Simon Says (5 page)

“Why not?”

Did he hope to convince her to finish her business now because he didn't want her coming back tomorrow? Oh, no, she wouldn't let him off that easy. “You're too busy beating your chest and playing Tarzan, which makes me want to clock you for being a jackass, and I need a liquid pick-me-up in a bad way before I put up with any more of your macho bullshit.”

Dakota spared a quick glance his way, but couldn't tell what he thought of her deliberately abrasive statement. She finished her boots and stood again. “So, is tomorrow good for you?”

For about fifteen seconds, Simon stood undecided, and she held her breath. Then he crossed his arms on the ropes and nodded. “I'll be here.”

“Great.” Relief revived her as she pulled on her coat. “I'll bring a thermos of java. We can share.”

“I have my own drinks.”

“Protein junk, I bet.” After wrinkling her nose, she buttoned up her coat to ward off the fall breeze. “To each his own.” Anxious to leave while she was still ahead, Dakota gave a negligent wave and headed for the door. She could feel Simon's gaze boring into her back, but rather than uncomfortable, it felt…exciting.

Once outside, cold air stung her face and cut through her layers, making her shiver. Steaming, fragrant coffee sounded better and better by the second.

Halfway down the block, Dakota still felt the tingle of interested attention. She couldn't resist looking over her shoulder.

All three big men stood in front of the gym, watching her departure. When she grinned at them, Gregor waved—until Dean slugged him.

Now that she'd seen them, they all went back inside. Huh. Maybe she hadn't been such a pain in the butt, after all. Maybe she'd been a novelty instead.

And maybe Simon was as anxious to see her again as she was to see him. Dakota didn't know if that'd be good—or very, very bad.

S
IMON
didn't know he was grinning until Dean shook his head at him.

“What?”

“You look moonstruck.”

Simon shrugged that off. “She intrigues me, that's all.”

Gregor threw an arm over Simon's shoulders, almost knocking him to the floor. “Sorry, bud, but you're trainin' and that means no nooky for you. You gotta save that juice for fightin'.”

Simon laughed and shoved him away. “So Jacki's out of luck tonight, is that what you're telling me?”

A slow smile spread over Gregor's face. “Jacki never takes no for an answer.”

“And that's more than enough on that subject,” Dean insisted, since Jacki was his little sister. “But he is right, Simon. A brief fling is one thing, but you can't afford to get played by some skirt right now.”

“Dakota wasn't wearing a skirt.”

“Dakota?”

“Dakota Dream.”

Gregor and Dean shared amused looks. Dean said, “With a name like that, she sounds like a—”

“Yeah, I know,” Simon cut in. “But she's touchy about it, so don't tease her.”

Dean's amusement turned to a scowl. “How the hell do you know she's touchy?”

“I could tell.”

“I have a solution for you: No one can tease her if she doesn't hang around.”

“She's coming back tomorrow.” And Simon added, “Same bat time, same bat station.”

Dean ignored all that. “If she shows up, you need to send her packing.”

“It's a free world, Dean. Women can go wherever they want these days.” He smiled at his friend. “Even to your gym.”

Gregor said, “But she'll have to pay to stick around tomorrow.”

Simon nodded. “I know.”

“And there'll be a lot more guys here then, too. It's always the busiest day. Crowded as hell. I thought we'd skip it.”

“I thought so, too,” Dean added.

Simon frowned. Fridays were always busy because a handful of veteran fighters made the trip to Dean's gym, which meant that all the newer men also showed up to observe, listen, and learn.

It worked out well for all involved. The established fighters got to spar with fresh blood and bone up on new and varied techniques, and novices got the opportunity to get in some authentic practice.

“I've decided to be here.”

Gregor and Dean studied him.

Simon didn't care what they thought, but still he said, “I figure I should get in as many days as I can before competing again.”

They studied him some more.

“Hey,” Simon snapped, fed up with their awkward looks and insulting conjecture—even if they were right. “You two don't have to hang around if you've got something better to do. I only plan to work out, not spar.”

To Simon's chagrin, they both jumped on his excuse.

“Eve would enjoy having me home for a full day for a change.” Dean barely smiled while saying that. “And Haggerty will be here to run the place. It's not like I'm needed.”

“Jacki will be thrilled to have me all to herself,” Gregor added.

“Selfish bastards,” Simon said without venom. Ready to call it a day, he headed for the corner where the clean towels were kept. A hot shower sounded heavenly. “You know, since you mentioned skirts…I wonder what Dakota would look like in something less rugged.”

“Don't,” Dean told him.

“Don't what?”

“Wonder about her.” Dean tapped himself on the forehead. “Let the bigger head do all the thinking, and think only about the competition.”

“I had no idea you were such a mother hen.”

“She's trouble, Simon. We both know it.”

Given her behavior and outrageous way of talking, Simon had to admit the possibility. But for whatever reason, that only intrigued him more. “Maybe.” Then to reassure both his friends, he said, “I have my priorities straight, and I've been in the business too long to get sidetracked by a piece of tail.”

But even as he said that, Simon regretted the coarse reference to Dakota. She was different. A little odd, but in a cute way. Ballsy beyond belief. He liked that.

And he had a feeling that beneath the street-thug clothes, she had a killer body, lean and limber, just as he preferred.

“God help us,” Dean muttered. “I see it on your face. If you want her that bad, just go after her. She'll still be at the diner. Hook up, get it out of your system, and then tomorrow we can all three take a break.”

Hell of an idea—except that Simon would never allow Dean or even Gregor to think him so weak that he'd allow a woman to influence him. Never again. “I'll pass on that, but thanks for the offer.” He slung the towel around his neck. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to admit it, but Dakota might've been right about a few things.”

Gregor nodded. “The little darlin' did clue me in on how to spot your kicks before they happened.”

“How's that?”

“You tightened your jaw. Like this.” Gregor clenched his teeth. “See?”

“She spotted
that
?” Dean asked.

“Said she did. And she was right. That's the only reason I was able to block those last few.”

“I'll be damned,” Dean muttered.

Simon nearly laughed. Something so simple, and Dakota had noticed. Usually, if a fighter telegraphed his intent, it was by planting his legs, bracing his shoulders…something more obvious than a mere expression.

“So I tighten my jaw.” Bemused, Simon shook his head and made a quick decision. “Monday morning I want Dean in the ring with me.”

When Dean said without argument, “You've got it,” Simon knew that he'd already come to the same conclusion.

“What the hell?” Gregor joked. “I'm being replaced?”

“We'll alternate,” Simon suggested. “And whoever isn't sparring with me should damn well watch for more tells.”

Less than an hour later, they all left the gym to go their separate ways. Simon did slow his car near the diner, and sure enough, Dakota still sat inside. At a booth. With two young men chatting her up. With each word she spoke, Dakota gestured with her hands. She wore a steady smile.

She looked really, really cute.

Simon almost weakened. He almost parked and went inside.

Instead, he stepped on the gas and drove away. Dakota Dream would not lure him off course. No woman could. He planned to win his return fight in a big way.

The spectators would get their money's worth, and then some.

But afterward, when the belt was his and the Internet sites heralded him as still the victor…then he'd find Ms. Dream. Until then, it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun with her.

D
AKOTA
drew up short just inside the gym door.

Like yesterday, warm, humid air and the drone of noise greeted her. But unlike yesterday, today the place was packed.

Men were everywhere, many of them in various stages of undress. Most wore kickboxing shorts and nothing else. All of them were big, hard, dangerous-looking men.

A good dozen of them eyeballed her entrance into their semiprivate sanctum.

Well, this was uncomfortable.

Not that she'd let a little discomfort slow her down.

Before Dakota could take more than a few steps forward, a welterweight too old to still compete stopped her. “The gym's closed today.”

Dakota's brow went up as she peered at the wiry little man. He sat at a barely noticeable corner desk, a newspaper opened over his lap, his feet propped up. He wore a white T-shirt, baggy athletic pants, and wrestling shoes. Other than some artistic tattoos on his forearms, the most noticeable thing about him was a very close-cropped Mohawk and a little goat beard.

The very sight of him made Dakota smile.

“That's odd,” she said, and still gained no attention from the man. “There are so many people here, it looks open to me.”

“There are men here, not just people. They're members.” He turned a page of the paper. “We're closed to the public. You're the public. So we're closed.”

Suspicions bloomed. “Did Sublime put you up to this?”

“Closed is closed. Dean's rules. Sublime ain't got nothing to do with it.” But he glanced at her over the edge of the newspaper. His gaze dipped to her feet, crawled up to her face, then went back to his paper. “But I reckon Sublime wouldn't want to send ya off no ways.”

“Really?”

“Known as a ladies' man, that Sublime.” His gaze peeked over the paper again. “You're a lady, ain't ya?”

“Last time I checked.”

“There ya go.” And he went back to reading.

One thing he'd said caught her attention. “Dean Conor owns this gym?”

“Yup.”

She knew the gym was ultra popular with fighters, and that Dean was always on hand. But as an owner rather than a spokesman? Surprise, surprise.

“I didn't realize.”

“No reason you should, you being the public and all.”

Well, shoot. None of that was very productive. “So let me see if I understand this. You're telling me that I need a membership to get in today?”

“Everyone needs a membership to get in today. Not just you.” He rattled the paper. “Don't be conceited.”

“Conceited?”

He huffed. “Thinking it's all about you. Doesn't matter to me who you are or who you're here to see. You need a membership, just like everyone else.”

“Right. Got it.” And people called her strange! “How do I get a membership?”

In a well-rehearsed spiel, he said, “You pay eighty bucks. That'll cover the month. Come as often as you like. Any equipment you see, you can use. First come, first serve. You need your own gear. We ain't got no ladies' shower room, though. Not that the men'll kick ya out, but you might not like it in there.” He turned another page. “It smells.”

Dakota stiffened her spine. “I have no intention of using the men's shower.”

“That's a good thing, I reckon.”

“I'm Dakota, by the way.”

“Name's Haggerty. I play referee when needed, bust heads when it's called for.” He lowered the paper and even went so far as to drop his feet to the floor. “And I collect memberships.”

“Lovely.” Well, he'd certainly brought that one full circle! Dakota loosened her satchel from her shoulder. “Do you take checks?”

“Nope. But I'll take a credit card. That'll get you a temporary ID and use of the place.”

“Thank you, Haggerty. You're being most helpful.”

He grinned, stunning Dakota by the beauty of that smile. How such a gnarled little man kept such wonderful teeth, she couldn't guess.

As he ran her credit card, she asked, “I hope Sublime is here today.”

“I seen him earlier.”

“You seen…er, saw him where?” In that crowd, she'd never find Simon without a little help.

“Weight room. Toward the back.” Haggerty tipped his head in the general direction then returned her card to her, along with a temporary ID. “Just so you know—it's smelly back there, too. Not every day, but today's not every day. Today is busier.”

“I appreciate the warning.” Dakota stared across the floor toward the door Haggerty had indicated. A dozen scarred, curious, muscle-bound hulks kept her in their sights as they continued with their routines.

It'd be like walking the gauntlet.

She might as well get it over with. Looping her satchel strap over her neck for safekeeping, Dakota lifted her chin and began her trek. It wasn't easy. Sweaty bodies ebbed and flowed around the room. She got bumped four times, three of those times on purpose, she was sure.

A hand grazed her behind. She ignored the insult of it. For now. But she did turn to lock eyes with the offender.

She wanted him to know that she was on to him.

A little more handsome than some of the others, he grinned at her. “Looking for someone, honey?”

“A man.”

He held out his arms. “Mallet Manchester, at your service.”

“Oh,” she said, “I think you misheard me. I'm looking for a
man
.”

Everyone around them roared with hilarity.

Except Mallet.

Dakota could tell that he took himself far too seriously.

Separating herself from him, she stepped around one bruised fellow with the worst cauliflower ears she'd ever seen, and sauntered past another who smelled like a sewer; Haggerty hadn't lied about that.

After much maneuvering through human traffic, she finally reached the door—and it opened on its own.

Simon stepped out and almost ran into her. He drew up in what she chose to interpret as pleasurable surprise. “Dakota.”

“Simon.” Man-oh-man, he looked good, sweaty and hot and, again, wearing only kickboxing shorts, these a royal blue. Not a single foul odor arose from him. If anything, he smelled good. Earthy. Manly. Strong. Sexy.

Dakota shook her head of those fanciful notions. “You bum,” she teased. “You know, you could have warned me.”

His firm mouth didn't smile, but his dark eyes did. “About what?”

“The eighty dollars, naturally.” Never in a million years would Dakota admit that the crowded gym discomforted her. “I had to use my credit card just to get in.”

His fingers touched her chin in a brief apology. “I'll try and make it worth the cost.”

That single nonsexual caress immobilized her. Hell, she couldn't even breathe. She stared at Simon, waiting for…she didn't know what.

Three swearing, disgruntled men pushed toward them, and Simon took her arm, tugging her out of the way. But rather than stop once he'd cleared their path, he released Dakota and kept going—toward another group of men.

Dakota hurried after him. “You're still working out?”

“I'm done, but I want to watch some of the others for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

If he found her question pushy, he didn't say so. “Half an hour or so.”

Not too bad. Dakota looked around at the other men, and although she almost suffocated on the thick testosterone in the air, she decided it might be fun to talk to them. Some of them she recognized from fights; others looked new to her. “Okay, so then…maybe we could do lunch after that?”

“Doubtful.” Simon stopped in front of two men practicing strikes. He took a moment to instruct one man on the positioning of his legs before giving a portion of his attention to Dakota. “While I'm training, I'm on a specialized diet. No fast food for me.”

Dakota patted her fattened satchel. “I figured as much. I packed our lunch in a thermal bag.”

Simon's dark brows rose a good inch. “You assumed I'd agree?”

“I was hopeful, yeah.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me know what you're offering first.”

That sensual smile of his wasn't restricted to her offer of food. But Dakota wouldn't let him bait her. Playing dumb to his innuendo, she said, “For me, a cold cut trio, coffee and chocolate cake for dessert. For you, lean turkey with dark greens and tomato on a whole wheat pita and a power drink.”

He looked at her mouth. “Do I get dessert?”

Such a loaded question! Dakota almost asked,
What do you want?
but she caught herself in time. “Of course. One cup of cottage cheese with fresh pineapple slices.”

He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of her long blond hair behind her ear. “I'm impressed.”

Today he'd taken to touching her, and the intimacy of that left her flustered. Dakota hoped she hid her reaction to his familiarity. “That I know my business?”

“That you went to so much trouble.”

Trouble would be going back to Barnaby empty-handed. And that, she wouldn't do. She wanted Barnaby, and the reminders of her awful mistakes, wiped from her life once and for all.

Pasting on a grin, Dakota assured him, “If I get what I want, it'll be worth it.”

If
she gets what she wants.

If her thoughts had traveled in the same direction as his, Simon could almost guarantee her satisfaction on that score. If her thoughts varied from his, well, then, he'd just have to convince her.

One way or another, he had to get a handle on his reaction to her.

Maybe he'd been celibate too long, and maybe, without even knowing it, he was still stinging over Bonnie's deceit. Whatever the reason, Dakota got to him in a big way.

She removed her coat to reveal a bulky, unattractive navy blue sweatshirt with white lettering that read,
BARBERS KNOW WHERE TO PART IT
.

Simon scowled. Was she dating a damned barber?

Too many washings had left the sweatshirt misshapen, giving an ill fit over tattered jeans and those same manly black boots. And still she looked so damn sexy to him that his heart beat faster.

Standing outside a circle of men practicing submission moves, Simon pretended not to watch her.

Ha. What a joke.

Even though he'd already told them all that she was off-limits, every guy in the place watched her. A few were ignorant enough to ignore his warning and approach her.

Like Mallet Manchester.

Simon didn't like Mallet much, but he had to give him some leeway for stupidity. Dumber than a heavy tool, that was Mallet. Simon thought his real name might be Michael, but no one ever called him that, on or off the mat.

Mallet was the type of moron who never took good warnings to heart. He thought he could bully men and harass women, and sometimes, he was right.

Within the SBC family, he was dead wrong.

Every organization had its bad apples, but for the most part the SBC fostered honor, good sportsmanship, hard work ethics, and camaraderie. Those traits were necessary to succeed in the rigorous competitions. Fighters worked together to learn. They congratulated each other and competed with goodwill.

Mallet, Simon predicted, would never succeed beyond the occasional win. He wasn't championship material. He didn't have the heart.

Chatting with people, examining machines, and assessing biceps, Dakota flitted around the room. She admired a few tattoos, and two fighters even went to the back to retrieve photos of their wives and kids to show her. Like the belle of the ball, she charmed them all.

Except Mallet.

When Dakota didn't give the young fool enough attention, he tried to steal the show by brazenly copping a feel of her ass. She was facing Simon at the time, so he witnessed the shifting expressions of shock, fury, and finally malice that overtook her smile.

Simon saw red.

Then he saw Dakota backhand the guy right in the balls.

She didn't turn to face Mallet for the attack. Nope, she took him off guard by striking without looking at him. And she hit the nail on the…head.

Mallet's face froze for a horrified instant before twisting into awful pain. He cupped his jewels and dropped hard to his knees.

The gym room went silent, partly in shock, partly in amusement, and partly in anticipation of what would happen next.

As Dakota turned to Mallet, everyone watched. She put her hands on her hips. She even looked a little sorry for him.

Bending down, she made sure to have Mallet's attention. “Oh, quit the bellyaching. That wasn't much more than a tap. But let me warn you, if you paw me again, next time it'll be a punch.” She straightened, dusted off her hands, and went back to chatting as if it hadn't happened.