Simon Says (6 page)

Simon didn't realize that he'd headed toward her until he reached her. Once there, he wasn't quite sure what to do. Mallet remained on his knees, still wincing in pain, so it'd be pointless to deck him—as he wanted to.

And Dakota didn't seem the least bit upset by the incident, so he couldn't comfort her or defend her, or anything lame like that.

He didn't know what the hell to do.

Dakota saved him by asking, “All done?”

Unable to lighten his mood or his expression, Simon nodded. “Yeah. I just need to shower.”

“Great. Are you a ten-minute kind of guy, or one who lingers?”

Everything she said had sexual connotations to Simon's lust-inspired brain. “That depends on what I'm doing, Dakota.”

“Oh?”

Damn, but he couldn't keep from looking at her mouth. She didn't wear lipstick, and her mouth looked soft and full, always ready to smile. His voice dropped. “Sometimes lingering is just the right move.”

Those sweet lips parted, then closed tight. “Well, now isn't a good time to linger. I'm starving. And if you don't mind, do you think you could take that one with you?” She nodded toward Mallet. “I think I swatted him a little harder than I meant to.”

The hell he would! “He can damn well crawl in on his own.”

Dakota frowned. “He's carrying on so, I'm starting to feel a little guilty, even though he had it coming.”

“Yeah, he did.” But on second thought, Simon didn't want to leave Mallet alone with Dakota while he showered. He caught Mallet's upper arm and hauled him to his feet. Training mode kicked in, and Simon said, “Let's go, son. I think you could use a cold shower. And no, don't complain to me. You're lucky she got to you before I did, because I'd have broken your hand.”

To his credit, Mallet kept his mouth shut, but his expression was enough to make most women shudder in fear.

Not Dakota.

She laughed.

Beyond the obvious ideas of bedding her a half dozen times until he got her out of his system, Simon wondered what he was supposed to do with a woman like her. She'd made herself at home in the gym, when few women would even venture inside, much less linger.

Simon cleared the floor with Mallet in tow, and then used a forearm to pin the much younger man to the wall. “I warned you, Mallet.”

“She was flirting with everyone!” he strangled out.

“No, she was visiting while waiting for
me
. If you're too stupid to know the difference, that's your problem. But this is the last time I'm going to tell you: hands off.”

Mallet tried to pry Simon's forearm away from his throat, but he couldn't. “You don't own her, Sublime.”

Simon gave him an evil smile. “Far as you're concerned, I do. And if I catch you so much as looking at her the wrong way again, my fists are going to have a discussion with your face. You got that?”

Trying for a smidge of bluster, Mallet said, “Maybe I'm not afraid of you.”

“Then you really are dumber than I thought.” Simon released him so that he could show him the error of his ways—and Haggerty materialized out of nowhere.

“If you're going to draw blood, do it outside the gym. You know Dean's rules.”

Simon looked at Haggerty, and guessed aloud, “Dakota sent you in, didn't she?”

“Said she was afraid you'd kill the young'un.” He shrugged, then latched onto Mallet's arm. “I thought she might be right, so here I am when God knows I have better things to do than babysit idiot fighters.” He led Mallet away, all the while chewing the young man's ear on rules and propriety and good common sense.

With no release for his anger, Simon fumed. Damn meddling woman, he thought.

Meddling, but also smart. After all, she'd known what he would do. Apparently, Dakota had a big heart, too, if Mallet's well-being mattered to her after he'd dared to grope her.

Now Simon was the one who needed a cool shower, to bring both his anger and his ardor under control. He wasn't used to excesses of temper. He fought with brains, not emotion, and he dealt with others the same way.

All his life he'd seen things as black and white. A man needed to work hard, treat others honorably, accept his responsibilities, and along the way have some fun.

Dakota would definitely be fun.

But in his gut, he knew she'd also be dangerous. And he couldn't ignore the fact that she'd shown up at the worst possible time. He had to prioritize, and that meant training first, fighting second, promoting third…and having fun with a sexy, mouthy, surprising broad fell somewhere way down on the long list.

He'd be smart to get the hell away from her.

That is, if she'd let him. As he'd pointed out to Dean, it was a free world and if Dakota chose to hang out at the gym, he couldn't stop her. Right?

While he showered, Simon made up his mind. He'd find out what Dakota wanted, then he'd send her on her way.

He wouldn't touch her, damn it.

He wouldn't seduce her.

He wouldn't do all the things to her that he really wanted to do.

That decision put him in a bad enough mood. But after he redressed and went out to the main floor to find Dakota, his mood took a dangerous turn for the worse.

Dakota had removed her ridiculous black work boots. One of the heavyweights sat on the floor holding those and her satchel in his lap. He was joined by other fighters, some standing, some sitting.

None working.

They were all too busy watching Dakota, encouraging her, ogling her as she halfheartedly sparred with Mitch McGee.

Damn it, did no one take him seriously anymore?

McGee spotted Simon before Dakota did. He froze, which was unfortunate because Dakota expected him to block a kick. He didn't. She spun around, and her foot connected with Mitch's chin. Eyes crossing, mouth going slack, Mitch staggered backward and bounced against the ropes.

“Oh, my God!” Dakota ran to him. “Mitch! I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”

With growing irritation, Simon watched her fawn over McGee. What he felt was not jealousy. No. It wasn't.

Hell, no.

But McGee should have known better than to play with her, damn it. “Let's go, Dakota,” Simon ordered.

“Yeah, just a sec,” she said back.

McGee, showing some intelligence, slumped against the ropes, shook his head to clear it, and said, “I'm fine. Don't keep Sublime waiting.”

“Why? Waiting won't kill him. I've been waiting on him for an hour now.”

“Yeah, but…” McGee glanced at Simon with apology. “He's ready now.”

She snorted. “He's not a raw turkey. He'll keep without souring too much.”

McGee's brow puckered in confusion. “What?”

That was Simon's reaction, too. Dakota did say the oddest things that, from what he could tell, had no meaning to anyone but her.

Rather than look like an ass, Simon said, “Suit yourself, Dakota. I'm outta here.” And he forced himself to turn and walk away from her.

“Oh, for the love of…” Her voice dropped to a growl. “All
right
already. Keep your pants on.”

Simon stopped. He took one deep breath, then another before he turned to see Dakota scrambling under the ropes. “I think I'd rather not.”

She flashed him a look of incomprehension. “You'd rather not what?” Dropping to sit on her butt by the heavyweight, she tugged on her boots and sped through tying her laces.

“Get it in gear, Dakota, and I'll explain it all to you once we're alone.”

Most of the men understood that Simon would prefer to have his pants
off
with Dakota, and they snickered and hooted—until Dakota silenced them all with a frown.

“Don't encourage him,” she said. “He's bad enough as it is.”

So she intended to give them all orders. Ballsy beyond belief, that's what she was.

But the men went quiet.

Done with her boots, Dakota jumped up and pulled on her coat, thanked the heavyweight for his assistance, and grabbed her satchel. She raced to Simon, hooked her arm through his, and smiled brightly. “All ready. Let's go.”

Simon glanced around to see all the men smiling like adoring saps. How the hell did she do that so easily? Few women could infiltrate an all-male domain and be treated as both a pal and a lady.

Especially if she looked like Dakota Dream.

It wasn't just her name that made Simon think of porn stars. She had a natural comfort with her body and presence, and a load of confidence that rivaled a championship fighter.

Dakota was dangerous to one and all. But still, Simon's look issued another warning, and one by one, the men all went back to their drills.

Okay, so maybe he wouldn't be able to escape her without at least a small taste. And touch. And maybe even…full satisfaction.

But just once.

Then he'd send her packing and get back to the business of reclaiming a title championship.

S
HE
drove a truck. Why didn't that surprise him?

Simon glanced around at the interior of the aged Ford F-150 and decided that it suited her. Rugged, but well equipped. Economical, but still attractive. A string of Mardi Gras beads hung from the rearview mirror and a newspaper, with cheap hotel ads circled, lay on the dash. On the floor of the passenger's side was a large thermos, no doubt filled with coffee.

If someone had asked Simon last week—or even two days ago—if he ever thought to eat lunch in a truck in the rain, he'd have assured the person it wasn't possible.

Yet here he was.

A slow steady rain added to the chill in the air and limited the visibility through the windows.

It was cozy. And intimate.

Simon took another bite of his pita sandwich and wished like hell he had the same loaded cold cut triple-decker that Dakota devoured.

She'd driven them just a few blocks from the gym to a deserted park. She kept the engine running with the heat on low and a CD playing. He wore only a long-sleeved tee and jeans; she'd taken off her coat.

Around a mouthful of food, she asked, “Is my hair curling?”

Simon settled against the passenger door and surveyed her. “Do you realize that your conversational topics are usually pretty hard to follow?”

“Yeah, I know.” She shrugged. “Sorry. But see, it's raining and I didn't expect that. The humidity makes my hair curl. And frizz. I'd have pulled it into a ponytail if the weatherman hadn't outright lied to me, claiming it'd be a nice day.”

Her hair was frizzing a little, but it looked cute. “You're fine.” Simon eyed the sweatshirt again. “I take it you're into barbers?”

She glanced down at her chest and smiled. “A friend gives me this stuff on holidays. I have a whole line of barber-joke apparel.”

“He's not a boyfriend?”

She shook her head and said emphatically, “No.”

The way she stressed the negative made Simon wonder, so he kept quiet and waited for her to elaborate. She did.

“I'm too busy for any steady dating or anything. And besides, I'm picky.”

“Picky how?”

“No smokers, no druggies, no heavy drinkers.”

He avoided the same people. “You call that picky?”

“In today's world, yeah.”

“What else?”

“Hmmm.” She considered her preferences while wolfing down another big bite. “Well, I'm not keen on stuffed suits, or guys that are into total grunge. And definitely no wimps or whiners.”

“I don't like whiners, either. Anything else?”

“No young' uns. A man has to be at least my age or older.”

A perfect lead-in. “And you are…?”

“Twenty-three.”

Simon snorted. He'd thought her a little older, maybe closer to his thirty-one years. “Any younger than you and he'd be in high school.”

She ignored that. “And because I have to travel a lot, no one who's too clingy. I hate all that mushy heartbreaking drama, ya know?”

She really did have a long list, Simon realized. But fortunately, he didn't fall into any of her taboo categories. He respected his health too much to do drugs, smoke, or over-drink. And he'd never been clingy or whiny a day in his life. “So do you ever date?”

“Not very often.” She averted her gaze—and that got Simon to speculating.

“When was your last date?”

For the longest time, she didn't answer, choosing instead to stare out the window. The CD played, vying with the howling wind.

Simon was about to change the subject when she said, “It's been so long now, I can't remember exactly.” Suddenly she turned to him. “What about you?”

“A few months.” But he didn't want to talk about Bonnie. “So tell me, Dakota, what do you do when you're not hanging out at gyms waiting for men you don't know? You mentioned that you have to travel a lot?”

A big smile brightened her expression. “Most of the time, I perform.”

“Dare I ask?”

She laughed. “I'm a singer. Sometimes I go solo, sometimes I hook up with a band. Depends on the job, and they vary a lot. I've done weddings and parties for a one-shot deal. And I've done bars and clubs where I stayed on for a few months at a time.”

Yeah, Simon could see her front and center, entertaining men. She'd be a hit. Her voice was mellow and rich, and easy on the ears. “So you do have a real job, just not an ordinary one.”

“Listen to who's talking!” She reached over to slug him on the shoulder. “Like being a professional fighter for the SBC is in any way ordinary.”

“You've got me there.” Simon pried the lid off his cottage cheese and pineapple. It looked good. “You want to sing me something while I eat this?”

She laughed again. “No way.”

“Shy?”

“Nope, not even a little. But this is hardly the time or place.”

“Why not?” Simon glanced around at the interior of the truck, then the empty grounds of the park. “Eating in a truck in the rain in the cold is a first for me. We might as well top it off with live entertainment.”

Dakota shoved her empty food containers back into a bag. “I had thought we'd sit outside to eat. I was going to brave the cold for you, Simon. I'm sorry it didn't work out.”

“Why?” He ate the rest of his meal in a few big bites. “Why go to all this trouble? You still haven't told me what it is you want.”

“I know.” She put her hands together. “I needed to talk to you, but not in a busy diner, and not at the gym. What I have to say…well, it's better done in private.”

Simon eyed her. “If we'd ever had sex, I'd think you were pregnant or something.” Her eyes widened. “But that sure as hell can't be it since I haven't touched you.”

“No.”

He watched her, and added, “Yet.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“So what is it, Dakota?”

“Well,” she hedged. “You know, it's ironic that you'd mention fatherhood.”

Enough was enough. Simon cleared away the empty containers with an edgy type of impatience. “Stop dancing around about it and just tell me.”

She sucked in a deep breath and, watching for his reaction, said, “Your dad wanted me to fetch you home.”

Alarm slammed into Simon. “My dad?”

“Yes. He wants…needs to see you.”

But he'd just seen both his mother and his father not that long ago. Still, fear took over. Simon dug out his cell phone from his pocket and punched in the familiar number.

Alarm brought Dakota upright. “What are you doing?”

“Calling my dad.” She started to say something, and he held up a finger to silence her. “Dad? Hey, what's going on?”

His usual jovial self, Reid Evans laughed. “Not much, son. What's up with you?”

As briefly as possible, Simon explained Dakota. As he spoke, she shook her head at him and kept trying to interrupt, but Simon didn't give her a chance. Finally, she threw up her hands and slumped back in her seat with a mulish expression.

Reid Evans had never met anyone named Dakota Dream. He knew nothing about her. He had no idea who she might be or what she might want.

He exposed her for a fraud.

“Thanks, Dad. That's what I figured.”

Reid didn't let it go at that. “You know, she could just be trying to wheedle a date from you.”

“Maybe.” But Simon didn't think so.

“Is she a looker?”

“Hard to tell,” Simon lied. “She's not the best dresser I've ever seen.” Simon stared at her. Dakota frowned back in irritation.

“Sweet disposition?” Reid asked.

Simon chuckled. “Somehow, I have my doubts on that one.”

“You should bring her home, let your mother meet her. She's a good judge of character.”

“Don't count on it.” Before Reid started insisting, Simon said, “I gotta run, Dad. Take care, okay?”

“You, too, son. Keep in touch.”

“Will do.” Simon disconnected the phone. He worked his jaw while studying Dakota. Obviously, she'd lied. But why? “You care to explain?”

“If you care to listen,” she snapped back.

Simon chastised her with a shake of his head. “First you lie to me, and now you act surly.”

“I didn't lie.”

“That was my dad I spoke to, Dakota.”

“Really? Your biological father or a stepfather?” Without giving him a chance to react to that, she said, “I'm guessing stepfather, since your filial father is the one who hired me.”

Ice ran in Simon's veins. He didn't remember his father at all. According to his mother, the man had left when Simon was little more than a year old. Not once in the thirty years that had followed had he ever contacted Simon.

Why would he contact him now? “You say he hired you?”

Dakota gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “When I'm not singing, I work on a volunteer basis to help find missing people. Usually runaway teens, but I guess Barnaby thought that qualified me to find you.”

Growing colder by the second, void of emotion, Simon said, “I'm not a teen, I haven't run away, and I don't know anyone named Barnaby.”

She flattened her mouth. “I'm sorry, but you didn't give me much chance to explain.”

“And now there's no reason to.” Simon put on his seat belt. “You can take me back to the gym.”

“But…I have to talk to you about this.”

“The answer is no.”

“I haven't asked a question yet!”

“Doesn't matter.” He wanted away from her. He wanted away from the idea of his real father seeking a meeting with him. “We're done here.”

“Simon, come on, don't be stubborn. At least hear me out.”

A strange hollowness bloomed inside him. “I can walk if you don't want to drive me back.”

Her jaw locked. Simon thought he might have heard her teeth grinding. Then she cursed softly and snapped her own seat belt into place. She put the truck in gear. “Fine. I'll take you back.”

No way would Simon thank her.

Dakota stayed silent until they got into traffic. Then, knowing he couldn't very well get out of the truck unless she stopped, she launched into explanations. “His name is Barnaby Jailer, and he just wants to meet you.”

Disgusted, Simon closed his eyes and ignored her.

“I don't know why, but he said it's important, and he said he never contacted you before now because he couldn't.”

“Save it, please.”

“I can't just go back empty-handed.”

“I don't think you have a choice, honey.”

“I'm not your damn honey, and we all have choices. You could choose to see him so that—”

“So that you get paid?” A fresh rush of anger burned away the apathy. “Is that it? You low on cash?”

“Great.” Dakota's hands flexed on the steering wheel. “Now you're going to be a jerk again?”

“Again?”

“I haven't forgotten that you refused to even listen to my suggestions about your fighting style.”

Simon's anger prickled and sharpened beyond all measure. No woman had ever affected him this way. No woman had ever been outrageous enough to talk to him like this.

Insane, he thought, but disappointment drove him as much as anything else did. Despite her being a royal pain in the ass, he'd wanted her.

Bad.

And now he knew he wouldn't have her.

He felt the loss like a solid punch to the liver. “You want to know something, Dakota? I put up with you so far because, for whatever odd reason, I thought you were a little sexy.”

“Sexy?”

It seemed she found that idea as ludicrous as he did. “I figured I'd play along with your whacky nonsense, get laid, and then bid you farewell. But now I have to wonder.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wonder about what?”

Simon leaned close and put his hand on her thigh.

She stiffened straight as a flagpole.

Voice low and mean, Simon said, “If I go between your legs right now, am I going to find warm woman, or a set of brass balls?”

Taking a sudden sharp turn, Dakota slammed on her brakes, throwing Simon to the side of the truck. She snarled,
“Get out.”

Simon already had his seat belt opened and was reaching for the door. “Gladly.”

Her hands had a death grip on the steering wheel. From her neck to her knees, she looked rigid enough to crack.