Lori Foster - Holding Strong

As a day-care worker for preschool kids, Cherry had weekends free and could usually get Friday off by trading with another employee. But Denver knew some women liked the atmosphere, the excitement and interaction with fighters more than the actual sport.

“What about me?”

With the way he stared at her body, he could understand her confusion. Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer, Denver got her walking again. “You enjoy MMA?”

“Mostly.” As they crossed the lot, a trio of laughing men passed them. To make room, Cherry squeezed more closely against his side.

And damn, he liked how she fit. Her five-seven was a lot smaller than his six-two, but not too small.

“I don’t understand all of it,” she admitted, going back to their topic. “But it’s exciting when someone I know wins.”

The increasing wind slapped against them, carrying her hair up to his chin. Denver drank in the scent of her, wondering if she smelled that good—or better—all over.

“I could do without the blood,” she admitted. “And once, I saw a guy’s arm break.” She winced as if she felt the pain herself.

Smiling, Denver paused with her just outside the hotel door to let another group exit. “I remember that fight. The idiot should have tapped. Injuries like that aren’t common, but every now and then they happen.”

“Have you ever been injured?”

He laughed. “Hell, yeah, but not bad. My worst injuries happened in training, not in competition.”

“Like what?”

With a roll of his shoulder, he said, “Joint injuries mostly. A popped rib. Broken finger and broken toe. Torn rotator cuff. Concussion. Pulled hammy...”

“Good grief.” Aghast, she said, “I had no idea.”

“Comes with the territory. Like I said, nothing serious, and nothing too bad in an actual fight.”

Still frowning with worry, she shoulder-bumped him. “Because you’re good?”

“Sure.” Modesty had no place in the life of a professional MMA fighter. “But I’m also trained, and that makes a big difference.”

Hugging his arm, she said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing you fight.”

Since he didn’t know where things were going with her, he didn’t want to plan that far ahead. Mostly he wanted to plan for the rest of the night. Period. “Headache better?”

Smiling, she said, “Mmm-hmmm.”

She looked so sweet it was a challenge not to kiss her. If they were alone, he wouldn’t bother resisting. But people hung around the hotel lobby and just outside its doors. Other fighters called out to him. A woman asked to get her picture with him. Denver let Cherry go long enough to oblige the fan.

When he rejoined her, she whispered, “You’re so popular.”

Only in certain crowds, and right now he could do without the recognition. “Come on.” Taking her hand, he led her inside and went straight for the elevator. They had to squeeze in with other people...including the guy who’d hit on her earlier.

CHAPTER TWO

DENVER KEPT HIS mouth shut and his gaze vigilant. Cherry returned the man’s smile with a polite nod, then looked away.

“Calling it a night?” he asked her, with a glance at Denver.

Denver stared back.

“Yes,” she said around a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”

Too dumb or too buoyed by liquid courage, the guy eyed Denver again. “You’re a fighter, too?”

Too? Did that mean this bozo was trained? Perfect. Given how he’d panted after Cherry earlier, he’d love to meet him in a competition. “That’s right. You?”

“Just this lame local shit.”

He said nothing to that. Armie made one hell of a living off the “local shit.”

Sticking out his hand, the man said, “Leese Phelps. You’re a heavyweight with the SBC, right? Denver Lewis.”

Without bothering to explain that he’d only recently been recruited to the SBC, Denver gave a brief handshake. “We’ve met?”

“No, but I follow the fights. I’m light heavyweight. Been thinking about moving up, though.”

Probably to dodge Armie. “You fight in this venue?”

“Yeah. You gotta know someone to get in the SBC, right? So I’m stuck here. But I didn’t fight tonight.”

Put him and Armie in the cage together, and Denver knew Armie would annihilate him.

“The SBC lets you wear your hair that long?”

Denver cocked a brow. Yeah, his hair now hung to his shoulders. Long, but who cared? He didn’t. “Doesn’t bother anyone.”

“Huh.”

As the people behind Denver exited the elevator, he allowed himself to be pressed closer to Leese. He started to speak—and Cherry leaned into him.

“I like your hair,” she said. Then she went a step further and reached up to tunnel her fingers through it. In a playful tone, she said, “It’s sexy .”

Denver frowned at her. Sexy was never his intent. He just didn’t bother getting it cut. But sexy? There were still five people crammed in the elevator with them and he felt his ears getting hot.

Cherry looked at Leese. “When you’re as successful at fighting as Denver is, I doubt anyone worries about the length of your hair.”

Leese jutted his jaw enough to look obnoxious. “You’ve only had one fight with the SBC, right?”

Denver didn’t get a chance to reply.

“And he won ,” Cherry said with emphasis. Just then, the elevator stopped at her floor and, clutching Denver’s hand, she departed with a brisk, “Have a good evening.”

The hallway was empty, so after the elevator doors closed, Denver drew her up short and backed her to a wall. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“I don’t need you to defend me to that guy or anyone else.”

“I just stated facts!”

“And that bit with my hair?”

“It is sexy.” Again she trailed her fingers through it—and shivered—before getting serious. “But I wasn’t really defending you.”

“No?”

“You were giving poor Leese your patented death stare, and I figured you were about to level him, so...I wanted to defuse things.”

He drew back in insult. “You think I’d start brawling in a crowded elevator?”

“No. But you wouldn’t have to. Your ability is light-years away from Leese’s level and he knows it. He was already intimidated and acting like an ass. I didn’t want you to say anything that would...”

“What?” Even more disgusted, Denver asked, “Hurt his feelings?”

Gaze softening, her attention went all over his body. “Seriously, Denver. Did you really want to argue right now?”

He searched her face. “No.” Hell no. Especially not with her looking at him like that. He moved in again, one hand on the wall by her shoulder. “Thing is, I’m not sure you want what I want.”

For the longest time, their gazes held while her breathing quickened and her cheeks warmed. Finally, in a whisper, she asked, “Do you want me?”

With one short nod, he pressed her to the wall, feeling her all along his length. “Have for a long time.”

“You hid it well.”

“Then I’m one hell of an actor.” He brushed his mouth over her forehead. “We have a lot of talking to do, but I’d as soon do it after.”

“After?”

“After I’ve had you. Maybe several times.”

She dipped her head down so that he stared at the crooked part in her fair hair. He brushed his nose against her, down to her temple, her ear.

Her hands clutched at him. “I got the feeling you didn’t like me.”

“I like you.” It was how her flirting made him feel that he didn’t like so much.

“We’re finally going to have sex?”

Having her spell it out like that, as if he’d just given her a gift, added fuel to the fire. He closed his eyes, drew a breath. “That’d sure be my preference.”