.
Seemed he found something else to be the expert on.
Her eyes snapped open and she glanced his way. The dirty laundry was about to pile up. His question made her clutch the sign to her bosom, protectively. And not a moment too soon.
Felix waved a large notecard in her direction, and prodded, “Is it true Pierre LaFeur couldn’t catch you because of your big boobs? He was recently quoted as saying ‘It’s Logan’s fault, for her inability to shift her body so her partner can catch her...without interference.’”
My fiancé
. She fought back a scream.
Who cheated on me
,
dropped me on national television
,
shattered my ankle
,
and—as if that isn’t bad enough—is now blaming my average-sized breasts for his careless mistake.
Aside from destroying her career, the jerk had broken her heart and her ankle. Neither had mended without complications.
Sammy Hagar came to the rescue, rasping on and on about finishing what was started. A welcome segue. The crowd’s attention swung toward the top of the ramp, a reminder that the crowd wasn’t really here to see her, or the two other Octagon Girls. The real performer was entering the arena.
A welterweight, that much she remembered. Her boss Jerry had lit into her for missing the weigh-ins—all four of them. It wasn’t like she’d received a job description or a how-to guide when she signed on, but this weigh-in seemed to matter the most. He’d been anxious to feed the new fighter’s ego with a grand showing of press, pampering and pretty women. Yet from what Logan had gathered from Jerry’s nasty tirade, the weigh-in had not gone well, and she had borne the brunt of his anger.
“One more screw up, and you can forget the huge salary I’m paying you,” he’d threatened earlier. This man held her livelihood in the palm of his greasy hand. He could fire whomever he pleased because there was a constant stream of women waiting to be ring card girls, ready to steal her spot. She had to be more careful not to piss him off.
Though Logan had only been working for the slim, squirrel-faced bully a short time, it was clear to her that he’d sell his own mother for a dollar bill. And this particular fighter meant money. The deafening roar of the crowd confirmed it.
Seizing the opportunity, Logan tucked in her chin and descended. Tossing the ring card to the side, she hastened away from the Octagon cage. Rows of Pittsburgh Steelers defensive linemen, or so it seemed, flanked the pathway. She ignored them.
The object of their ear-shattering affection was making his way toward her. Or rather, toward the Octagon. A black sweatshirt framed his body, unzipped and exposing the muscled cords of his upper body, but its hood was pulled up, hiding his face. Camera bulbs flashed, and a chiseled chest, lean, flat stomach, and bulging pecs came into the light.
Unlike other fighters, whose bulk was larger than their frame, this man was proportioned like a fine piece of sculpted marble. A Michelangelo in the flesh, but more brutal, forceful. A beautiful synthesis of strength and physique. With a fondness for art himself, judging by the swirling tribal tattoo that began on the left side of his torso and spiraled down along his abs.
She moved toward the edge of the ramp, making room for him, his entourage and the media to pass.
Except in her preoccupation with the fighter, she’d forgotten the obnoxious fans lining the walkway.
A hand snaked out from the crowd and slid around her waist. Before she could guess his intentions, her back was pressed up against a big, broad chest. In one awkward movement, the rowdy fan lifted her high off the ground.
“Gotcha, Octagon Girl!” the animal snickered. A guy nearby laughed. Someone thumped him on the back as if to say well done for messing with her. No help whatsoever.
With a swift kick backward, the heel of her sneaker connected with his groin.
“Ah, the bitch kicked me!” he bellowed and tossed her away.
Once more, Logan was falling. Falling toward the ground, helpless to stop it. A professional ballerina knew how to fall, unless she didn’t see the fall coming.
You’ll never dance again.
The surgeon’s final words still haunted her. The metal rods securing her ankle, the reason. Ballet had no room for a ballerina who couldn’t land gracefully. And an Octagon Girl who let herself be tossed around by the crowd would find herself out of yet another job.
She closed her eyes, twisted around, hoping to land with her good foot...and connected with a rock-hard chest. An arm wrapped around her back, securing her, as another reached beneath her bottom. She was yanked upward.
Breathless, she paused for an inhale of sweet air. Only to lose it in a long, rushed exhale as she found herself staring into a set of steel-blue eyes. Exquisite eyes framed by charcoal lashes that went on for miles. Eyes so striking her heart performed a pirouette. Unamused eyes that pierced her to the core. A lifetime seemed to pass before reality sunk in.
The welterweight had caught her. More importantly, he hadn’t dropped her—no matter her bra size.
She wrapped her arms around his muscled neck and at the same time, her bare stomach pressed against his. Her skin sizzled with awareness where they touched. An unfamiliar spark of energy that had her leaning in closer and wanting more.
With a soft gasp, she took in his rugged, clenched jaw. High, angular cheekbones led down to full, moist lips pressed together, uninvitingly. But his scowl did nothing to detract from his handsomeness. Beautiful. Much too beautiful to be a fighter.
She lost her breath. Perhaps it was the way he held her against him. Or her very physical response to him—the tightening of her nipples as sure as a snowy Pittsburgh winter.
His somber demeanor didn’t deter the giddiness fluttering about in her chest. All was not forsaken this time. The rugged warrior
had
caught her.
Thank God.
Thank you.
Ignoring the jeering crowd, his anxious handlers, the clicking cameras, and even the taut, guarded look of the fighter holding her, Logan angled her head. Awareness registered in his baby blues as she leaned forward. In a year full of firsts, this one was about to take the prize.
She pressed her lips against his with a heartfelt thank you.
The welterweight’s lips parted and, for a split second, moved beneath Logan’s own.
He tastes like fresh mint
, she noted before his strong arms gently, yet firmly, pushed her away and settled her back on the floor.
“Jesus, lady, save it for after the bout,” one of the handlers said as he tugged her away from the fighter, keeping a firm hold on her.