Authors: Michele Mannon
Bracken looked like the leader of a motorcycle gang and his manner was abrasive and coarse. The muscled size of him scared the shit out of most men.
He
should be fighting in Tetnus—there wasn’t a fighter alive, including Caden, who could beat him. Chances were high that Bracken was going to knock some heads in when he found out about the duffel bag. Still, time was ticking and he needed to get his big brother involved.
Except, Caden got his voicemail.
Damn
.
He left a brief message about tomorrow’s arrival in Vegas and hit end. Feeling like he had to do something to tidy up these loose ends, he found himself back in Sophie’s bedroom.
She hadn’t budged. He wanted to give her a wake-up present but thought better of it.
If her kind of distraction kept up, no way in hell would he win Tetnus.
He grabbed her camera bag from where she’d left it by her bed. Heading into the privacy of the living room, he positioned the camcorder on the table, and unfolded the viewfinder. He clicked it on and set a chair up in front of it. Without giving himself time to back out, he hit record.
“Hey, this is Caden Kelly speaking once again with reporter Sophie Morelle. You probably know who I am but there’s a hell of a lot you don’t know about me. And, being as Sophie Morelle is one of the best investigative reporters out there, she’s conned me into spilling all the juicy details. So, here you go...”
* * *
“The bus ride to Phoenix wasn’t the same without you, Sophie,” Sal said by way of a greeting. Sophie noted the tall, half-emptied glass of vodka in his hand. Before she could predict how many refills the old-timer had guzzled, he added, “Just joking.”
Someone had found his sense of humor on that rustmobile.
Good humor seemed to be the prevailing theme at tonight’s venue. The refurbished nightclub was decent. Clean and spacious, with a sunken dance floor filling the center of the room, three bars lining the walls, and several well-endowed waitresses carting around trays of appetizers. The place was packed, sold-out, with fans buzzing with excitement. The kind of effervescent delight some people felt after getting up close and personal with a celebrity. Sophie had had a similar sense of giddiness when she’d started on
Late Night
—a few days on the job and she’d gotten over it.
Jerry appeared amiable, working the sold-out crowd and pretty much ignoring Sophie’s presence. She couldn’t have asked for a better arrangement. Except for the hats, boots, and mechanical bull off to one side of the dance floor.
“Where’s your hat, darling?” Anthony came up beside her, his faux Southern drawl thick and heavy with Texas flavor. She wanted to roll her eyes at the prep school fighter from Connecticut, but he’d been more than cooperative tonight. She’d spent a good hour interviewing him off in the corner. He was handsome and photogenic, pleasant and well-mannered. Someone the audience was going to love. After she filmed him greeting his fans, she’d begin part three of their interview. She’d scoped out a small room down the hallway past the restrooms, which offered the most promise for a quiet, interrupted exchange.
“I can’t see my viewfinder clearly with a ten gallon hat in my eyes,” she replied. God knows where someone had procured the pink cowboy hat adorned with blue sequined trim and a brightly blinking tiara. The dang thing had flickered out in protest as she’d jammed it into her empty camera bag. No room for bling—Sophie meant business. She gave a thumbs-up to the group of fighters she’d assembled. “Okay. Ready. The camera’s rolling. Three. Two. One. Action.”
The first image that appeared was Sal with a shit-eating grin. Clearly, he loved the attention, and Sophie found herself smiling. “Okay, we talked about your aspirations to win Tetnus,” she addressed the group. “We discussed what the million dollar purse would mean to you guys and your careers. Now, I have a few more personal questions.”
Within the small entourage of Boys—six to be exact—five of them exchanged glances. Rightly so. Perhaps they sensed she was about to grill them on Jerry’s shady dealings. She plunged ahead.
“Tonight, there are no scheduled exhibitions or fights. Why is that? Isn’t your promoter, Jerry, interested in showcasing your fighting skills? You’ve been kind enough to explain—”
A few voices responded at the same time, all with various versions of the same. “No more exhibitions, not after the bullshit Jerry pulled in Wichita.”
Bingo.
“So no illegal betting tonight, either?”
The group
laughed
.
She glanced around the room and spotted Jerry. The sleazeball was decked out in a brown polyester suit and thin, red tie. He seemed in good humor tonight—a result of the appearance being sold-out—and was talking animatedly with a group of men. No greenbacks being exchanged.
“Am I missing something?”
Anthony gestured for her to follow him. Holding her camera tightly, she panned the crowd socializing and chatting with their heroes as they headed out of the main room and down the hallway to the bathrooms. The Boys and Sal stopped outside the men’s room door.
“I don’t think this is such a hot idea, Anthony. If Jerry finds out we let her film this...” Sal trailed off.
Anthony looked at her. “Put your cowboy hat on so you don’t draw attention.”
Hmph. Well, it was better than nothing. Tugging the abomination from her bag, she plopped it on her head. “Don’t tell me there’s illegal betting going on in the men’s room?”
Anthony tapped out a sequence of knocks on the door opposite the men’s room, the one she’d tried earlier and found locked. Interesting.
The door opened. A small man in a fancy black suit and black cowboy hat ushered them inside. Sophie stopped short and looked around in amazement.
Six tables were lined up in three wide rows. Men in 1970s suits similar in color and material to Jerry’s outdated duds sat behind each of them, talking to small groups of MMA fans clustered around. Sophie kept her camcorder running steady as she wandered down an aisle, taking in the computers, credit card machines, stacks of money, and what looked to be piles of paper with brackets on them—the kind basketball fans fill out for March Madness to select their favorite teams. She scooped one up and held it in front of the camera. The brackets on the outside section of the sheet contained each of the fighters headed for Tetnus, grouped by their weight class. Sure enough, she noted Caden’s handsome mug—the first she’d seen of him all day—grinning up at her from the welterweight page. The faces of the other welterweight Boys were there, as well. Jeez, quite a bit of preparation had gone into this.
The Boys wandered off, probably hoping to find out where they’d place in the bets. Sal remained by her side, silent for once.
A man in a mud-colored suit glanced at her then back at his computer screen. All business—well, so was she. “That thing on?” he asked, not really seeming to care if it was.
She shook her head no and shot him a bright smile, just in case.
It worked. “Pretty lady, you looking to place a bet? We take cash, credit cards, and Paypal. Of course, the charge will show up on your statement as
Lots of Luck
. Tax purposes, mind you. Minimum bet is a grand.”
“A grand as in one thousand dollars?”
“You got it.” The man’s gaze fell from her hat to her camcorder. “Do you have permission to bring that thing in here? And why is the light on if it’s not running?”
“She’s good, pal. I heard Jerry tell her so,” Sal chimed in.
She hastily added, “Jerry’s outside, eagerly issuing personal invitations to fellas about coming in and placing bets. He’s too busy to witness how well managed things are in here. May be”—though she intentionally she said it as
maybe
—”Jerry’s planning on keeping this agency open on a more permanent basis?” She let the idea of that dangle in the air like a Southern drawl. “May be that’s why he asked me to record how efficiently things are running back here.”
Sal tugged at her elbow. “Time to skedaddle.”
“Hang on. Jerry wanted me to find out one more thing.” Ah, she’d just have to edit her little lies out of the footage. “How much have we raked in so far?”
The man scowled.
Darn it
. He’d caught on to her game. “Tell Jerry,” he ground out through his teeth, “that we’ll count the cash later, as agreed.” He pulled something up on his computer. “Credit card receipts total seven hundred.”
“I thought you said the minimum bet was one thousand?”
He glowered. Luckily, his annoyance with Jerry—who must be up their butts asking for minute-by-minute totals—overshadowed any suspicion. “Seven. Hundred. Thousand.” He emphasized each word. “So far. Cash count will probably double that.”
Score one for Sophie.
It didn’t get any juicier than this.
“I’m going make sure Jerry knows he’s not paying you enough. See ya.”
With Sal in tow, she headed for the door. Anthony and two other Boys followed. The remaining three were likely pushing to increase their odds by betting on themselves.
Sal wisely waited until they were in the hallway to say, “Sophie, I didn’t know how much of a setup Jerry had going. Thought it was a simple operation, like betting on the horses.”
“Do all the Boys know?”
Does Caden know?
Anthony nodded. “You kind of expect it with Jerry running the show.”
“Aw, don’t pull such a sour look, honey. I know you’re disappointed in us,” Sal stammered. “It’s the way things are around here. Other sports do it, too.” The old-timer was a bit twisted but his conscience was like pure spun silk.
“Did you get it on film? I’d love to see his face when you bring him down, Sophie. What he deserves after that stunt he pulled in Wichita.”
Hmph.
So that’s why Anthony ratted Jerry out—payback time.
She couldn’t blame Anthony, or Sal.
“Between Wichita and tonight, I’m off to a good start as far as footage is concerned.” But she wanted to get a closer look, without them around. In a more serious voice she said, “I expected more from you, Anthony.” She turned to give Sal a similar comment. He blanched like she’d already ripped him to pieces. Relief washed across his face when all she did was gesture over her shoulder with her thumb. “Ladies room.”
Safely inside, she exhaled, grateful for a moment to quiet her nerves, and let the weight of what had gone down fully sink in. With her back to the mirror, she leaned against the sink counter and tapped her foot. Jerry’s offside betting scam was the brightest light to shine her way in the past twenty-four hours.
The video she’d take of the betting room was something out of a mob movie. Thousands of presumably tax-free dollars lined Jerry’s deep pockets. The IRS might find that tidbit helpful, for sure.
Thank you
,
Anthony
. Sophie was beside herself with excitement. Her earlier manicure and pedicure didn’t even come close.
Granted, it didn’t relieve the disappointment she’d felt when she’d woken up and realized her exclusive with Caden had been botched once more.
Two cocktail waitresses came into the restroom and eyed her hat before continuing their conversation. Sophie felt like plucking the pink abomination off her head and giving it her best Frisbee throw, when it became apparent who they were talking about.
“He’s more ripped in person.”
“I’m on a mission to find out if they padded his junk in the billboard ad, or not.”
“Doubtful. Did you see the size of his arms?”
Dang-diggity.
“Tons of padding,” she heard herself say. For good measure, she added, “A reliable source told me he’s an inch bigger than an average thumb.” Ignoring their shocked expressions, she grabbed her camera and left them to consider the possibility. It served that playboy Houdini right. Who knew where he’d been all day. She stepped into the hallway and missed bumping into Jaysin by a heartbeat.
Fortunately, he was preoccupied repositioning the handles of three large duffel bags in his hand while deep in conversation with another guy.
“Everything set for Vegas?” he asked his partner, his words lingering in the hallway as they headed into her interview room. Common sense told her to head in the other direction. Her instincts told her something was up. She wouldn’t put it past Jaysin to have a second side-betting operation in place.
Quickly, she took out her camcorder and followed them. Instead of entering the room, she stood off to the side of the door, in position to angle her camera and tape whatever was transpiring inside while keeping her eyes on the hallway in case someone spotted her. Which, with this cowboy getup on, was likely.
Luck was on her side. She was able to get a few solid minutes of footage before they shook hands, signaling whatever was going down was done. Hopefully, the mic was strong enough to pick up their mumbled words. Neatly folding her viewfinder back into place, she pulled her hat low, strode down the hallway well ahead of them, and partially reentered the ladies room, propping the door open enough to squeeze her lens through but not be seen. She needed to get a closer look at Jaysin’s partner.
The guy was enormous. His muscles seemed unnatural, his neck thicker than both her thighs combined. Another fighter, a heavyweight, maybe? A foreigner, probably Russian? The heavy duffel bags were so heavy Jaysin had struggled to carry them. Yet this guy had slung all three over his shoulders like sacks of feathers. Whatever was inside, was important to them. Money? Heck, that seemed to be the common theme tonight.
“I’ll call you when the missing bag shows up,” Jaysin told him, his voice low.
Sophie barely heard him over the excited fluttering of her heart, which continued long after the two men disappeared back into the main room.
All kinds of juicy side-events were going down, ripe for the plucking.
The night couldn’t get any more interesting than this.
Chapter Fourteen
SUBMISSION HOLD: The act of giving a fighter the cold shoulder until he’s acknowledged the pile of laundry, dirty dishes, and housework waiting on him
Normally, two long-legged blond cocktail waitresses were precisely what Caden needed after a grueling day. But these two women rubbed his nerves raw. He sipped his drink, wondering why his ordering a water with a slice of lemon was so goddamn funny. He was shot, his body needing some recovery time after the full-blown workout he’d had, yet he’d committed to making this lame appearance.
Bracken was M.I.A., probably working undercover and unable to return his calls.
Fuck.
The last time his brother had been deep within an investigation, it’d taken nearly a month for him to call Caden back. Still, he punched in his brother’s number, hoping he’d pick up, but got the same monotonous recording, “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable at this time. Please try back later.”
Caden’s mood was sour, to put it mildly. And as his restless gaze came to settle on the woman he’d been searching for, it blackened further.
It was hard to miss her.
Holding court with several fighters and a few fans, Sophie’s face was animated as she spoke. The fact that she was gorgeous, despite that ridiculous hat, wasn’t lost on the men surrounding her. Especially that fighter she seemed so fond of—Anthony. Caden felt like smashing his fist into the man’s face as he threw his head back, laughing. Lamely trying to butter her up so he could worm his way into her bed.
A hand touched Caden’s arm. He glared at the blond waitress and was rewarded with her nervous giggle. She’d better check-in with that player Anthony and brush up on her come-on skills.
“Do you know that woman over there in the pink cowboy hat?”
He nodded, his eyes wandering back over to the woman in question.
Both the waitresses fell into a fit of giggles.
Caden’s evening shifted from shitty to shittier. His eyes narrowed as Anthony put his hand on Sophie’s shoulder. He finished his drink, gestured the waitress back over, and set his glass on her tray. She lingered by his side until he looked at her.
Pretty enough. Just not his type...
shit.
“We didn’t recognize her at first, with that hat and all. But you wanna hear what Sophie Morelle told us?” The waitress lowered her voice, earning his full attention. “She said that your crotch was padded for the billboard shots.”
His eyebrows shot up, then knit together. “She did, did she?”
“Yep,” her friend chimed in. “But we didn’t believe her. Look at the size of your feet, for jiminy’s sake. No way you’re as small as she says.”
Nothing like a stereotype to end the night. He rose and, before they could finish, strode across the room and shoved his way into the pack.
“You know what the little fuckheads at the network told me? That my blue-balling days were over. As if I’ve ever left one of my boy toys unsatisfied. God forbid.”
A few of the Boys blanched at Sophie’s words. The minx knew exactly the effect she had on them by telling them that story—laughter brightened her eyes to a clear, iridescent blue.
Until she spotted him. That wiped the smile off her face.
“Let’s dance,” he ground out. He grabbed her elbow and led her toward the dance floor.
To her credit, she didn’t protest. Looking over her shoulder, she shouted, “Watch my stuff, Sal.”
An old Garth Brooks song was playing. He pulled her in tight against his chest and followed the rhythm of the music. In those heels, the top of her head reached his chin. She melted into him and tucked her face in the crook of his neck. His arms relaxed around her and the tension inside him vanished.
She felt good in his arms, swaying against him. Her hair smelled nice, all flowers and cinnamon spice.
Gently, he tugged her in closer.
He heard her sigh. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally feeling how sexy country music could be.
The thought made him grin.
“Where have you been all night?”
He pulled back and looked at her. “Miss me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Like a cat misses a dog.”
“Better watch out. I might be tempted to nip you.”
“Yeah, right,” she shot back. “I saw you talking to the cocktail waitresses. Any ole bone will do.”
That’s right
,
Caden.
Better to remember that.
The song ended too soon and changed to one with real Southern grit. Tired as he was, the music lifted his spirits. Grabbing her waist, he twirled her around, moving with the other couples on the dance floor.
Her laughter rang out, genuine and pretty-sounding.
The music picked up in tempo and a couple’s dance turned into a full-scale honky-tonk stomp. Doubtful Sophie knew what that was but it didn’t hold her back a bit. Sashaying away from him, her hands found her hips and her high heels tapped the floor.
Her hair tumbled free of her ponytail, framing her face with auburn wisps. Her blouse had come undone at the throat, exposing the sensual valley of her neck. He wanted to run his tongue along the sweet curve of that sensitive spot. She wiggled her hips, drawing his gaze to the tight skirt accentuating her ass with each gyration.
Man, alive, she was something to see.
He moved closer, aching to place his hands on her backside and tug her in against himself. Let her feel the full length of him. Show her the stuff his cock was made of—one hundred percent hardcore male. No padding needed.
For the first time in a long while, Caden felt the lightness of life. Sophie brought that out in him. She was spectacular, the way she managed to adapt to any environment. Like now, the way she was rolling her hips in rhythm to the music, innocently rubbing up against his hardening cock, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him. He tugged her in closer and relaxed, liking the feel of her against him as the beat slowed, guiding his movements. Yep, his mood had certainly lifted. Who would have thought he’d be enjoying himself at one of Jerry’s appearances?
“Mind if I dance with her?” Anthony stepped between them, grinning like a kid at a carnival cotton candy booth.
Caden’s light faded to black and he was two seconds away from smashing his fist into Anthony’s smug face.
To his credit, Anthony hesitated. “Guess not.”
Fuck.
What am I doing
,
anyway?
With a shake of his head, Caden headed off the dance floor and repositioned himself at a small, two-seat table.
He sat there and watched them dance. Watched her sashay and laugh and simply let herself go. Thinking about all the reasons he shouldn’t—shouldn’t want to bury himself deep inside her, shouldn’t want to hear her scream his name, shouldn’t care that another man might get there first, shouldn’t care if he did. But, he did care. Too much, in fact.
The song ended. Through slitted eyes, he watched her shake her head no. She left Anthony on the dance floor and retrieved her bag from Sal. Then she headed his way, her hips swinging and her eyes alight with excitement.
He stood up. Knowing he shouldn’t.
Clasping her elbow, he nudged her in the direction of the door.
Knowing exactly what he was going to do.
* * *
Sophie squirmed in the backseat of the cab the entire ride back to their hotel. Caden’s silence made her nervous. As did the funny look in his eyes, a mix between wanting to drop her off and wanting to get her off—or so it seemed.
“Blue balls, huh? Wanna tell me about it?” he asked, his tone laced with humor and something less identifiable. He’d stretched out his long legs and reclined back into the seat with his head on the headrest and his eyes closed. So contrary to the determined way he’d led her out of the club. He was a man on a mission no more. Or maybe she’d gotten her signals crossed and what she thought had been a lustful attraction was...what? The sexual inferno that had flared up between them on the dance floor had been real, right? She sighed.
With a slight shrug—as if her raging libido didn’t matter—she said, “I’m reputed to be a girl’s best friend but a man’s worst nightmare, which meant I had no one in my
Late Night
corner when things got a bit testy about salaries.” She paused, realizing the sting of being let go had faded. Still, she had something to prove to them. “Ha, wait until they get a load of my documentary. Little do they know my blue ball days are just beginning.”
“Morons.”
“Dickwads,” she chimed in, surprising herself.
Silence followed. Was he considering her story or sleeping? It was hard to tell in the dark confines of the cab. The answer became clear as they rolled to a stop in front of the hotel. Caden paid, snatched her hand, and led her toward the elevator.
His lips twitched as he caught her scowl. The elevator chimed.
A few seconds later, they entered their suite. It was the first time they’d been there together
and
awake.
“Hmph, so that’s what happened to you. Those wimps couldn’t handle a hot little chili bean of a woman, huh?” He moved her camera bag off his shoulder and set it down on the table. With his hand on her back, he led her into his bedroom. Letting her go, he grabbed a bottle of water off the nightstand and took a long sip.
A bead of moisture formed on his bottom lip. Her tongue darted out of her mouth and she licked her own lip, so ready for it to be his but not sure how to re-spark the flame smoldering between them.
Turns out, she didn’t have to worry about it. Not. At. All.
“Know what I think?” he added softly. Deceptively so, as his gaze was full of intent.
Her heart did a quick cartwheel. Boy, was that a loaded question.
She grinned, certain his balls had never been left hanging blue.
“With your gumption, smarts, and good looks? Hell, you can do or be anything you want to be.”
This was so not the way she imagined their conversation going. She heard herself say, “Way before I was on
Late Night
, I was on the path to being a darn good investigative reporter.”
He chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Look, tonight you had an entire crew of badass fighters eating out of your hand. They’d share their darkest secrets with you, if you asked.” He frowned, thoughtfully.
Dang it. She did deserve better. Playing some foul-mouthed sexpot in order to boost ratings. Tits and cocks over content. Vulgarity over genuine talent.
“You’re missing a button.” He reached out and placed his finger between her breasts.
Crapola.
Panties. Heel. Now a blouse? At the rate she was going, there’d be nothing left for her to wear by the time they arrived in Vegas.
She glanced down.
He ran his finger up her chest, over her throat and chin, then flicked her nose.
The devil.
A long exhale escaped her—like she’d been holding her breath far too long, and unexpectedly, the weight disappeared.
She was going to get her career back on track. And, without further distractions, get Caden back on track. She tossed her hair and licked her lips.
Game on.
Caden grinned, a lady-killer of a smile.
And, just like that, the room combusted and the inferno between them reignited.
“I’ve got my own theory on your blue-balling abilities,” he murmured. “It takes a real man to know how to handle you.”
The invitation in his voice was clear.
She couldn’t wait any longer. “Humph, I could have sworn a real man had been standing—”
Caden was quick.
With a low growl, he strode toward her. Gently, he cupped her cheeks with the palms of his hands, leaned in, and kissed her.
He stole away any lingering thoughts, replacing them with his lips. His mouth moving over hers. His tongue sliding along her own. The warmth of his body as he tugged her in closer, and deepened the kiss. She felt his hands draw downward across her arms until they rested on her elbows, pulling her in tight and holding her steady. Good thing; the way he worked her over, her knees had begun to buckle.
She groaned into his mouth.
He withdrew, licked his tongue along her plump lower lip, and shot her such a lustful look, it hit her deep between her legs and deeper still inside her heart.
Briefly, they stood like that, with his hands on her elbows and hers finding his hips, staring lustfully at each other and wondering when he’d make the next move.
Naughty man.
Withdrawing a few steps, she tugged her blouse free of her skirt. Slowly, she unfastened the button between her breasts. Then, making certain he understood who he was dealing with, she winked.
The fingers weaving small circles on the inside of her elbows stopped dead in their tracks.
Bingo
. Her hands moved to the bottom buttons and she slowly worked her way up. She felt like ripping her blouse off, when deep within his throat, he made a low noise. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine. More. She wanted more. Wanted to better understand the dangerous undercurrent that she’d sensed within him, and find her way into the heart of Caden Kelly, discover what exactly made him tick.
She paused her fingers at the last button, her arms preventing him from stealing a peek. “Bet you’re thinking, will she? Or won’t she?”
“Chili bean, I’m thinking how many
will she’s
will she have. Multiple, guaranteed.”
Dang-diggity.
She couldn’t strip down fast enough. With shaky hands, she unfastened it, wiggled, and let her blouse fall to the floor.
His arms fell to his sides. He raked his gaze over her leisurely, as if he was making a mental checklist of her body and what she offered up. His lips lifted, wickedly, as he zeroed in on her underwear. The sheer demi-cup bra lifted her breasts nicely. Cherry red—his favorite color. She’d purchased it, along with several other much needed undergarments, earlier. All with him in mind.
She swept one strap then the other off her shoulders and onto her arms. Her hand shifted to the clasp between her breast and she unfastened it, pinching the material together between trembling fingers. Wanting him so much it hurt. Wanting to make him want her so much it hurt. Jeez, her whole body shook with emotion.