Simon Says (8 page)

A small smile touched Simon's mouth, but only for an instant. “No. I took it easy on him. I got the cut from his elbow.”

“Instructing him, then, and not fighting.”

“What makes you think so?”

She shrugged. “That's easy enough. No way Mallet would be able to hurt you like that unless you let him.”

“Your faith is humbling,” he said with dry sarcasm. “Dean asked me to give him some pointers, but Mallet jumped the gun a little on a move I showed him. He's young and impetuous, and at times too eager. I wouldn't kill him over that, you're right. But he's catching hell from everyone else.”

Pleased that he'd strung together so many pleasant words, Dakota nodded. “No one wants to spar with a dirty fighter.”

“Something like that.”

She grinned. “At least now you know he has good elbows, right?”

“There is that.” Distracted, Simon nodded at her chest and read aloud, “‘Barbers have all the right tools.'” His gaze clashed with hers. “You sure this guy isn't more than a friend?”

“Like you'd care.” Those words had no sooner left her mouth than she wanted to take them back. Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip. “Forget I said that.”

Simon didn't change expression, he just waited.

Sighing, Dakota rubbed at her forehead. She didn't understand him at all. “It really isn't any of your business, but since you asked—again—he's just a friend.”

“All right.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you still here?”

Hoping he wouldn't send her packing again, Dakota measured her words. “Maybe we could talk about that over lunch?”

“I have other plans.”

Yeah, right. “Tomorrow, then?”

“No.” Resolute, he kept her gaze snared in his. “Not today and not tomorrow.”

Somehow, without her realizing it, he'd moved closer. Suddenly Dakota could smell the mingling scents of fresh soap and heated male.

She looked at his sternum. “But—”

“You're wasting your time.”

If she believed that, her despair would be great. She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Suit yourself. But the answer will stay no.”

Before Simon could walk away, Dakota caught his arm above his elbow. At the feel of his rock-solid biceps and taut skin, a secret thrill coursed through her.

She licked lips that went dry and pleaded with him. “Could you at least tell me why?” And then maybe she could talk him around his reasons.

He looked first at her hand, then at her mouth. “I have a father, Dakota. I don't need Barnaby…whatever his last name is.”

“I thought I told you. It's Jailer.”

“Perfect.” He gave a short laugh lacking humor. “Barnaby Jailer. Now I'm doubly glad he decided to cut me out of his life, because Dad filled in and he's the best. I wouldn't insult him by associating with Barnaby, and even if he wouldn't be insulted, I don't have room in my life for another paternal figure.”

“Maybe—”

“No. Do us both a favor—go back to Barnaby, tell him thanks but no thanks, and move on to something more lucrative.” He pinched her chin. “Maybe you can sing a song somewhere or something.”

Dakota jerked her head away. “You don't have to be so hateful.”

“And you didn't have to be so conniving about what you wanted.”

She gasped at that accusation. “Conniving?”

“Damn right.” Simon towered over her, and she cringed back. He frowned over her reaction, and allowed her the small distance without comment. “You led me to believe you were here out of personal interest.”

“No.” Annoyed that she'd let her fear take hold for even a heartbeat, Dakota squared off with him. “That was your colossal ego that led you to that assumption. As I recall, you didn't even give me a chance to tell you what I wanted.”

“And you didn't bother to correct me.” Suddenly he cupped the back of her head, drew her up to her tiptoes, and put his mouth over hers.

Dakota went limp, hot, and alive, all at the same time.

His mouth opened, urging her mouth to do the same. Without reserve, his tongue explored over her lips, the edge of her teeth, then past her teeth to twine hotly with her tongue. Bold and curious, Simon adjusted for a better, deeper fit.

Holy cow.

Needing to ground herself, Dakota clutched the soft cotton of his T-shirt. She leaned into him, overwhelmed, excited, ready…and the murmuring of the men around her sank past her numbed psyche.

Good God. She opened her eyes and saw that Dean and Gregor, along with a half dozen other men, stood there watching in various expressions of amusement, speculation, and disapproval—the latter coming from Dean.

Horrified, Dakota jerked away. But Simon's hold on her nape didn't let her get far, which was a good thing given the shaky support of her legs. She did not want to end up on her ass.

Through eyes that burned with emotion, Simon stared at her. “Damn, I needed that.” His thumb moved over her sensitive skin, reviving her and lulling her. Then he said, “Good-bye, Dakota.”

Good-bye?
No way. He had to be kidding, she thought. But he released her, stepped around her, and walked out of the gym.

Leaving
her
standing there with the audience.

And they all waited to see what she'd do.

Well, hell. Praying her face wasn't as hot as she suspected it might be, she took a bow and said, “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

Trying to look nonchalant when she could barely walk, Dakota collected her coat and satchel and left the gym, too.

For once, the cold air felt good. She glanced around for Simon, but she didn't see him anywhere so she made a beeline for her truck. She got in, slumped behind the wheel, and wondered what the hell she should do next.

But no matter how she tried to formulate a plan, her thoughts kept coming back to that kiss.

She hated to admit it, but more than anything, she wanted Simon to kiss her again.

S
IMON
couldn't believe it when for the fifth day in a row, Dakota waltzed in. They made eye contact, she smiled and waved, and he wanted to punch holes in the nearest hard surface.

Why did she have to plague him? After that one hot kiss—which he'd
had
to take and now wanted to repeat—he couldn't get her out of his thoughts. He'd tried, he really had, but with her constant annoying presence, his efforts were futile.

Ignoring her hadn't done him any good. She just pretended that it was otherwise by showing up in those snug jeans and goofy shirts, looking soft and cocky, and all too fuckable.

She smiled at him a lot.

And she watched him. His every move.

Every so often, she even took notes, and it made Simon crazy wanting to know what she wrote. Pointers on his style? Or something else?

Today she only slumped down to sit on the floor, her back propped against the wall. She looked at Simon for a few moments, then closed her eyes.

She looked beat. Defeated. Not at all like her usual perky, determined self.

For some reason, that bothered Simon even more than her galling upbeat enthusiasm.

For the next ten minutes, he divided his attention between his sparring partner and watching Dakota. She swilled down a whole thermos of coffee in no time flat. She rubbed at her eyes, chewed on a fingernail, then stretched and sighed—and Simon took a heel to the center of his torso.

It hurt like hell.

“Nice shot,” he gasped, and he felt himself going down. He landed on his knees and struggled to get oxygen into his lungs.

Dean tried to call a halt, but Simon waved him off. “No,” he wheezed. “I'm okay.”

Billy, his sparring partner, bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, anxious to keep going after a taste of success. In a real fight, he'd have finished Simon. Luckily, this wasn't a real fight—but Billy should have treated it as one just the same.

The trainer in Simon briefly took over. Once he got upright again, he said, “You should have followed through with some ground work, not stood back and waited for me to recover. Until Dean says otherwise, you go one hundred percent, got it?”

Being young and stupid, Billy laughed. “Whatever you say.”

So Simon put it to him.

The laughter died as the other man backpedaled, but not fast enough. Simon threw one punch after another, forcing Billy into a corner and giving him no defense except to cower and give up.

“And that,” Dean told the other man, “is why you don't laugh. If Simon Evans gives you advice, you soak it in. You're getting something most fighters would love to have, but couldn't afford, and here at my gym, you're getting it for free.”

Between desperate gasps for air, Billy panted out, “Free, hell.” He lifted the towel from his bloody mouth, shook his head, and stretched his swollen lips into a grin. “But, yeah, I've got it. Thanks.”

Simon knelt in front of him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He laughed again. “You're fast.”

“So are you. That kick might've done me in if you'd followed through.” Simon looked at Dean. “How's he at grappling?”

“Better than he is with his stand-up game.”

“Really?” Simon's brows lifted with respect. “Then I'd say you've got real talent.” He clapped Billy on the shoulder and stood.

Dean followed him to his corner. “You're letting her get in your way.”

“I know.”

“That's stupid.”

“I know that, too.” Simon sucked air into his lungs, chewed over his thoughts, and looked at Dakota. Again. She'd sat so long on the floor waiting for him that she'd fallen asleep. Her head had slumped to the side, and her limbs were boneless.

To keep his next suggestion private, Dean leaned in close. “Do something about it, Simon, before she screws up your comeback.”

Simon chugged down a gulp of water without taking his gaze off her. After he wiped his mouth, he asked, “What do you suggest I do?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Simon glanced at Dean, his brow raised.

“But do it,” Dean insisted. “Preferably today.” And with that, he walked back to Billy to give him a few more pointers.

Simon dropped the water bottle back into the corner and gave all his attention to Dakota.

Right off, he'd noticed the signs of exhaustion on her usually animated face. Now he also saw the dark circles under her eyes, the paler complexion, and the slump of her proud shoulders.

He didn't like it, damn it, any more than he liked her dogging his heels like some determined puppy.

He laughed. Puppy, hell. More like a pit bull.

Dripping sweat, soaked through to his jock, red faced and fed up, Simon stormed over to Dakota. He could hear her deep, even breathing.

Why come here to sleep?

Why was she so damned tired that she couldn't stay awake?

Simon nudged her foot with his and she stirred. “How much is he paying you?”

At his raised voice, she jerked awake with a start. Her long legs shot out, almost kicking him. She gasped, looked around in alarm, and finally focused on Simon's knees. Her chin tucked in and she did a slow visual trip up his body, pausing over his groin, then his navel. She visually tracked the line of dark body hair up his abdomen to where it spread out over his chest and finally, she met his gaze.

Her eyes looked dazed. “Hey, Simon.”

Having just awakened, her husky voice sounded even more mesmerizing. “How much is Barnaby paying you?”

“Barnaby?”

Impatiently, Simon swiped his wrist over his temple to remove a trickling bead of sweat. “You don't remember Barnaby? He's the reason you're here, right? Or was that a lie, too?”

“I remember Barnaby.”

“So tell me, how much will you earn for this job?”

Taking a moment to get her bearings, Dakota straightened, stretched, rubbed at her eyes. Then she looked up at him. “He's not paying me anything.”

“Bullshit.”

She laughed, apparently too tired to be insulted. “Believe whatever you want, but Barnaby probably won't even cover my expenses—and they're adding up pretty quick.”

Simon tamped down on the surge of anger. “Then
why
?”

Resting her head back against the wall, Dakota stared up at him. Simon knew the moment she decided to give him a small truth.

“We're on the barter system.” She turned her face away from him and shrugged. “I give him you, and he gives me something I want in return.”

Simon dropped to a crouch and caught her chin. “What is it you want?”

“That's for me to know.”

“Then maybe I'll have Dean refund you and ban you from the gym.”

“He'd do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Scowling, she scooted away from him and pushed to her feet. “Look, I'm sorry, really I am, but it's none of your damn business.”

Simon stood, too. “And that's supposed to stop me from asking, when what I want doesn't matter to you at all?”

She made no apologies. “Since you won't go, it's a moot point anyway, isn't it? Without you, he won't give me what I want.”

“Sounds like a hell of a guy.”

Her face came up and she snapped, “He's a prick, if you want the truth.”

Her vehemence surprised him. “Is that so?”

Dakota blanched, and took a quick step back. “Damn, I'm sorry. I know he's your father, but—”

Cutting a hand through the air, Simon said, “Forget it. Insult him all you want. He means nothing to me.”

But then he thought about what she'd said. What could Barnaby have that she wanted? And if she truly disliked him, why work for him at all?

“You're making me crazy, damn it.”

“Sucks for you, huh?” Shoving long tresses of thick blond hair away from her face, Dakota said, “Gawd, I'm tired. I'm heading out for some coffee.”

Simon looked down at the gigantic—and empty—thermos sitting beside her satchel. “You drink too much of that.”

“Yeah, thanks. I'll make a note of your concern.” Her smile mocked him. “See ya tomorrow, Simon.”

No way in hell. He'd had enough of her lunatic behavior. Before she could saunter away, he caught her arm and brought her back around. “Give me his number. I'll call him.”

So much hope shone in her pretty blue eyes that Simon wished he'd made the offer sooner.

“Really? That is, I don't know if that'll do it, but it's worth a try if you really—”

“Just leave the number with Haggerty and I'll call him tonight.” Still holding on to her arm, and feeling like a cunning high school boy about to cop a feel, Simon added, “Leave your number, too, and I'll let you know what he has to say.”

A wide smile put dimples in her cheeks and drove away some of her tiredness. “If you weren't so gross with sweat right now, I'd hug you.”

A man could only take so much. Simon trailed his hand up her arm to her shoulder and urged her in closer.

As he bent to her mouth, he said, “I'll take a rain check, then.” And he kissed her. Not as long this time, not as deep or hot. But it fed something in his soul, and made him want more.

A whole lot more.

Even after he ended the kiss, Dakota stayed poised, eyes closed, lips slightly parted—tempting him. He touched her soft mouth with a fingertip. “No more displays, woman. We've caused enough gossip.”

She swallowed, nodded. Finally, she sighed. “You are one hell of a kisser, Sublime. Maybe even the best.” As if in regret, she shook her head at him and turned to walk away.

Simon watched her go to Haggerty. She had to find the number in her cell, and he watched her every move, knowing he should get away from her, but hating the thought of seeing her so exhausted.

As Dean said, he had to handle the situation somehow, the sooner the better.

Calling Barnaby was a compromise, nothing more. He'd talk with the man, tell him himself that he wasn't interested, and then maybe he'd regain some peace in his life.

Because then, Barnaby wouldn't be between him and Dakota.

And that meant she'd be available. He could hardly wait.

B
ARNABY
paced the small living room that he'd once shared with Joan. He liked this house, the coziness of it and the quiet middle-class ambiance. Thanks to the insurance money and his renovations, he could be comfortable here for the rest of his life. He could relax.

He'd earned that right, damn it.

But unless Dakota succeeded, he'd lose it and everything else that he'd become accustomed to.

Poor sweet Joan would have died for nothing.

Barnaby looked at the young man sprawled in his favorite chair. He despised him. He always had. “I already told you, Marvin. I haven't gotten the money yet, but I will. Soon.”

“You better start pushing the right buttons, old man, before I get tired of waiting and push them myself.”

Barnaby's eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”

All congeniality disappeared. Marvin shoved out of his seat and, giving way to a ferocious temper, overturned the coffee table. Drinks and magazines dumped across the pristine carpet.

“Threaten you?” he screamed. He threw a lamp against a wall, breaking it into chunks, then stomped on the linen shade with his dirty boots. “I don't fucking threaten.”

Praying there wouldn't be any more damage, Barnaby stood still and waited for the anger to subside.

“I'm
telling
you, God damn it. If you want to keep what you have, I better get paid.”

“All right, all right.” Shaken and furious and, though he hated to admit it, afraid, Barnaby tried to placate him with fast promises. “I'll take care of it.”

Jutting his face toward Barnaby, Marvin asked, “How?”

He gulped. He wasn't fond of Dakota, but he didn't particularly want her harmed, either. Still…better her than him. “I sent Dakota on an errand.”

Eyes brightening, Marvin eased into a more relaxed stance. “Dakota?” His mouth curled. “Tell me everything, Barnaby. Now.”

Seeing no hope for it, Barnaby detailed his plan for getting the money Marvin extorted. When he finished, he added, “If you'll just give me a little more time, I'm sure Dakota will succeed.”

“She better.” He gave one hard shove to Barnaby's shoulder and, laughing, he stormed out.

After locking the door, Barnaby looked around at the mess. His beautiful home. His beautiful lamp and table. Now ruined.