More than just a sparring partner…

Bella Fiore has a lot to prove. For three generations her family has dominated the world of mixed martial arts—a tradition Bella dreams of carrying on. Her family, on the other hand, doesn’t agree. Without their support, she’s relying on the coaching of medal-winning Kyle Peters.

Training with Kyle is not what Bella expects. They’re constantly butting heads. And with the body of a Greek Adonis, Kyle’s mat technique isn’t her only focus. Not that this attraction can go any further. She has a title to win! Yet when Kyle proves Bella can always rely on him, a championship may not be the only thing worth fighting for….

“You obviously don’t like me,” Bella said.

“That’s not true.” And it wasn’t. Kyle simply didn’t know how to handle Bella. Her temperament, her energy, her drive—they were all good things, professionally speaking, but they were nothing he was prepared to deal with. And that was what really bothered him.

“I came here to train with you, Kyle.” Bella’s words were as sharp and precise as a scalpel. Her composure was unexpected, and it threw him off balance even more. “Not with your staff, not in your gym. I came for you. But if you can’t work with me, then all you have to do is say so, and I won’t waste any more of my time or yours.”

“That’s not what I want.” The thought of losing her because he’d misspoken—because he couldn’t get over himself and deal with her—made him physically ill.

Dear Reader,

I can’t believe I’m publishing my third Harlequin Superromance book! Part of me always thought I might sell two books at most before I dropped dead from exhaustion…the other part yelled at me like a drill sergeant to keep writing. And so In Her Corner was born.

I knew when I started writing my first book, Her Son’s Hero (Harlequin Superromance July 2011), that I would later write about a female MMA fighter. There’d been a few successful female fighters, but it was widely believed that women would never make it into the wider professional arena for a lot of reasons. That didn’t stop talented female athletes from trying, though.

I was thrilled that so many great historic milestones in women’s mixed martial arts happened while I was writing this book, including the launch of Invicta Fighting Championship, a professional all-women’s MMA promotion company; and the first female fight in the world’s largest fight promotion, the UFC. It’s been exciting seeing female athletes compete at this level, and I’ve met so many more female fans as the sport continues to grow.

In Her Corner isn’t just about one woman’s struggle for the right to fight; it’s also about one man’s struggle with himself. Kyle Peters was a flirtatious playboy in Her Son’s Hero, but things have changed since, and the wrestling coach is having a hard time working with wannabe pro fighter Bella Fiore. Bella’s part of MMA royalty, the only daughter of the world-famous Fiores who teach Brazilian jujitsu. Kyle can help get her career off the ground and break her away from her family’s legacy, but he’s wrestling with his own demons. He’ll have to decide whether to see Bella as an opponent or an ally.

I love hearing from readers! Visit me on my webpage, at www.vickiessex.com; on Facebook, at www.facebook.com/vickiessexauthor; or on Twitter, @VickiEssex.

Keep fighting the good fight!

Vicki Essex

In Her Corner

Vicki Essex

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Vicki Essex couldn’t throw a punch if her life depended on it, but she’s been known to inflict injury accidentally, and suggests you stay out of arm’s reach, just in case. She’s a big fan of muscles and sportsmanship, and enjoys watching MMA fights while crocheting. She lives in Toronto and is an omnivore. Visit her at www.vickiessex.com; on Facebook, www.facebook.com/vickiessexauthor; and on Twitter, @VickiEssex.

Special thanks to Elizabeth Gonçalves for her help with the Portuguese language.

All mistakes are my own. Muito obrigado! Vou fazer-lhe uma toranja boneco de neve!

A huge thanks to actor Tahmoh Penikett, who provided a perfect physical template for Kyle and happily played along when I asked him to pose for my cover. (Check out my website if you want the full story. 8))

Thanks to my fantastic editor, Karen Reid.

Thanks to the lovely folks at Harlequin Enterprises, especially to the art and production departments, who put together the best covers.

For my friends and family, who’ve cheered me on.

And as always, for John, my schmoo.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

KYLE STOMPED ON the brake and jerked the wheel to the right as the maniac on the bike barreled toward him.

The figure in black and red whipped by, his loaded backpack brushing Kyle’s newly detailed convertible. Something metal bounced against the side of the car like a dud missile, rolling under the chassis. He slammed the heel of his palm against the wheel. No one touched his baby.

“Hey!” he shouted as a horn blared. The cyclist darted out of the path of another car, wobbling on its suicide trajectory against New Orleans traffic. “What’s wrong with you?”

The bicycle skidded to a stop. The front wheel popped up and pivoted around as the rider deftly maneuvered it like a rearing show horse. A horn blared, and the driver of the car the cyclist had barely dodged rolled down the window, shouting obscenities. The cyclist studied the ground, frowning, eyes masked by reflective sunglasses. He looked up briefly and screamed an obscenity right back.

Jesus, the cyclist was a woman. All that lean muscle, plus the helmet and high-cut cycling top had effectively hidden any evidence of her femininity. Not that her being a woman subdued his temper. Kyle yelled, “Hey, lady, are you nuts?”

She ignored him as she walk-rode her bike back between the stalled lines of traffic, searching under the cars she’d passed. The driver who’d screamed at her started to get out of his car, swearing and waving his fist.

This was going to get ugly, and the cyclist had no idea the man was stalking toward her. “You’re riding on the wrong side of the road,” Kyle told her when she was within earshot. The driver from the other car continued yelling but was hesitant to stray too far from his vehicle. Kyle popped his seat belt, ready to intervene.

The woman scrambled off her bike and leaned it against the driver’s-side door. “What are you doing?” He fought the urge to shove her bike off the side of his convertible.

“I dropped my water bottle.” Her voice was smooth and sooty, tinted with an accent that definitely said not from around here. She got down on her hands and knees and reached under his car. Kyle got an eyeful of backpack, booty and muscular calves, and his ire was momentarily forgotten.

“Dammit.” She crawled back up. “I can’t reach it. Could you move your car?”

He blew out a breath. “Listen, lady, you can’t ride against traffic. It’s dangerous.”

“No, it’s not.” She said it matter-of-factly, without the slightest trace of defensiveness or irony. “I can see what’s coming, and so can you. I don’t see what you’re worried about—you’re the one behind two tons of steel.” She rapped on the side of the car.

Kyle’s temperature peaked. “Don’t. Touch. My car.”

She blinked, gave him an apologetic smile and lifted her bike off the door. “Sorry. Can I please get my bottle now?”

Her flippancy reminded Kyle of his sister, Jessica. He frowned deeply. He was not going to let her get to him—or have the last word. “Listen. I don’t know where you’re from, but in this city, you ride on a bike path and follow traffic laws. Otherwise, I can’t say what’ll happen. Not everyone is as nice as me.” He glared pointedly at the driver who’d gotten out of his car—the man looked like he still wanted to club her over the head. When Kyle narrowed his eyes at him, he stomped back into his vehicle.

The woman noticed the exchange. She lifted her chin a fraction, acknowledgment and challenge clear in her strong, stubborn jaw. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the mirrored lenses but felt as if he were being studied by a predator. “Of course. You’re right. I apologize.” Her full lips tilted up.

A jolt of surprise hit him. He’d expected her to put up more of a fight, maybe scream at him in a fit of bipedal road rage.

The traffic ahead was moving again, and the cars behind Kyle honked. He quickly buckled up and inched his vehicle forward, giving the woman enough space to retrieve her battered aluminum water bottle. She swung a leg over the bike and started to go with traffic, staying right next to Kyle’s side-view mirror. When he finally regained his speed, she kept up with minimal effort, legs pumping. Flashes of her well-sculpted body danced in his peripheral vision.

He braked for a stoplight. She halted at his elbow. “Do you mind?”

She flashed bright white teeth. “No.”

“You’re following way too close.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t touch your car as long as you drive predictably. Anyhow, it seems safer riding next to you than trying to get around everyone else. And you’re obviously a good enough driver that you wouldn’t hurt me.”

He stared. He didn’t know what this woman’s problem was, but he was done with her. He was going to be late for work and he had an important client coming.

“I’m taking the next right,” he said, then cursed himself for warning her.

“Me, too.” She gave him an enigmatic grin.

Kyle gripped the steering wheel, suppressing the urge to yell at her to back the hell off. His heart thudded. Sweat dripped from his brow. The sweltering New Orleans heat was only slightly moderated by the thin cloud cover. He wished now that he’d put the top up and turned on the air conditioner. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with his cycling stalker. He’d have to shower again before his new client arrived. A Fiore was not someone whose hand you wanted to shake when you smelled like balls.

He tried to focus on driving, but the whole time he was ultra-aware of the pilot fish cyclist in her skintight cycling gear. She stayed so close that at stoplights, he could practically smell her—a strangely enticing combination of spice and something like fresh-baked bread. Like a hot-cross bun.

His eyes darted left as she slowed. Staring at her hot-cross buns nearly made him miss his turn. He yanked the wheel right. She arced away from the car, caroming into the next lane. Suddenly free of her, he floored it, speeding ahead and leaving her far behind as traffic closed around her. His tense shoulders relaxed as he pulled into the parking lot next to Payette’s, the official Unlimited Fighting Federation’s mixed martial arts gym he’d been managing for the past three years.

He grabbed his gym bag from the backseat and headed to the front door. His footsteps faltered as the cyclist coasted to a stop and alighted from the still-moving bike right beside him. She snatched it up as if it were broomstick.

Kyle stifled a groan.

“You left me behind.” She took out a sturdy U-lock from her backpack and attached the bike to a stand in front of the building.

Kyle didn’t say anything as he continued into the gym.

“Hey, wait up!” The woman’s sooty voice dogged him.

“I have somewhere to be,” he said without turning. He was used to dealing with hangers-on. Maybe she recognized him and wanted an autograph or something. If she tried to give him her number, he’d be sure to lose it as quickly as possible.

“We all have somewhere to be,” she said as he reached the entryway. “It just so happens I have to be right here.” She touched his arm. Something electric shot through him, and he whipped around. “With you.”

She was shorter than he’d first thought—five-eight at most. But she was built like a brick house with thick biceps that showed through the stretchy biking top and a trim, tapered waist. He’d been wrong to say that the biking gear hid all her feminine assets, because he could see them clearly defined now. Her grin widened as she unsnapped her helmet and shook out her hair. Long, thick, wavy black tresses slick with sweat tumbled out, barely tamed by an elastic hair tie at her nape.

He shouldn’t have been intrigued. Pushy girls weren’t his thing.

She stuck out her hand. “Kyle Peters, right? I guess you don’t recognize me.”

He panicked, searching through his internal catalog of bedroom conquests. He tried to place her face—something about her seemed familiar, but he would’ve remembered a body like that.

She lifted her sunglasses to rest on the crown of her head. When he saw the glass-green eyes her family was famous for, he knew he’d made a huge mistake.

* * *

“BELLA FIORE.” SHE extended her hand again, cooler now that she knew what Kyle Peters was really like. Any man who cared more about his car than a human life didn’t rank high on her list.

It wasn’t even a very nice car.

She watched his expression shift from embarrassment to frustration to regret and then, surprisingly, to anger. “You recognized me and didn’t introduce yourself?”

“In the middle of traffic? I didn’t think it was the safest place to do so.” She kept her smile polite, even though she wanted to laugh at him. The guy was a lot more high-strung than his reputation suggested.

He opened his mouth as if to retort, but then shook his head and pushed into the gym. Bella followed, unable to resist a peek at his shapely behind. It’d been seven years since he’d wrestled professionally, but he still had the great glutes of an Olympic medalist. Actually, all of him was admirable—thick muscles on his upper body, a narrow waist, strong thighs and not an ounce of extra meat visible on him. He was the living portrait of a Greco-Roman wrestler, complete with broken Romanesque nose and dark brown Brutus-style haircut. She wondered idly if he’d ever wrestled naked like the pugilists of those bygone days.

The scent of rubber and sweat filled her nostrils as they entered Payette’s. Some things didn’t change gym to gym. The main reception area included a few café tables and a bar where a fridge supplied clients with bottled water, energy drinks and protein supplements. In one corner, UFF merchandise and workout gear—gloves, hand wraps, apparel and so forth—were displayed for sale. A faded sign proclaiming everything at 50 percent off hung askew from the ceiling.

Kyle paused at the front desk where a young woman with dark blond hair gave him a cursory smile. “Morning, boss. You got a call from Hadrian Blackwell.” She handed him a slip. Kyle scowled at it as the receptionist—her name tag read Liz—turned a brighter smile on Bella. “Hi, how can I help you?”

“I’m early for my ten-o’clock appointment with him.” She hitched a thumb toward Kyle, who continued to stare at the phone slip, his brow bunched.

The receptionist’s face brightened. “You must be Bella Fiore. It’s so good to meet you.” She shook her hand vigorously. “We’ve been really excited about having you here. I’m a huge fan.”

“Of my brothers, my cousins or my grandfather?”

“Of you,” Liz said with a light laugh. “But of your whole family, too, of course.”

Bella kept her smile modest. She couldn’t walk into a mixed martial arts gym and introduce herself without getting a lot of oohs and aahs over her lineage. The Fiores were like royalty in the MMA world.

“Liz, please show Ms. Fiore around. I need to make this call.” Kyle barely looked at her as he strode away.

Bella watched him go, chewing on her lower lip. Apparently, Mr. Three-Time Olympic Gold Medalist didn’t have to use his manners. But her oldest brother, Marco, had said Kyle Peters was one of the best wrestling coaches around. He’d helped a lot of MMA fighters, including the current UFF welterweight champion, Dominic Payette, for whom the gym was named, climb to stardom. That he was willing to make time for her in exchange for her working at the UFF gym was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

Liz gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Kyle’s kind of a bear before his first cup of coffee. And he hates having his morning routine thrown off.” She rounded the counter. “Let me give you the fifty-cent tour.”

Bella had seen photos of Payette’s, but they didn’t do the state-of-the-art facility justice. The place was enormous, big enough to fit a full-size MMA cage and a boxing ring on the same floor with room for universal machines, free weights and other fitness equipment. The second floor housed a separate multipurpose martial arts studio covered in thick rubber mats. Mirrors lined one wall. Six men of various sizes worked on the heavy bags chained to the exposed metal beams. One of them looked up and shouted across the room to where a man slouched against a pillar reading a magazine. They both came at Liz’s beckoning.

“These are our senior coaches,” Liz said as they approached. “Tito’s our physical therapist and Muay Thai instructor—” Bella shook hands with the stouter of the two “—and Orville’s our judo teacher. Boys, this is Bella Fiore.”

“I trained with your cousin Robert a few years ago in New Jersey,” Orville said to Bella, a big grin splitting his face. “When I heard a Fiore was coming here, I thought it was going to be him.”

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, I don’t mean—”

She waved him off, giving him an understanding smile. She didn’t mean to sound defensive or self-deprecating, but she knew what everyone was thinking: Why on earth was a Fiore training outside of a Fiore-run gym?

“Rob devotes most of his time to teaching at the family studio in Dallas now,” she said. “I’ll tell him hello for you.” There was no need to explain herself further. No need to get into the details of her break from the family, though people would probably hear about it sooner or later.

Liz led her back downstairs and showed her the ladies’ locker room. “I’ll let you get changed while I pull the paperwork together. Feel free to explore, use the equipment, warm up. This’ll be your gym, too, for the next six months.” She glanced toward the office at the end of the room, her lips pursed. “Kyle’s probably going to be in his office for a bit.”

“A bit” wouldn’t hurt, Bella decided. She needed time to get her head into the game and figure out what Kyle Peters’s problem was.

* * *

“BELLA FIORE, EH?” Kyle pictured the president of the UFF, Hadrian Blackwell, sitting back in his executive office chair. With his thick, dark hair and perpetual five-o’clock shadow, the man looked and sounded like the real-life Fred Flintstone. “A perfect 6-0 record, with three KOs and one submission. She’s got talent, that’s for sure.”

“She does.” Kyle had a YouTube video of Bella’s most recent fight running on mute on his laptop. She’d dominated her opponent in the three-round matchup in April. She had a mean right hook and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to the other woman’s head that made Kyle wince. “But it’s not as if she has a lot of competition in her weight class.”

“She would if she dropped ten pounds. The women’s 145-pound weight class has got some serious contenders and lots of up-and-comers.”

“You’re watching girl fights now?” The UFF president had once infamously said that women’s MMA was an insult to the sport and that no woman would ever enter a UFF cage unless she was in a bikini and holding round numbers.

“MMA’s my business. I watch everything that has to do with my world.” Hadrian said it so sharply that Kyle’s humor shriveled. “And speaking of business, what’s going on with my gym?”

Kyle had been anticipating this conversation. He took a deep breath. “Economic downturn. People just aren’t signing up for memberships.”

“According to the numbers, people are leaving Payette’s. None of the other gyms are losing business. What gives?”

Kyle’s throat felt tight. “We’re working on a new campaign strategy. I’ll be forwarding details to you soon.”

“I don’t give a crap about ads and handing out free passes. The reputation and quality of the trainers speaks for itself. You’ve got what should be the crown jewel with all your heavy hitters. So what’s the problem?”

Kyle dug his thumb into the knot of stress between his clenched jaw and his ear. “I can’t say, sir.”

“Can’t say? Don’t know? Don’t care?” He let out a frustrated huff. “Shit, Kyle, I expected to hear a better excuse than that. Does it have anything to do with that thing that happened with what’s-her-face?”

“No, sir.” He clutched the edge of his desk. “She has nothing to do with it.”

“And you’re behaving yourself?”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle’s cheeks burned. He took a deep breath to still the quivering in his gut, then exhaled, trying to purge the impotent anger gathering inside him.

“Anyhow, that’s in the past. Let’s look forward, all right? You have a Fiore in your gym now—you know they don’t teach a lot outside of their tight little circle of friends. So don’t screw this up.”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle hung up and sat back, attempting to regain his calm as he stared at the screen. YouTube had queued up another video about Bella, this one a cheaply produced feature with shots of her training at the Fiore Brazilian Jujitsu Studio in São Paulo, Brazil. He unmuted it. The video stuttered, the music was cheesy and the transitions rough. He watched it while fuming over Hadrian’s humiliating dressing-down. As much as he respected him, the UFF president was the least sensitive man he knew. Next to his father, of course.

He pushed away from his desk and yanked his damp T-shirt over his head. He’d never gotten used to the humidity in NOLA. He applied another layer of antiperspirant under his arms and hung his street clothes in his private office locker to air, then pulled on a black T-shirt with the Payette’s UFF logo printed on the breast. The heavy cotton grew damp at his touch and chafed his skin. He knew he should have gone with the more expensive moisture-wicking uniform tees, but he’d already had a thousand of them printed. It felt like a waste not wearing them.

Liz knocked and stuck her head past the door. “You decent?”

“What’s the point of asking if you’re going to come in anyhow?”

The receptionist bustled in, a cup of coffee and a clipboard in hand. She put them both on his desk and went around the room, drawing the blinds open so he could see out and everyone could see in. “Wayne’s at a dentist appointment this morning. Root canal. We shouldn’t expect him back at all today.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “He’s such a baby.”

She didn’t comment. “I shuffled his clients between Tito and Orville. I’ve also got five potential members scheduled for tours.”

“Maybe I should do those.”

Liz regarded him archly. “Um, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“No.” He sipped his coffee, letting the caffeinated miracle nectar flow through his veins. His headache eased.

“Uh, yeah. Bella Fiore? It’s her first day here.” She planted her fists on her hips. “You were kind of rude to her.”

Probably, but she was off-putting—and he didn’t like off-putting. “She’s crazy, you know. She was riding her bike against rush-hour traffic. I don’t even know where she was headed—she was going in the complete opposite direction of the gym.”

“She told me she likes to ride around the city before a workout to warm up. It gets her blood pumping.”

It probably got her in the right frame of mind for punching things, too. The way she biked, it was as if she was aiming to piss off people so they’d yell at her to get her good and mad. Not exactly the Zen-like discipline the Fiores were known for.

“What did Hadrian say?” Liz asked after a beat.

He stalled by spinning his chair around and staring at his wall calendar, noting the dates of all the different MMA events the gym’s clients were involved in. “Kyle?” Liz prompted.

“Nothing important. He was just calling in to check on us.” And tell me to behave myself. And sell more memberships. And be nice to Bella Fiore. Or else.

Liz looked like she wanted to say something, but whatever it was, she held back. “Bella’s warming up now. You need to go and greet her properly before she gets the wrong idea about you.” With that, she departed.

Of course, Liz was right. He had to play nice with Bella Fiore. Her family name had been the only reason he’d agreed to train her in the first place, and he hated to admit it, but he needed her reputation more than she needed his.

He wasn’t about to tell her that, though.

CHAPTER TWO

BELLA SURREPTITIOUSLY WATCHED Kyle Peters through the bars of the open vertical blinds covering his office windows. How long would she have to wait before he acknowledged her presence? Her temper simmered. She refused to be treated like a second-class student the way her grandfather and the rest of the family had treated her....

Calm down. You just got here, and Liz did say he’s cranky. She couldn’t take this slight personally. The guy didn’t even know her, and she had come on strong—one of her less attractive traits, according to her grandfather Fulvio.

She should probably cut Kyle some slack. Maybe he was simply having a bad morning.

Yet with every minute he made her wait, her doubts about leaving Brazil grew. Her family all thought she was crazy to pursue her professional fighting career against Fulvio’s wishes. Marco had been the only one who’d stuck up for her and suggested she go to New Orleans to work on her wrestling skills and take-down techniques.

“Avô will never give you what you need here,” he’d said. “You need to get away from the Fiore system. In the States, you’ll have teachers who are willing to work with you, if for no other reason than your blood ties.”

The Fiore name might open doors, but Bella wanted to be recognized as a fighter in her own right. She was more than the granddaughter of Fulvio Fiore, father of the Fiore BJJ system.

“Thought I’d bring you a T-shirt.” Liz interrupted her reverie and handed her a black cotton tee. “Don’t feel that you have to wear it—they’re too hot to train in. I think Kyle’s the only one who actually wears one on a regular basis.”

Bella slipped it on over top of her moisture-wicking short-sleeved rash guard. It was stifling, but she wanted to show her new boss and coach she was willing to be a part of the team. T-shirt solidarity could be unifying, couldn’t it?

“He should be out any minute. He’d never admit it, but calls with Hadrian Blackwell rattle him.”

“Bad news?” Bella’s question ended with a wry, speculative twist in her tone. She’d heard rumors about how phone calls with the UFF president often went.

“Let me put it this way. He doesn’t call to ask how the kids are doing. A call from Hadrian means it’s either horrifically bad news or stunningly good news.” She glanced back at Kyle and pursed her lips, and Bella got the distinct impression they rarely got the latter.

Bella looked at Kyle, too. He was gathering some papers off his desk and taking his sweet time about it. “You ever meet him?” Bella asked.

“You mean Hadrian? Yeah, once, when he cut the ribbon on this place.” She wrinkled her nose. “He called me ‘sweetheart’ and told me to get him a bottle of water.”

Bella nodded. She’d met the UFF president on a couple of occasions when he’d visited the flagship Fiore studio in São Paulo in the early days of the UFF. He hadn’t said much to her, either, but she’d only just started competitive fighting at the time, and with the rest of the boys around...well, being passed over wasn’t anything new to her.

“Careful,” Liz teased. “Your tongue’s going to start hanging out soon.”

Bella blinked. “Sorry?”

She tipped her chin toward Kyle. “You’re not the first girl to look at him like that.” Liz smiled wryly as Bella’s cheeks heated. She hadn’t even realized she’d been staring, much less drooling. “Pretty much every girl who walks through those doors falls for Kyle. He’s like a freaking calendar model.”

Bella chuckled. “I see the appeal, but I’ve been surrounded by muscly men my whole life. It takes more than a little flexing to get my attention.” Though not much more where Kyle was concerned. She’d followed his career too closely to deny more intimate knowledge of his life.

Liz shrugged as if to say we’ll see. But there was something of a warning in her look, too. Was it for Bella, or was she warning her away from the boss?

Finally, Kyle emerged, a clipboard in hand. “Bella Fiore.” He said it as though he were calling someone in line for a colonoscopy.

She stepped forward gamely and said, “Hi, Bella, I’m Kyle Peters.” She met his cool look with a goofy smile. When his face didn’t crack at her humor, she sagged and sighed. “Are we trying for a do-over? Because you really suck at them.”

Lines appeared between his eyebrows, cracking his stoic mask. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Just this conversation. But I’m all about second, third and fourth chances. I like to get things right. Let’s try this again.” She stuck out a hand. “Hi. I’m Bella Fiore. Sorry about scaring you on the road earlier.”

He gripped her hand and slowly pumped it. “Kyle Peters.” No apologies for his rudeness. No “very nice to meet you” as he practically crushed her fingers.

“You always hold a girl’s hand this tight?” she asked sweetly, squeezing right back. “I usually get taken out for dinner first.”

He let go abruptly and took a step back. She folded her arms over her chest to keep from flexing her fingers. “I hope you realize this is a serious place of business,” he said, his demeanor icing over. “Our clients expect a certain level of professionalism.”

“I think I know how to deal with clients.” Wow. Who’d sucked the fun out of him? Marco had warned her that Kyle was charming and quite the ladies’ man. Well, whoever he’d been talking about, it wasn’t this cheerless drill sergeant. She didn’t care how hunky he was—the guy was a cuzão.

He settled the edge of the clipboard against his hard, flat stomach. “I’ve got you scheduled to teach a few of the free classes open to new and potential members. I have the last teacher’s notes if you need them, but you can design the programs however you like.” He handed her a sheet. Apparently, they were jumping right into things. Which would’ve been fine, except...well, she hadn’t been sure what to expect.

This wasn’t a Fiore studio run by her family and close friends—it was an official UFF gym, backed by one of the biggest MMA fight promoters in the world. What were the rules and expectations here? Were they stricter about how employees used their time?

“We’ll also be hosting a booth at a local health and fitness fair on the first weekend of November. You’ll be expected to take a shift, give demonstrations and do the setup and takedown.”

She scanned the schedule Kyle had handed her and scowled. “What’s ‘Bootyfit’?”

“It’s a class primarily for high-impact aerobics and core strengthening. It’ll be your responsibility to pull together the program.”

“And this—‘Girlicious Foxy Boxing’?”

“Women’s-only kickboxing. Noncombative striking, aerobic focused. Tito helps out in that class. You two can put your heads together and figure out how you’ll teach it.”

“Why didn’t you call it aerobic kickboxing?”

“Because guys who are serious about fighting would be disappointed by the class and girls won’t join it at all. These classes are meant to attract members outside our core demographic. I don’t know if you noticed, but this is an MMA gym. That label doesn’t inspire a lot of women to come through those doors.”

“And nothing reels women in like a class that teaches them to shake their booty while men gawk at them from the weight room.” Most women she knew would be happy to simply work out in a fun class. They didn’t need to be reminded that they had to be foxylicious or bootytastic or tittytacular or whatever.

His look grew stony. “The classes are held in the upper studio. And you should know that there are strict rules about harassment in place here at Payette’s. All my employees and clients are expected to behave appropriately. No double standards.” His viciously stern tone made her flinch. Bella did not like being talked down to. She was on the verge of snapping back at him when, thankfully, Liz intervened.

“Boss? Everything okay?” She glanced between them questioningly.

Bella hadn’t realized they were standing toe to toe like two growling pit bulls. Kyle broke away and rubbed tiny circles into his right temple. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

The receptionist gave him a look like a mother threatening a time-out, then went back to her desk.

Bella let out a breath. Less than an hour in and she was already picking fights with the boss. She knew she was antagonizing Kyle partly because it was too easy to mess with someone that uptight. Kyle reminded her of her grandfather—as unsmiling and unyielding as a stone gargoyle. The guy had to have a funny bone somewhere beneath all that tightly wound muscle. She could practically see his high blood pressure throbbing through the veins on his corded neck. What he needed was a long vacation.

Or a good lay.

But as much as she wanted to shake him up, she couldn’t keep poking the bear. Bella folded her hands behind her and bowed her head. If she wanted to work with the best wrestler in the biz, she had to dial it back. “I apologize. Again.” She had a feeling she’d be doing that a lot with him. The thought grated. “As long as there are people taking the class, it doesn’t matter what it’s called.”

“It’s half-full now,” he said tautly.

He ran through the rest of the schedule with her. She would teach four classes a week and give physical assessments and personal training sessions. The rest of the time she could spend training.

“Don’t expect my guys to drop everything for you,” he warned. “Some have their own fights to train for and clients on the side. Do you have fights coming up?”

She’d been looking, but opponents in the women’s 155-pound weight class were few and far between. “No.”

“Then you won’t be a priority. We focus on the clients with upcoming matches as we get closer to the dates.”

And just like that, he’d dismissed her again. “I’m still looking for my next fight. But in the meantime, I’m happy to settle in here, learn the ropes.” She tried for a smile but was sure she was baring her teeth at him.

Kyle nodded. “Good. I’ll have Tito start conditioning with you.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll see.” He started to walk stiffly away, but paused and said over his shoulder, “I wasn’t scared, you know.”

“Scared?”

“When you came up to me on your bike. I wasn’t scared of you. But you messed with my car. If you’d been a guy, I would’ve probably punched you in the face.”

Bella tilted her chin up unapologetically, not in the least intimidated. “This is going to be a thing between us, isn’t it?”

His look was stone-cold. “Just don’t touch my car again.”

* * *

AT THE END of the day, Bella opened the windows in her apartment to let in the damp night air. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was back in São Paulo. Of course, there it would be getting hotter as summer encroached while in New Orleans, the summer season was tapering off. The idea of living through two winters in one year kind of depressed her—not that winter in New Orleans would be like anything she’d experienced when she’d gone to university in Canada. She was grateful for that.

She checked her watch and right on time, the phone rang. She picked up.

“Querida, tudo bem?”

“I’m good, Mamãe.” Her mother, Ana, had called every day since she’d arrived in New Orleans. “I started at Payette’s today.”

“Did you make any friends?”

“I suppose.” Except for Kyle, she thought acerbically. But that had been partly her fault. “Cómo está o Papai?”

“Your father misses you, but Fulvio keeps him too busy to mope.”

“Is Fulvio still mad?”

“Your grandfather?” Ana blew out a breath noisily. “Who knows? He hasn’t said anything, but that’s Fulvio. You know what he can be like when he doesn’t get his way.”

“I guess the silent treatment is better than the yelling treatment.” Though Bella wasn’t entirely certain that was true. They’d parted on terrible terms, and the guilt of storming out on him ate at her conscience. She loved her grandfather—he’d taught her almost everything she knew about fighting. But she couldn’t let him dictate her future.

She asked after her brothers, and her mother went on at length about their various clients, fights and adventures in the gym. Bella was content to simply listen. She could tell Ana missed having her daughter around to talk to. She missed her mother, too. But Ana understood why she’d had to leave.

“So, did you get your driver’s license yet?”

“I told you, my bike is enough. I didn’t go through the trouble of shipping it here so that I could buy a car.”

“No one in America rides bicycles. Some crazy idiot in an SUV is going to get you killed.”

She thought about her encounter with Kyle and smiled to herself. “I’ll be fine. My apartment is barely a thirty-minute ride from the gym. I rode everywhere back home, and you never complained.”

“You never heard me complain is all. Worrying about you took years off my life.”

“I wear a helmet. Besides, I face worse every time I spar.”

“Don’t remind me.” She sighed. “I realize this is your dream, Bella, even if no one here approves. But I want you to know I love you and all I want is for you to be happy and safe.”

“I can promise I’ll be one of those things. But probably not both. Not by your definition.”

“Bella...”

“I’m taking all the precautions. I never do anything I don’t think I’m capable of. I was trained by the best.”

After they hung up, Bella was restless. Her first day had been a paperwork and orientation kind of day, and while her brain was tired, her body wasn’t. She got dressed and went for a walk.

She wasn’t too far from Bourbon Street, so she pointed herself toward the district. As she meandered along the famous strip, she was surprised by the number of people out on a Monday night. Weaving through the crowd, it was hard to imagine what the weekend would look like.

She peeked into the bars as she passed, then walked into one that suited her—clean, classy, with modern furnishings and an extensive menu. TV screens showed sports highlights, a baseball game and, more importantly, an MMA fight.

She parked herself at the corner of the bar closest to the screen showing the fight. She ordered a bottle of beer. She didn’t normally drink when she was training, but it didn’t seem right to order water.

She nursed her drink as she watched the fight, studying the two lightweights’ techniques. She knew of one of them—Alessander Mortensen, an up-and-comer who specialized in judo. He’d trained briefly with her brothers in São Paulo. His opponent, Mike Bourne, danced out of the other man’s reach, striking and weaving, but not getting any significant hits in. The guy was afraid.

“Oh, c’mon!” she yelled at the screen. The match ended to a round of boos. Bourne had let the clock run out, evading Mortensen as long as possible, scoring points with cheap kicks to the shins. Sadly, she couldn’t say that Mortensen was doing any better.

“I didn’t know chicks watched this stuff.” A man slid up next to her. He smelled like uncooked ground beef. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She barely spared him a glance. “No thanks. I already have one.”

The man asked the bartender for two beers anyway. “What is it about these fights that chicks like? Two greased-up guys mounting each other? That’s pretty gay.”

She turned cold eyes toward him. He might have been okay looking in a certain light, but the words coming out of his mouth spoiled any such illusions. “I like watching the fights because it’s what my family and I do for a living. And as for your homophobic comment, I won’t even dignify that with a response. Now take your cheap-ass beers and go away. I’m trying to enjoy the fight.”

He slid closer. “Aw, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean—”

“Read between the lines, asshole.” She raised her voice so everyone in the place would hear. “You insulted me. You blew it. Now leave me alone.”

“Hey, buddy.” A presence as oppressive as a storm front pushed into her personal space from behind. The hairs on Bella’s neck rose. “Is there a problem?”

The beefy-smelling man snatched up his beers and grumbled, “Dyke bitch,” as he shuffled off.

“We’re good here,” she ground out, keeping one eye on the man. “Just giving this creep his walking papers.” She challenged him with a level look when he turned and glared, but his eyes canted to her protector and he moved on.

“Were you planning on starting a bar fight here tonight? You don’t want to get banned before you’ve tried their shrimp po’boy sandwiches.” Kyle took the guy’s place next to her, staying close until the man made it back to his table.

“If he started something, I would’ve finished it.” She took a long pull of her beer to soothe her nerves.

“I don’t doubt it. But I’d hate to have to explain to your family why I had to bail you out of jail when you haven’t been here a week.”

“Sorry. But I won’t pretend to be nice to jackasses for the sake of being polite, especially ones who talk to me like I’m a dumb piece of meat.”

He chuckled. The sound was pleasant, even human. “I can see that. I think you made everyone in the room cup their balls.” His eyes shone with admiration and a bit of nervousness. “Do me a favor, and just say thanks for the rescue to salve my male ego.”

She studied him carefully. He must’ve had a few drinks in him because he seemed a lot more relaxed. His shoulders weren’t hunched up around his ears, and the lines on his face weren’t so deep. He was actually smiling. As he was now, she could sort of see why Marco had warned her against his lady-killer reputation. “Thanks.” She toasted him with her bottle. “I owe you one.”

He flagged down the bartender while she let her attention return to the match. She couldn’t concentrate on the commentary, hyperaware of Kyle’s elbow resting an inch from hers. She thought he was watching her, but she didn’t dare look. “What are you doing here?” she asked finally.

“Besides protecting your honor?” He paused and nodded toward a booth. “I’m here with...friends.”

She glanced at the table. Three petite coeds sipping cocktails with umbrellas in them chattered animatedly. Bella stifled a snort. “A little young, aren’t they?”

He smirked. “A gentleman doesn’t ask a lady her age.”

“You might want to, in case the cops come around asking for ID.”

His lips tilted in a half smile. “Jealous?”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t want to admit she’d been feeling kind of lonely since arriving in the States.

“Hey...do you want to join us?” Kyle asked as if reading her thoughts.

“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m going to finish this and see where the fight goes, then head home.”

“If you change your mind...”

She waved him off. “Go on. The Powerpuff Girls need their juice.”

He gathered up the drinks in his big hands. “Stay out of trouble.”

“You, too, Coach. Don’t let them stay out past their curfew.”

He chuckled and went back to the table. Bella was in a better mood as she watched the rest of the fight.

She kept an inch of warm beer at the bottom of her bottle as the next fight started. She heard the girls with Kyle laughing and giggling. She didn’t want to watch them, but they were loud and boisterous, drawing envious looks from all corners of the bar. The girls hung on Kyle’s every word. The blonde looked especially into him, gazing doe-eyed at him.

The bartender put another open bottle in front of her.

She looked at him quizzically. “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house. I liked the way you handled that jerk earlier. I’ve been looking for a reason to refuse him service and kick him out.” He crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest. “Sorry I didn’t step in fast enough.”

“No need to be sorry, Mr....?”

“Neal.” They shook hands, and he nodded vaguely over his shoulder. “I can see you’re really into the game.”

“Oh, I’m actually watching the fight.”

“I didn’t mean the Yankees game.” He inclined his chin toward the table. “I mean Kyle. Must be at least once a week he comes in with a date or picks up some chick and leaves with them. I’ve got my money on the one in the pink sweater tonight. You?”

Bella wasn’t sure why she felt such disappointment. She’d been warned about Kyle’s reputation, after all. “The blonde,” she said decisively. “Look at those puppy-dog eyes.”

He polished the counter top, chuckling. “I’ll be honest, when he came over here, I thought maybe you were a contender.”

“Oh, we know each other. He’s my wrestling coach.”

“No kidding? You’re training at Payette’s?”

“I’m working there while I train. Kind of like an exchange program.”

They chatted awhile about her background. Neal was more into boxing, but he seemed genuinely interested in her. Platonically, she was certain, if the wedding ring on his finger meant anything.

“Oh, damn.” Neal turned in time to see two of the girls get up from the table and hug their blonde counterpart goodbye. A couple of minutes later, Kyle and the blonde left. Bella’s gaze snagged his as he passed. He averted his eyes, almost shamefaced. “Looks like you were right.”

“What can I say?” She took a long pull of her second beer as the door swung shut. “She seemed his type.”

CHAPTER THREE

KYLE GULPED DOWN the extra large black coffee, head throbbing. He’d managed a few hours’ sleep, but ugh, why had he agreed to do shots of peach schnapps, of all things? He should have stuck to bourbon, but Penny—or Jenny or Patty or whatever the blonde’s name was—had said it was an old man’s drink.

He pushed into Payette’s and came face-to-face with Bella. She flashed blindingly white teeth. “Long night?”

“How late did you stay out?” he asked, deflecting her question. “I thought you said you were going home after you finished your drink.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to see the Chen-DaSilva fight.” Speculation reflected in her eyes, but she didn’t ask the question he saw there.

Not that he would have answered. His sex life wasn’t anyone’s business.

He changed in his office, downed two extrastrength Tylenol, then went over the schedule. The loud rapping on his door made his head throb.

“Hey, boss.” Wayne grinned, then winced, holding his jaw. “I’m back.”

Kyle acknowledged him with a wave. “How was the dentist?”

“Awful. I swear they were drilling into my brain. They put me on some pretty strong painkillers. I thought I’d let you know.”

“Sure you don’t need an extra day?” He’d fully expected the boxing coach to call in sick. Wayne was getting on in years, after all, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“I heard Bella Fiore started yesterday. I wanted to meet her, make sure she stays on top of her stand-up game. Don’t worry—I won’t use any heavy machinery today.” He headed off.

Kyle watched from his office, tensing as the former heavyweight boxer introduced himself to Bella, shaking hands and talking enthusiastically with her.

He forced himself to look away. He didn’t know why he was being so nosy. It wasn’t as if Wayne would ever do anything to make anyone feel unwelcome. He was really a sweet guy despite his hulking frame and nickname, “Crusher.”

In fact, if there was anyone he had to worry about, it was Bella. Thinking about how she’d dealt with that jerk at the bar last night, he should probably warn the boxing coach about her. He should probably warn all the guys....

What are you, their mom? Everyone knew the potential consequences of flirting with coworkers. It would be embarrassing and condescending for everyone if he had to reiterate the policy.

As the week went on, though, he became convinced he’d have to sit down with Bella and talk to her about her conduct. Besides being a very attractive woman and the first new female employee at Payette’s in over a year, she was effusive to a fault.

She was too eager to please, dropping whatever she was doing to help a client or trainer. She’d step right up to clients that weren’t hers and correct their techniques and forms without being asked. She boldly approached regulars and offered her training services. She didn’t seem to understand that a lot of these guys came in for a simple workout, or else had trainers already. People might misinterpret her intentions.

Sooner or later, she’d start stepping on toes. If she scooped one of the other trainers’ clients or had a misunderstanding with someone...well, he didn’t want to deal with the interoffice fallout. He’d have a talk with her.

On Friday, she came to his office to show him the programs she’d put together for her classes. He only half listened to her as she outlined the exercises.

“So, with Orville and Tito doing conditioning with me, and Wayne filling in with sparring and stand-up, I was wondering if we could schedule some mat time on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

“I’m sorry?” He’d only caught the word we, and it’d jolted him.

“I came here so you could train me, Kyle?” Her prompt rose in a question. “I arranged the schedule with the others so we’d have time—”

“I’m kind of busy with these new recruitment programs,” he interrupted, tapping the binder of marketing plans on his desk. “The week after next we can start.”

Her expression closed, and her mouth firmed into a tight line. He thought she’d leave. People usually did when he put his foot down.

“No.” She placed her notes on his desk and primly settled her palms on top, pressing down firmly. “That’s not acceptable.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s—”

“Not in our agreement. I was promised one-on-one time with you. I’ve been here a week and you’ve barely given me the time of day.” Her dark eyes held his, hard and unblinking as a jade statue’s. “So, what’s the problem, Coach? Did I say something to offend you?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m concerned about the way you conduct yourself around here.”

She absorbed his words slowly before narrowing her eyes. “How’s that?”

“You’re too forward.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but now that it had come out, he was committed to it. “You can’t go around offering your training services to every single client. Most of the regulars already have coaches. They don’t need you to confuse them, and it won’t help you get along with the others. On top of that, you’ve been greeting clients at the door. That’s Liz’s job. It’s what she’s paid to do. You’ve only been here a week and I’m concerned you don’t know enough about how things work here to give them the information they need.”

Her blazing green eyes seared a hole right through him. “I think I said hello to two people who walked in. Two. And that was only because Liz was in the bathroom and they were standing there, looking lost. I didn’t see any of the guys rushing out to greet them, so I said hello. Now you’re telling me that’s wrong?”

“You should’ve gotten a senior staff member. But that’s not the only thing.” He took a deep breath and plunged forward. “You’re too friendly with the guys. Some of them might get the wrong idea.”

He only realized how bad it sounded after the words left his mouth.

Her voice pitched down an octave. “Excuse me?”

“This is a gym full of guys, and some clients get it in their heads that... Well, see, there was this one guy who tried to ask Liz out, but she wouldn’t date him...”

“And you blame Liz for that?”

“No!” He massaged his scalp. He was making a mess of this. “All I’m saying is, you’re a...a woman, and if you act friendly...”

She slowly leaned forward in her seat. “I’m friendly because I’m actually a nice person. I talk to clients because I want them to get the most out of their time here. That’s how a Fiore gym is run. We learn from having lots of different trainers, lots of variety and techniques. We don’t isolate every single student and tell them they’re only allowed to work with one person. We certainly don’t isolate the women from the men because we don’t trust what they’ll do to each other.”

“Look, it came out totally wrong, and I apologize. Of course we want diversity in our trainers and clientele. That’s half the reason you’re here. But this is a professional gym. Some of the guys work on hourly fees, and they can’t risk losing a client. I’d just appreciate it if you stepped back a bit.”

She sat back and rolled her eyes. “No wonder you’re losing customers.”

He flinched as though she’d slapped him. “You need to remember—” your place “—that you’re a guest trainer here. Temporary. Just because you’ve been doing this a long time at your family’s studio doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing here.”

She studied him coolly, glass-green eyes slicing him to ribbons. “You don’t want me here, do you?”

A hard lump formed in his throat. “That’s not it.”

“You obviously don’t like me.”

“That’s not true.” And it wasn’t. He simply didn’t know how to handle her. Her temperament, her energy, her drive—they were all good things professionally speaking, but they were nothing he was prepared to deal with. And that was what really bothered him.

Bella’s words were as sharp and precise as a scalpel. Her composure was unexpected and it threw him off balance even more. “I came here to train with you, Kyle. Not with your staff, not in your gym. I came for you. But if you can’t work with me, then all you have to do is say so, and I won’t waste any more of my time or yours.”

“That’s not what I want.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. “I’ve really messed this up.”

She waited expectantly.

His chair creaked as he swung it to the left, tilting back with a long sigh. “I don’t want you to go. I do have a lot to teach you, and I think you have a lot to teach our clients. You’re a talented fighter, and you can bring a lot to this gym. I wouldn’t have agreed to have you here otherwise.”

“Except that I’m a Fiore.”

“I won’t lie to you. Your family name and reputation does have some draw. Since we posted that picture of you up on our website, we’ve had twice as many cold calls from guys who want to train here.”

“And still you think I’m only here to flirt with your employees and steal clients?”

He grimaced. “I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”

She didn’t look impressed. “Answer me this. Will you or won’t you make time to train me?”

He wiped a damp palm over his mouth. “I can spare you two hours this afternoon.”

She nodded stiffly. “All right. Are we done?”

For now. “Yeah.”

Her chair scraped back loudly, and she marched out of his office. The knot in Kyle’s gut loosened. That had not gone the way he’d hoped. And he’d come off sounding like a complete asshole.

You let a girl push you around, his father’s voice mocked from the back of his mind.

Kyle ground his teeth and pressed his thumbs against his closed eyelids. Whatever his issues, he couldn’t afford to have Bella leaving with a negative impression of what Payette’s had to offer.

He’d work with her. His job depended on it.

His sanity, however, was another matter.

* * *

LIZ’S JAW DROPPED. “He said that?”

“Maybe I’m making it sound like more than what he meant, and for his part, he did apologize, but I’m pretty sure he meant to tell me he didn’t want me talking to, like, anyone.” Bella sipped her iced tea, trying to wash away the bitterness Kyle’s words had left behind. Liz had invited her out for after-work drinks. They were at The Spot, the gastropub she’d visited on Monday night. The other trainers were currently shooting pool, giving the girls a chance to chat. Kyle wasn’t among the group.

“For the record, I don’t have any problem with you talking to clients. I think everyone should take more initiative like you did,” Liz said, and gave a disgruntled sigh. “So Kyle finally worked with you this afternoon?”

“He did, but mostly, he had me doing conditioning exercises. We never got around to any mat work.” He’d been a taskmaster when it came to those endurance drills. They nearly had her puking a couple times, but she’d held it together.

“He does tend to go heavy on the endurance and strength training, but that’s the way he works. I’m sure he’ll get you wrestling soon.”

Bella hoped so. After today’s talk, she wasn’t sure Payette’s—or Kyle—was a good fit for her.

Neal, the bartender, set a plate of onion rings on the table in front of them. “For you ladies, on the house.”

“Careful, Neal, or I’m going to start getting ideas.” Bella winked at him, and Liz laughed as they reached for the plate.

He grinned. “I’ll admit I came with an ulterior motive.” They invited him to sit, and he took a chair. “A friend of mine runs a center for at-risk youth not too far from Payette’s. She’s looking for someone to come in and give her kids self-defense classes. I thought of you and said I’d ask if you’re interested.”

Bella hesitated. “I’d love to...but it’s not my call to make. I’ll have to ask Kyle.” She looked to Liz, who gave her an affirming nod. “There are insurance questions and a whole lot of other issues he’d have to deal with.”

“Here’s my friend’s card. You two can hash it out. I hope you’ll do it, though—I read up on some of the stuff your family’s done. I think you’d be perfect for this.”

No pressure or anything, she thought as she pocketed the business card, and Neal headed back for the bar. She’d never stop being a Fiore, it seemed. But then, she’d never been able to turn down a call for help. If she could improve a few lives even just a little bit through martial arts, then there was no reason to deny this request.

The guys finished their pool game and joined the ladies, then ordered food. Tito and Orville sat on Bella’s right in the semicircular booth, while Wayne perched on a tiny-looking bistro chair on the other side of the table. She liked the old boxer. His upturned smile and the lone furrow on his broad brow bracketed his cheerful countenance. They chatted about the upcoming UFF fights and the busy weekend ahead.

The door opened. Kyle walked in, and Bella’s skin broke out in goose bumps. The guys all looked up and waved. She turned to give him a polite smile. Instead of joining them, though, he went to the bar and sat on his own.

“He doesn’t drink with you guys?”

“Nah, not anymore. He used to, but then...” Orville trailed off.

“Then what?”

“He had one too many and banged our old yoga instructor.”

“Tito!” Liz exclaimed.

“What? She’s gonna hear about it sooner or later.” He bit into his chicken wrap, eyes cast down.

Bella wasn’t sure she wanted to hear more, but Liz explained quickly, “It was a bad scene. Kyle had the no-fraternization policy put into place after that.”

“And turned into the biggest prick I know.”

“Tito...” Liz pleaded.

“Hey, I like the guy. I really do. But he’s nowhere near as fun as he used to be.”

“Because he won’t be your wingman anymore?”

“It’s not that. For one, he doesn’t hang with us. And whenever a girl walks into the gym, he acts like we’re all gonna try to eat her or something.” Orville sighed. “Man, Karla really did a number on him.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” Liz darted a nervous look at Kyle. “He’s sitting right there.”

But the guys had hooked onto the subject. “It wasn’t his fault. Karla was bat-shit crazy,” Wayne defended the boss valiantly.

Bella leaned forward, careful not to look too interested. “So...this Karla used to work at Payette’s?”

“Karla taught yoga and Pilates and some of the other women’s classes,” Orville explained. “She was also a blue belt in krav maga. Really tough lady, like a blonde Xena on steroids.

“Anyhow, she was one of the gym’s first hires—helped Kyle build and open the place. And I have to say, she was a good teacher. So we’re celebrating our first-year anniversary at the gym after hours. Champagne’s flowing, music’s playing. And Kyle, wouldn’t you know, is there without a date—”

“Which is like showing up without a leg for Kyle,” Tito added.

“—so what does he do? He starts hitting on Karla. They went home together, and she came back the next day in his car wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing the night before.”

“Awkwaaaard,” Tito drawled.

“After that, it got super weird. That office door was closed a lot when they were in there together, and we all had to pretend like we didn’t know what was going on.”

“And we didn’t!” Liz insisted. “They could’ve just been talking about private stuff.” Orville didn’t let up, though, and she made a noise of exasperation.

“Two or three weeks later, it stopped. Things got arctic between them. My best guess is that he dumped her, and Karla didn’t like that.”

Wayne took up the story. “She started showing up to work drunk. She picked fights with all of the other trainers, harassed the clients. Anything to get Kyle’s attention. One day, he takes her into the office, closes the door. I was standing right by the corner, and one of the blinds was half-open. I peeked in to see if they were...well.” His face turned pink. “But then, she, like, punches herself. Wham! And then she screams and comes out holding her face and saying that Kyle hit her.”

Bella flinched. “What?”

“’Course, I knew she was lying. We all did. You couldn’t make the guy kill a bug.” Wayne shook his head.

“Bitch be crazy,” Tito said, then glanced at Liz, who glared daggers at him. “What?”

Bella saw his point but balked. She glanced at Kyle. Belts and training didn’t amount to anything if you were caught off guard or you were emotional. Anything could happen. Though, Kyle was trained to fight, too. And if Karla had been in love with the guy...well, love did crazy things to people. It didn’t mean she’d been crazy.

But then, Wayne had seen what had happened. He had no reason to lie.

She hated the doubt that nagged her.

Orville picked up where Wayne had left off. “He fired her then and there and called the cops when she refused to leave. See, if he’d hit her, you’d think she would’ve said something to the police, but she didn’t. Anyway, we thought that was the end, but then she started calling every day. And she’d leave little gifts on the gym’s doorstep—flowers and cookies and stuffed animals with notes saying ‘I’m sorry’—”

“Guys, let’s not talk about this anymore, okay?” Liz massaged the flesh between her eyes.

Orville and Wayne both looked like they wanted to say more, but they sipped their drinks furtively.

“If you ask me, it was a matter of time and statistics,” Tito said. “Player’s gonna be played eventually.”

Bella’s gaze drifted back to Kyle. He was talking to a pretty brunette at the bar.

So. He’d had a relationship with a coworker that had ended badly. It explained why he was so prickly about her being friendly, she supposed.

Not that it excused his behavior.

He could rest assured that she wouldn’t get too friendly with him.

CHAPTER FOUR

BELLA GAVE IT a couple of days before she broached the subject of the Touchstone youth center’s request for self-defense classes to Kyle. She was still sore about their exchange on Friday, but she wasn’t about to let that interfere with her training. She had to remain professional.

She’d called Reta Schwartz, Neal’s friend at the youth center, and listened to her ideas for classes to offer the young people who frequented the center. The social worker wanted something fun and practical to help boost their confidence. The center didn’t have the space or equipment, so Bella said she’d ask Kyle if they could host the classes at Payette’s.

“It would be a great opportunity for everyone involved,” she told Kyle when she finally sat down with him. “We could do it in the evenings, right after the women’s boot camp class.”

He hesitated. “What kind of compensation are we talking?”

“Compensation? Kyle, this would be entirely pro bono. The center doesn’t have money to throw around.” He grimaced, and she continued, “You can write it off. Community outreach programs like this are vital to developing relationships with potential future clients, plus they’re a great PR opportunity.”

He pressed his palms together and rested his lips against them as if he might breathe patience into his cupped hands. “In theory, it sounds like a great idea, but as much as I’d love to take this on, we’re already suffering from declining memberships. If we start inviting random street kids into Payette’s, this place stops being a world-class MMA facility for serious fighters and turns into the local Y.”

“That won’t happen as long as the teaching standards are high. These kids will see that learning here is a privilege. We have to offer them something worth sticking around for, worth telling others about.”

Kyle rubbed his forehead. He looked so much older when he did that. “I’m not sure I can convince any of the guys to run this class. They’re busy enough....”

“I can take charge,” she volunteered, sensing his crumbling resistance. “If you’re not comfortable with that, I’m happy to take a co-teaching role, though if anyone leads this class, it should be you. We can put together a basic self-defense curriculum, mix it up with a few beginner Muay Thai and boxing lessons.”

He regarded her with interest. “You’re really into this.”

“My grandfather Fulvio used to drive around the streets and hand his card out to kids in tough neighborhoods. He wanted to keep them out of gangs, get them to channel their anger into something constructive. The ones that came usually stayed and made something of themselves. It was Fulvio’s way of doing something for the community. Plus, he got some of the most brilliant fighters off the streets.”

She didn’t mention that she thought this would be a good opportunity for her and Kyle to work together toward a common goal. As many times as she’d extended an olive branch, she’d also swatted him with it. She had to mend the rift between them if she was ever going to get that wrestling training she’d come here for.

“How’d they even afford the classes?” Kyle asked. “If they’re street kids, I mean.”

“Scholarships. Or he’d make them work their lessons off. He always figured something out. The money wasn’t that important to him. All he cared about was the boys.” She sat forward. “Kyle, if we want to get people to see that Payette’s isn’t just another gym, we need to reach out to them.”

Kyle nodded. “All right. Let’s do it. I’ll lead the classes, but I want you there, too.”

* * *

IT DIDN’T TAKE them long to put the hour-long class together. Reta had fifteen students signed up right away with a waiting list of ten more.

They started the class the following Wednesday. Six girls and nine boys ranging from age fourteen to twenty-two had signed up. Many of them didn’t have proper gym clothes. Kyle handed out Payette’s T-shirts to them as makeshift uniforms. In most cases, it was better than the clothes they had.

Bella watched as Kyle greeted everyone, speaking with the comfort and ease of someone used to interviews and large audiences. He joked around with the students, but his stance and the strong line of his back and shoulders told everyone he wasn’t going to tolerate bullshit or goofing off. She wondered where he’d been storing this charming, confident, easygoing version of himself.

She surveyed the students. Most of them looked eager to learn, listening raptly as Kyle recited the gym rules. Her eye caught on one girl huddled in the far left corner with her knees drawn up to her chin, picking at her cuticles, eyes darting around as if someone was going to steal the mat out from under her.

“What’s her story?” she asked Reta discreetly. The head of the youth program glanced over.

“That’s Shawnese. She’s...a special case.”

“Special how?”

Reta hesitated. “She has trust issues.”

Bella read between the lines and nodded. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”

They went through warm-ups and conditioning—jumping jacks, pushups, burpees. Bella watched as Shawnese halfheartedly followed along. She sidled up next to her and smiled. “Hey.”

The young woman turned a suspicious eye on her. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. Is it okay if I stand here with you? There isn’t enough room on the other side.”

She shrugged.

With Bella there, Shawnese followed along more closely. When Kyle told them to break up into pairs, Bella immediately partnered with her.

The exercise was to show the difference in strength using open and closed hands. One person would rest their arm over the other person’s shoulder while they tried to bend it at the elbow. Invariably, the open-handed method always stayed straight.

“I don’t get this,” Shawnese said as she pulled at Bella’s arm. The two of them stood eye to eye, but Bella easily had twenty pounds on the younger woman. “How can an open hand be stronger if people punch with closed fists?”

“There are different schools of thought with different martial arts forms, but we’re teaching self-defense. Look.” She held out her upturned hand. “If you strike out with the heel of your palm, you’ll risk less injury to your own hand.” She slowly pushed the hand out. “Even if you don’t know what you’re doing and you miss the bridge of a guy’s nose, look at the damage you can do. Fingers in the eyes. Pushing the guy’s head backward. Palm to their muzzle. You can grab their hair. Lots of things you can do with an open hand. Closed—” she made a fist “—and you cut off those opportunities.”

Shawnese tilted her head, looking at her own hands as she flexed her fingers open and closed.

“The main thing,” Bella emphasized, “is to get away. The best way to help yourself out of a situation is to walk away from it.”

“Dunno if that’s gonna be possible,” Shawnese muttered.

“We’re just giving you the basics. If you have questions, or you want to learn something specific, just ask.” Bella hoped the young woman would do exactly that.

By the end of class, Shawnese seemed much more receptive to Kyle’s instruction and to the prospect of more lessons.

“You did a great job,” Reta said. “I’m kind of shocked Shawnese opened up to you so fast.”

That was opening up? Reta must have read the look on Bella’s face, because she chuckled. “Seriously, when she first came to the center, she barely said a word to anyone. Just sat in the corner to stay warm and safe. She tries to hide it and act tough—it’s part of the armor. I think she’s said more to you today than to anyone else all week.”

After the students had gone, Bella went to Kyle. “That seemed to go really well. You were great.”

He smiled modestly, dimples flashing in the corners of his mouth. Bella was struck by how much it changed his face. A little buzz zipped through her. In that brief glimpse, she saw the triumphant Olympic gold medalist, the heartbreaker playboy and the carefree youth she’d seen in old training footage. “You, too. Your assisting really helped move things along. The students show promise,” he said. “Thanks for sticking by. I noticed you were spending some extra time with that one girl.”

“Her name’s Shawnese. Reta says she’s got some trust issues. I thought it’d be a good idea to stay close to her. In a class of fifteen, there’s always going to be one odd man out, and there’s nothing worse than being the last person picked.”

“Let’s make sure we diversify when we pair them up,” Kyle said. “It’ll be good to get them to mingle.”

“Good idea.” She was almost certain this was the first time they’d agreed on something. It made her feel good.

“I know it’s late,” Kyle said, glancing at the clock, “but if you’re free now, we could spend an hour on the mats.”

“Absolutely.” She nearly tripped on her own feet as she hurriedly stripped out of her Payette’s T-shirt so she could work in her rash guard. Thanks to the class she was already warmed up. She stretched and shook out all her muscles while Kyle pulled off his own T-shirt.

Holy—

Bella froze as she caught the rippling expanse of his back. She’d seen him in videos wearing a wrestling singlet, but shirtless with an extra seven years was an entirely different matter. She knew all the technical names for the groups of bunching muscles—trapezius, latissimus dorsi, rhomboid major—but all she could think of was the lumps and wrinkles they would create beneath a satin blanket.

He grabbed a sleeveless black V-neck workout top from a gym bag and pulled it over his head, but not before she got an eyeful of his chest. She couldn’t help but wonder what those pectorals would feel like.

“Okay, so you’ve probably got all the basics. I’ve seen your fights, and I think you have at least some techniques down.”

“Let’s not skip anything, Coach. Teach me the way you were taught.”

Something flashed across Kyle’s face. She wasn’t even sure she’d seen it, but she thought it might have been resentment. He set his feet apart. “Okay. Show me your square stance.”

Bella planted her feet shoulder-width apart, head up, knees slightly bent and elbows tucked at her sides. Kyle gave her a light shove to test her balance. Warmth snaked through her.

“Good. Now show me staggered.”

She shifted her right foot back and lowered herself farther. “That’s a little too low. You’re way off balance, see?” He pushed her side to side, and she stumbled as she tried to stabilize herself.

“Well, I’m not going to stay in this position, am I?” Of course, it wasn’t only his push that had tipped her off balance. “I thought the idea was to drive forward and attack. Like this.” She lunged at Kyle and crashed into his middle, wrapping her arms around his waist and dragging him down. He was solid and warm, exactly as she’d imagined. And though they’d never sparred, this felt comfortably familiar.

He fell to his butt as she climbed on top of his chest. She was easily fifty pounds lighter than he was but kept him effectively pinned. She’d only managed that twice with her brothers. Heady triumph filled her as he struggled.

“Get off me!” Kyle roared.

She leaped off. Had she hurt him? He scrambled to his feet and took four big steps away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t feel you tapping out—”

He gave her such a nasty look she snapped her mouth shut. “Don’t ever do that again,” he snarled. “We don’t have matches without refs, and we don’t attack people who aren’t ready.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Lesson’s over. Practice your stances. You don’t have the basics down at all.”

“Kyle—”

She watched him stalk off. She kicked at the air. Porra! She wasn’t going to get anything right around him, was she?

* * *

HADRIAN BLACKWELL WHIPPED his cell phone onto the ground, and the pieces of shattered plastic case scattered across the hardwood floor. He forked his fingers through his hair and grabbed fistfuls at his temples, ready to tear it out.

Soft footsteps alerted him he was no longer alone in his home office.

“Babe? Something wrong?”

He looked up and his heart skipped a beat. He would never get used to seeing her like this—Quinn Bourdain in a silky cream negligee, her red-gold hair tumbling around her shoulders, barefoot and free of makeup toddling around his house. The sight of her nibbling on her lower lip worriedly made him ashamed of his violent outburst.

“I just got a call from Wendell McAvoy.” He stooped to gather the pieces of the phone. “He’s out. Torn ACL.”

Quinn’s hazel eyes snapped into focus and she straightened. “That’s official?”

“Doctor said he’ll be in recovery for months.”

She left the office in a flutter of silk. Hadrian shook his head and followed her to the bedroom, where she was already pulling on her bra, panties and socks. She cradled her cell phone between her shoulder and cheek.

“Jason. Yeah, it’s me. McAvoy’s out of the UFF anniversary fight. ACL injury. Can you make room?” She paused, casting her speculative gaze on Hadrian. “No, I’m thinking more like a quarter page. Let me see what I can get first. I’ll call you back.”

“Do we really have to do this now?” Hadrian groaned.

She pulled one leg through her jeans. “I have to pay the rent somehow.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you just...” He trailed off at her pointed look and raked his fingers through his hair again. For months, he’d been asking Quinn to move in with him and quit her job, but she’d refused. She loved being a sports reporter on the MMA beat, even though it frequently put them on opposite sides of the table. Seeing her scramble back into work mode, so eager to leave their bubble of bliss, made him want to tie her down. Preferably to the bed.

“Stop, stop, stop.” He took her by the wrists as she reached for her T-shirt. “What’s the rush?”

“You don’t want me to interview you topless, do you?” A single, plucked eyebrow arched. “You wouldn’t be altogether there if I did.”

“Hey, I’ve had to wheel and deal with guys running around with their junk hanging out in the locker room. I think I can handle a little boob.”

“‘Little’?” She feigned outrage and placed her hands on her hips, making her chest jut forward. Of course, Hadrian had seen bigger. But he opted for the politically correct response.

“No, perfect.” He tried to give those perfects a squeeze. She evaded him.

“Sorry, babe. Mood’s gone, and I’ve got a story to chase.”

He moaned. “Damn it, I shouldn’t have answered that phone.”

“Told you so.” She grabbed a pen and notepad from her overnight bag then turned on a digital voice recorder. “Okay, so McAvoy’s out of the big tenth anniversary matchup?”

He sighed. He should’ve asked her to go home and change into her reporter’s outfit—the ugly almost ten-year-old burgundy pantsuit and white button-up shirt she’d been wearing to UFF press gigs since she’d started her career. That suit was as effective as a chastity belt.

He tore his eyes from her jeans and bra combo, and turned his back to her, mustering up his public voice. “The word from the McAvoy camp is that Wendell suffered a serious ACL injury and will be in recovery for at least six months.”

“Do you have a replacement in mind?”

“Gimme a break, Quinn, I heard about this exactly thirty seconds ago.”

Lips pursed, she waited.

“Fine. We’re working on finding an appropriate match against Darren Dodge.” He’d be making a lot of calls that weekend. He always had backups for the main event, but he’d already used four of them to fill other holes on the card.

“This is the fifth fighter to drop out of this event. People have said the anniversary is cursed.”

“Off the record, people are idiots.” When Quinn gave him her “be serious” look, he went with the company line. “Injuries happen, and the health and welfare of my fighters is important. A torn ACL is nothing to take lightly.”

“But the last three cancellations—DePolo’s doping scandal, Vasquez’s battery and assault charge against McCaffrey, Brown’s controversial remarks about—”

“I read the news, Quinn.”

She sucked in a lip and plowed on. “These infringements are indicative of something more pervasive and widespread in the UFF. You’ve got bigger prizes, more at stake, and more fighters and gyms competing with each other every day. Is the increasing pressure to perform driving fighters to justify unsportsmanlike behavior?”

Hadrian stared at her, trying to sort out her eye-crossing question. “That’s a lot of ten-dollar words to be throwing around on a Saturday, Quinn. Sounds like you’ve been holding on to that question for a while. When were you planning to spring it on me?”

“Sunday night, probably.” She shrugged. “It’s just business, babe.”

He stuffed down his irritation and the resentment that her answer had tweaked. “I have a deep respect for these fighters,” he said, clearing his throat, “and I put all my confidence in them to behave appropriately. Whatever beef they have with each other, whatever they’re doing to their bodies—legal or otherwise—that’s their deal. I can’t control them every second of every day. They know the rules. They should know how to conduct themselves.”

“But you have to admit, you’ve made the stakes such that the UFF is the only game in town.”

“That’s not true. There are dozens of other leagues—”

“That can barely compete, and you know it. That’s why you’ve been buying them up, isn’t it?”

He threw his hands in the air. “I thought this weekend was supposed to be about having fun.”

She shut off her recorder. “I’m not attacking you, Hadrian. I’m asking a valid question.”

“Yeah, but why the third degree? What story are you working on, exactly?”

“It’s a feature,” she said vaguely. “I’m freelancing it out.”

“About what?”

“I have an idea, but it’s all about research right now. I don’t have a bigger picture yet. Just some ideas. And I won’t say any more until I know exactly what I’m going to write about.”

He set his jaw, eyes slipping back down to her chest. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn she’d planned the whole topless inquisition. Not that he really minded.

“Will you stay for dinner?” he asked, trying hard to keep hope out of his tone.

“Better not. I have to get to the office, make some calls and see who has the pulse on McAvoy.” She pulled her T-shirt on and grabbed her running shoes. “Besides, you’re going to be preoccupied, too, finding a replacement. If I finish early, maybe I’ll come back, okay?” She gave him a peck on the cheek and left without saying goodbye.

Hadrian sighed. Well, there went his weekend.

CHAPTER FIVE

KYLE WATCHED THROUGH his office windows as Bella shadowboxed, pummeling her invisible opponent with the grace and power of a pro. She had perfect form—Wayne had praised her discipline and skill—and what she lacked in strength she made up for with finesse.

Something she obviously lacked when it came to working with him.

He knew he’d overreacted the other day when she’d tackled him. He’d lain in bed awake—which was no new thing—mad at himself and at her. Of course, it was always dangerous pulling stupid stunts like that. She should’ve known better. But he wasn’t about to admit that the real reason he was so pissed off ran much deeper. No, she’d been in the wrong.

Sometime later, Orville joined her, along with Tito, and they began a few grappling and takedown exercises. He noticed she had no difficulty or awkwardness working with either of the men. Apparently, things only got weird when she worked with him.

And whose fault is that? His self-recriminating thoughts always took his father’s berating tone. Stop trying to put the blame on everyone else. This is all in your stupid head.

He put down his file and rubbed his tired eyes. He had to try harder. He’d been unfair to her, and he was treating her like...well, not kindly, and it was entirely his problem.

The phone rang. Liz rarely transferred calls that weren’t important, so it was with some trepidation that he picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, killer.” The soft, husky voice that beckoned from the other end of the line had him sitting up. He’d know that siren’s call anywhere. “How’s it hanging?”

“Bree Hannigan.” A broad smile spread across his lips. “I thought you were in Australia.”

“I was. I’m in California right now, doing some photo shoots for Chanel.”

“Fancy. How are you?”

“Lonely,” she whimpered. “Henri and I broke up a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He wasn’t. Not really. Bree had followed the photographer to the other side of the world almost two years ago. She’d been crazy about the guy.

They caught up with each other’s lives. Bree told him about the dozens of exotic places she’d visited, complaining about how she’d had to live out of a suitcase and eat out all the time.

“Woe is me,” Kyle teased. “Touring the world first-class as a fashion model? What a trial.”

“You laugh, but you have no idea. All I really want is to relax and unwind in a big, comfy bed with a big, comfy man. Speaking of, I’m going to be in New Orleans in February. I was hoping we could...get comfy together.”

Heat rolled lazily south through his chest and lower. The last time they’d been together, they’d spent most of that time in her hotel room. It had been an unforgettable weekend. “I’d like that....”

A sliver of doubt pricked his libido, and he hedged. His performance of late had been subpar. He didn’t want to risk a misfire. “Let me know what your schedule’s going to be like. Things have been busy here.”

“Too busy for me?” He could hear her pout. “Kyle, have you been working too hard? You know stress only makes you tighten up.”

How she managed to make everything she said sound like sex, Kyle didn’t know. His gaze snagged on Bella as she tackled Orville, throwing her legs around his waist and dragging him to the ground. “I’ll make room in my schedule.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon.”

They hung up. Kyle was still smiling, but inside, threads of anticipation and dread tangled into a tight, messy knot.

* * *

BELLA SANK HER fists into the heavy bag, driving frustration into the leather and sand with each blow.

Wayne made her take a break. “You’re going at it a little hard today. Everything okay?”

“I want to get a good workout.” She took long, deep, calming breaths as she shook out her limbs. She was still frustrated by what had happened with Kyle. He’d been avoiding her since that incident, and part of her couldn’t blame him. She’d behaved irresponsibly—Fulvio would’ve turned her over and spanked her if she’d tackled an unprepared teacher the way she’d attacked Kyle. She couldn’t even say why she’d done it—it was that reckless impulse to mess with him she couldn’t control.

Still, she didn’t deserve the silent treatment.

Obviously Kyle had issues, and that thing between him and Karla was probably at the root of it. But it wasn’t as if she was going to put him into a compromising position and get him in trouble. Anyhow, how was she supposed to grapple with other men under his rules? She couldn’t jeopardize her training because Kyle was afraid of cooties.

At least the other guys had been generous with their time. Tito and Orville both took turns working with her, and Wayne had given her some terrific tips on her footwork. If it wasn’t for them, she might have packed up and left a week ago.

“Excuse me, are you Bella Fiore?”

A man in white shirtsleeves flashed a smile big enough to carry a logo. His thin black tie was loosened and he carried his dark gray suit jacket slung across one shoulder. She got the distinct impression he had to make a real effort to look that casual. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and handed her a business card. “Ryan Holbrooke. I’m a fight manager and agent.”

She wiped her arm across her sweaty brow and took the card with a gloved hand. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Holbrooke?”

“Call me Ryan, please. I’d heard you’d come from Brazil to train here and I wanted to stop by and meet you in person. I’m a big fan. I was hoping we could grab a drink sometime and discuss what your future might look like.”

She scratched her nose. “I appreciate the offer, but my family’s never used managers or agents. We take care of our own careers and book our own fights.”

“Oh, so you have a fight coming up?”

She bit her lip. “Well, no...”

“Because I happen to know of an upcoming event, and you’re exactly what their card needs.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over. On the surface everything about him seemed legit, but he gave off a vibe she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “What’s the fight?”

“I won’t lie, it’s local. Kind of small, but it’s a well-stacked league. Ever hear of Fury Fights?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, they do a convention and exhibition card mid-November. Your opponent’s from Kansas—Betty The Hammer.”

“Yeah, I know of Betty Heimer,” Bella said. She’d fought and lost against one of Bella’s opponents a couple years back.

Ryan nodded. “I’ve got plenty more details. I’d be happy to discuss them with you.”

He was earnest, and he seemed open. It wouldn’t hurt to talk. If nothing else, she’d get free drinks.

They agreed on a time and place, and then Ryan left with a wave.

“Was that Ryan Holbrooke I saw walk out?” Tito asked.

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

“He’s a sports agent. He works with a lot of MMA fighters and boxers. You were talking to him?”

“He wants me to meet him for drinks. Says he might have a fight for me.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Tito folded his arms.

“What? You don’t think I should?”

“No, no. He’s an okay agent, I guess. He’s helped get his clients signed with some pretty big sponsors.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

Tito lifted one thick shoulder. “It’s nothing personal. For me, anyhow.”

“But it’s personal for someone...like Kyle?” she ventured.

His lips flattened out. “They have a thing.”

Bella scoffed. Were they in high school or something? Regardless, talking with Ryan Holbrooke shouldn’t be any concern of Kyle’s. If he had issues, he could bring them up with her. He was good at that.

“Do me a favor. Be careful around Ryan,” Tito warned. “He’s a smooth one.”

* * *

RYAN HOLBROOKE WAS smooth, all right. He met her at a swank restaurant in the Garden District where they started with drinks at the bar, then, as their conversation lengthened, moved to the restaurant for dinner. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought it was a date.

She had to admit she was flattered by his attention, how he hung on her every word. Then again, if he wanted to snag her as a client, she didn’t expect him to ignore her the way Kyle did.

She’d done a quick internet search to check Ryan Holbrooke’s credentials, and he seemed to be the genuine article. He was good-looking, too, with flirty blue eyes, jet-black hair and a cocksure smile. He knew MMA, and had even competed for a while, so they didn’t run out of things to talk about. He didn’t challenge her or make her work too hard to like him. She’d forgotten what it was like to be with someone who appreciated her for who she was rather than someone who tried to mold her into something she wasn’t.

Ryan paused and regarded her frankly. “I have to ask...how is it a girl like you is still single? You are single, aren’t you?”

Her cheek ticked. “I’m not comfortable talking about it.” It wasn’t that the story made her particularly sad, but she’d just met Ryan, and sharing this kind of intimacy with him didn’t feel...natural. Besides, it wasn’t any of his business.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He sounded as though he were the offended party. He was rubbing his left thumb against his bare ring finger, and he held up his hand when he noticed her looking. “Three years divorced,” he confirmed with a wry twist of his lips. “My ex didn’t understand the demands of my job. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. Honestly, I’m better off without her.”

“Tell me more about this fight,” she said, hoping to change the subject. They hadn’t gotten around to it with everything else they’d been discussing. “You mentioned Betty Heimer, but last I checked, she was in the 145-pound division.”

“She had a kid and put on some weight. This’ll be her first fight since she’s been back. I think it’ll be an easy one to win.”

“I don’t take fights because they’re easy to win,” she said, irritated he’d even suggested it. There was nothing worse than a mismatched opponent.

“That’s not what I meant. Like I said, it’s a convention with a small-time exhibition. More to showcase local talent, drum up publicity. Probably two or three hundred spectators, tops, which, at this stage in your career, is pretty good.”

“I’ve fought for bigger crowds.”

“But that was when you were fighting under your family’s banner. Their backing got you sponsors. Do you have sponsors now? Don’t answer that, I already know.” He named them. He’d done his research, apparently.

“Everyone knows the Fiore name, but as a fighter, you need to build your personal profile. Get on social media, get your face in magazines, market yourself, that kind of thing. A fight right here in New Orleans will drum up some good publicity to start.”

“And you’re the guy to help me?”

“I wouldn’t have come to Payette’s to see you if I didn’t think you were worth it. I don’t know if anyone told you, but Kyle and I don’t have a great working relationship. In fact, I’m thinking you could do better at a place like Star Gyms.”

She knew of the national chain of high-end, full-service boutique fitness centers. They had a price tag to match the facilities, but that wasn’t her issue. Bella fixed her mother’s patented listen-to-me glare on Ryan. “I’m staying at Payette’s. I signed a contract to stay on for six months. Besides, we’re working with an at-risk youth center, and I won’t give up on them.”

Ryan raised his hands placatingly. “Hey, no sweat. I’m just here to offer my services to help you become a champ in all the aspects that your coaches can’t train you in. What you’re doing at Payette’s is admirable—plus that community outreach stuff is PR gold.” He flashed those billboard teeth again. “Listen, I’ll be totally up-front. I like you, not only as a client, but as a person. In my business, that’s rare.” He shifted forward in his seat. “You’re twenty-six, right? How many more years do you want to fight for?”

She shrugged. “If injuries don’t slow me down? Realistically...I dunno...till I’m thirty-three? Thirty-five?” She hadn’t thought quite that far ahead. She knew she’d have to stop for a year or two if she had children. And some fighters continued well into their forties, though she wasn’t sure she’d be one of them. Quite frankly, it was hard to envision the future beyond the next match.

“Let’s say you decide to quit at thirty-five. That means you’ve got less than nine years to scrape together enough for whatever you want to do afterward. There is an afterward, you know, and a lot of athletes don’t realize that unless you get a sweet deal with a big-name brand, sponsorship money dries up pretty quick. Do you have any idea what you’ll do once you quit fighting?”

“Train others,” she said automatically. It was what her family had always done—pass on their teachings and raise new fighters on the Fiore system. “Work in my family’s gym, I guess.”

“Okay, so picture this—what if you could have your own gym?”

Bella admitted she’d thought about it. She’d always been resigned to the fact that she’d end up working for her father and grandfather and brothers for the rest of her life. But now that she’d broken off from her family tree, she could have dreams of her own.

The idea of that much freedom and autonomy saddened her a little. She missed everyone in São Paulo. Even Fulvio. At the same time, the chance to build and own something that was hers and hers alone was almost too sweet a dream to contemplate.

A gym. She’d call it Bella’s. Her name would finally be featured ahead of the Fiore family name....

“You’re starting to see it, right?” The glow of his smile reflected the stars in her eyes. “If you become the star you were born to be, you could have it all. Retire at thirty-five. Open your own gym. Your own restaurant. Whatever you want.” He leaned toward her. “I want to see you succeed, and I know you will. I can help you move to the next level—won’t you let me?”

* * *

“SO YOU SIGNED with Holbrooke?” Kyle sat back and carefully put down his coffee mug, afraid he might crush it in his hands or throw it at the wall.

Bella nodded. “He got me onto an exhibition card next month with Fury Fights, and he’s working on getting me some sponsors.”

“You should have talked to me first.” He rubbed his temples, feeling a brand-new headache coming on. If he’d seen Ryan within ten feet of Bella, he would’ve...

You’d have what? His father’s voice mocked. Told him to get away from your girl?

He pressed his palm onto the top of his desk. “I’ll be honest with you. Ryan’s scooped some of our clients before. I think he gets commission or something for bringing new clients to Star Gyms.”

A look of understanding dawned on Bella’s face. “He did try to sell me on switching gyms, but I made it clear that I won’t leave Payette’s.”

The knot inside him eased a touch.

“Why do you even let him in here if he’s stealing clients?” Bella asked.

“Our more serious fighters like that agents poke around here. I can’t really ban the guy for searching out new talent.” Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t ban Ryan from the gym. Bella had every right to look skeptical about his answer.

The truth was, Kyle didn’t like Ryan, and it wasn’t only because of his slimy business practices. The man was friends with Karla. And while he’d never said anything to suggest he knew about what had happened, he leered at Kyle whenever they saw each other.

If he banned the agent, who knew what the guy would say?

His irritation ratcheted up. “Tell me something.” Kyle leaned forward. “What did he do to convince you? Fancy dinner? Promises of fame and fortune?”

“You say it as if I’m gullible. I didn’t agree to it right away. I went home, did some research and talked to a few people. The guy has some serious fighters on his roster who’ve all moved on to the UFF.”

“What you probably haven’t heard is that he’s had more burnouts than superstar successes. Ryan pushes hard, Bella. He’s only interested in making money, even if it means making his clients do things they don’t want to.”

“You mean steroids?”

“I mean anything.”

Bella shook her head. “I won’t do anything I don’t want to. I’m not that desperate. I know what’s best for me.”

Kyle had seen her kind of cocky conviction before. Usually in overconfident guys who thought they’d be the next Dominic Payette. She might be a Fiore, but he wondered if she knew how far she’d have to go to become a star.

“Look, it’s done. Ryan will help me do some marketing and PR stuff. But you’re the one who’ll make me a good fighter.”

But why Ryan? he wanted to whine. Not that it was his business. It was her career, after all. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t warn her.

Bella leaned forward suddenly, her eyes softening. “Look, I know things have been tense between us. I know you don’t like Ryan, but he believes in me. I really need that.” She glanced down. “I need someone to believe...” She trailed off.

His eyes widened. Suddenly, he got it. She’d signed with Ryan because he supported her in ways Kyle hadn’t. Ways her family hadn’t. Why else was she here and not at a Fiore gym? Marco Fiore had mentioned something to him about a falling-out. Kyle understood that feeling of desolation when no one had faith in you. The ache spread as he realized his cold attitude hadn’t helped. He’d practically pushed her toward Ryan.

“I believe in you,” he blurted. Too little...but maybe not too late. Wry cynicism lurked in her eyes, but there was a spark of hope there, too. He swallowed thickly and leaned closer, trying desperately to infuse his words with sincerity. “I’m here for you, Bella.”

“I really need to believe that, Kyle. You’re the one I came here for. I want to bring something new to the cage. Betty Heimer has some major takedown skills, and I don’t want to be unprepared. Will you help me? Please?”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. As wildly infuriating as Bella could be, right now, she was vulnerable and she needed him.

He couldn’t say no.

* * *

AFTER BELLA HAD finished with one of the fitness classes she taught, a young guy named Joe who’d been training at Payette’s for over a year joined them on the mats at Kyle’s request. At eighteen, he was a gangly kid who weighed a few pounds more than Bella did. As before, Kyle started from the beginning with basic wrestling stances. It never hurt to check a fighter’s habits. It seemed Bella had taken his advice and adjusted her staggered stance. Joe was more sloppy, but he was still new to MMA.

They went through the basic takedowns, and Kyle found Bella’s techniques a bit rough. Brazilian jujitsu and wrestling were separate disciplines with different rules and goals, but in MMA, the two were more fluid. He stopped the pair as she pinned Joe to the mats.

“Bella, you’re still not cutting the corner fast enough,” he said. “Betty’s going to be fighting you off, so you’ll have to do this in a snap. Don’t give her time to readjust.”

She shot him a look as if to say duh.

He raised an eyebrow and subbed in for Joe, getting into position.

Bella’s lips curved. “Do you want me to fight you off?” she asked wryly.

“You can try.”

Joe took another step back. Kyle said, “Go,” and lunged forward. He snagged her wrist and hooked one hand behind her head, controlling her so she couldn’t strike him.

But Bella was strong, and she’d had years of training with the first family of BJJ. She reversed their positions, dropping to her knees with one arm hooked under his thigh.

“That’s good,” Kyle said, grappling with her, keeping her close. “Using your height difference as an advantage definitely throws off a bigger opponent. But—” He shot his legs back and dropped his hips. He landed on her, then went for the full mount, straddling her chest. “I’m still bigger and stronger. From here I can get you into a lot of different submission holds.”

“If you can hold on,” she gritted. She lifted her hips and rolled and twisted beneath him. He lost his grip and slammed a hand down to stabilize himself. His nose ended up buried in the crook of her neck. The smell of hot-cross buns assailed him.

Before he could regain himself, she’d wrapped her muscular legs around his waist, ankles hooked into the small of his back. She pulled him down on top of her, gaining control despite still being pinned beneath him.

Her face was flushed, and strands of dark, curly hair stuck to her sweaty face. The combination of her piercing green eyes and the way she squeezed him between her thighs sent electricity across his skin. Blood pounded through his temples and made its way south.

“Nice guard,” Joe said.

Kyle startled. He’d practically forgotten about Joe. He tapped out hastily, discreetly adjusting himself as he got up. “In wrestling, your opponent will be fighting against you all the way. The name of the game is domination.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing the name of this game is MMA.” Bella rolled into a sitting position. “That would’ve been a perfectly legal move.”

He couldn’t fault her for that. And he had to admit he was impressed. “Let’s refocus on your takedown. Do the double-leg again. Joe, stand in for me.”

The hour slipped by quickly as they ran through the exercise several times. He realized too late, though, that having the amateur spar with Bella had been a bad decision. The kid’s technique was sloppy, and didn’t provide a real challenge for Bella. Kyle itched to replace Joe, but getting that close to her again was a bad idea. He was still shaking off the tingles running figure eights through his groin. He’d felt her, and whatever went through him made him wholly aware that she was an attractive woman.

Apparently, he wasn’t the consummate professional he thought he was.

CHAPTER SIX

“SO WHAT’D I do wrong?”

Kyle glanced up from his paperwork and frowned. After yesterday’s session with Joe, it was clear to Bella she’d messed up somehow. The moment she’d established her guard, Kyle’s eyes had clouded as something like anger flashed through them. After the lesson, he’d become distant and hidden in his office the rest of the day. And he’d hardly said hello to her today. “Does anyone around here remember how to knock?” he grumbled.

“I was thinking over the drills yesterday. I did something wrong, didn’t I?” She stepped farther into his office and gripped the back of the visitor’s chair.

His gaze remained fixed on her, but she detected a slight twitch in his jaw. “You did fine. You just need practice.”

“But—”

“You did fine.” He sent her a half smile that did crazy things to her insides. “I know you’re eager to do more, and I think that’s great. Just keep conditioning. Joe’ll be in later. We’ll train then.”

Bella left unsatisfied. She was used to getting a lot more feedback, but she reminded herself yet again that this was Payette’s, not her family studio.

As the days went on, Kyle concentrated mainly on her takedowns and getting her opponent on the ground. There was a definite pattern to his coaching style, and it only got more intense as she drilled. His shouted instructions rang in her ears as she lay in bed, his demands that she move faster, watch her form and keep her guard up made her muscles twitch just as she thought she was drifting off to sleep. He was bent on perfection. And while she appreciated his tenacity, it made training tedious.

She kept her mouth shut, though. She wasn’t about to jeopardize their tentative truce. This was what she’d come to New Orleans for, after all. Every day they worked together, she got another “fine.” Maybe it was all he was willing to give.

At least her time as a trainer at Payette’s was proving successful. She’d made the classes she was teaching more challenging, and the students appreciated being pushed harder. Her reputation as fair, fun but hard-assed circulated, and a few of the bodybuilders who regularly pumped iron at Payette’s joined the classes. Kyle had been impressed and had rewarded her with a recruitment bonus.

On Wednesday evenings, the students from the Touchstone youth center came for their weekly lesson. Shawnese had slowly warmed to Bella. She no longer glared as if everyone was out to get her and even worked with her fellow classmates without hesitation. Reta was ecstatic about how much she’d opened up since she’d started the self-defense class.

It was the first week in November when Ryan showed up with a square-chinned, redheaded woman wearing an ill-cut burgundy pantsuit. She smiled broadly as she introduced herself. “Quinn Bourdain, Las Vegas Sun News. Ryan’s told me a lot about you, Ms. Fiore. I’m looking forward to interviewing you.”

Bella kept her smile fixed, but she snagged her manager’s arm in a tight grip. “Um, Ryan, can I talk to you a minute?” She pulled him aside. Kyle hadn’t arrived yet, and she had no idea how he’d react to seeing him there. “What’s going on?”

“I told you, this class for at-risk youth is PR gold. I invited Quinn here all the way from Vegas. She owes me a favor. She’s going to do a feature on you and this class you’re teaching.”

“I’m not teaching this class. Kyle is. Anyway, I don’t think it’s such a good idea. These kids haven’t given their permission.”

“We’re not filming them, and we don’t need their consent to observe. Anyhow, the article will be about you more than them. You know, local girl does good and breaks faces, too. That kind of stuff.”

She shook her head. “I’m not local. And I’m not sure Kyle will approve.”

“Approve of what?” Kyle asked as he walked into the gym. His entrance reminded Bella of a shark gliding through the water, deceptively innocuous and full of bloody intent. He looked down his nose. “Ryan.” The frost in his greeting crystalized in the air between them.

Ryan smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just the man I wanted to see. Have you met Ms. Bourdain?” He explained the reason for Quinn’s presence. Kyle took it in, lips pursed.

“I don’t know...” he began.

“C’mon, Kyle. It’d be good publicity for Payette’s, not to mention Bella. You want to make sure you associate the gym with the future women’s champ, don’t you?” He clamped his hands over Bella’s shoulders, his thick fingers digging into her flesh. Ryan jerked his chin at the gathering of young people. “It’ll be good for them, too.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Ask Reta first. She’s the best judge of what’s good for these kids. Some of them might not appreciate being talked about.”

“Quinn’s a top-notch journalist,” Ryan said dismissively. “She’d never exploit someone for a story. No one who isn’t asking for it, anyhow.”

So Kyle grudgingly explained the situation to Reta, who had no problem with the reporter’s presence. Neither did the students—they seemed excited by the idea of being in the newspaper. Kyle started the class, and the students were extra attentive. To everyone’s surprise, Quinn changed into a T-shirt and trunks, took notes and snapped some pictures, before joining the class, too.

Ryan left twenty minutes into the lesson. Apparently he had better things to do than sit around and watch a client spar with a bunch of kids. Admittedly, Bella breathed a little easier without the tension stretching between her agent and her trainer. She might have been a pugilist by trade, but she’d always hated emotional cold wars.

As the class wrapped up and the kids went to get changed, Shawnese hung back. “Miss Bella, can I talk to you?”

“What’s up, Shawnese?”

She gripped her bony elbows and glanced around nervously. “I was wondering...” Her voice dropped. “Can you teach me how to stop a guy with a knife?”

Bella sucked in her cheeks. “Um...I can. But it’s not easy. The best way to get out—”

“Is to run away, yeah, so you guys keep saying. But sometimes you can’t, and I don’t want to turn my back on a knife, you know?”

She scratched her hip, a little unsure of how to handle this. “Listen, knife fighting and evading knife attacks is really advanced. It’s not like the movies. I can’t teach you everything, and you know what they say about a little knowledge.”

“I’m not trying to be Superman. Just teach me what you can.” Her voice quavered. She looked almost ready to bolt. Bella had a feeling that even if she asked, Shawnese would run away rather than explain herself. Bella couldn’t deny her request.

She gave the girl a quick demonstration, using the lessons the students had already learned in class. The young woman took it all in calmly, following along as best as she could. She was by no means weak or small, but against a knife, all opponents, no matter how skilled, were at a disadvantage.

“Shawnese, what are you doing?” Reta called from the doorway. “The bus is leaving soon. You should get changed.”

Shawnese waved her fingers at her as she left, smiling weakly. Unease rolled through Bella’s stomach.

“A little extra tutoring?” Quinn sidled up next to her, hefting her bag.

“She’s a special case.”

“Special how?”

Bella hesitated. She wasn’t about to share Shawnese’s story with the reporter. “She just wanted a few tips.”

“Well, forearmed is forewarned.”

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Depends which side of the hurting you’re on,” Quinn replied grimly.

Bella gave a wry smile. Maybe she should say something to Reta. She’d know how to handle Shawnese’s situation if there was one. Plus, it wasn’t really her business. She didn’t want to put her nose where it didn’t belong and risk losing the young woman’s trust. She’d talk with Reta later.

Bella and Quinn went to The Spot for dinner where they conducted the one-on-one interview. They sat at the bar and ate. Quinn asked questions about Bella’s background, her dreams and her current training. Bella did her best to answer them, but when it came to explaining her current relationship with the rest of the Fiore family, she glossed over a few details. Frustrated though she was with the way they’d treated her, she didn’t want to hurt Fulvio or the others.

“So how’s your relationship with Kyle Peters?” Quinn asked.

Bella nearly sucked her water down the wrong pipe. “I’m sorry?”

“Kyle. He has a reputation as a harsh taskmaster. Gets it from his father, David Peters. Has he treated you differently?”

She shifted her bottom on the suddenly too hot seat of the bar stool. “He’s been...” She tried to force out a lie. Telling a reporter she didn’t feel she was getting the best performance out of Kyle would not make him or Payette’s look good. “He’s been very good. I’ve learned a lot from him.”

Quinn watched her carefully and turned the recorder off. “Okay, totally off-the-record. How’s your relationship with Kyle, really?”

When Bella didn’t answer her right away, Quinn pressed on. “I’m not trying to write a gossip piece or anything. That’s not my style. You look like you want to say something but you’re afraid of the repercussions. I’m asking as a human being, now.” She lowered her voice. “Has he been inappropriate toward you?”

She blinked rapidly. “What? No. Why would you say that?”

Quinn fidgeted with the straw. “Rumors. He’s got a reputation when it comes to women, you know.” She paused, likely waiting for Bella to respond or ask for more details. When she did neither, Quinn shrugged. “They’re probably nothing. Forget I even said anything.”

* * *

TWO WEEKS LATER, Kyle was forced to admit that Ryan knew what he was doing with Bella’s career. Quinn Bourdain’s flattering article was syndicated in the Times-Picayune and had helped generate a lot of cold calls to the gym. People were interested in signing up for memberships and in supporting the gym’s good works with the community. And within three days of the article, he’d added a women’s self-defense class to the schedule.

Word about Payette’s was spreading.

At the health and wellness fair, which took place at a plaza mall on the northeast end of town, Bella drew a hefty crowd, signing photos and copies of Quinn’s article at the Payette’s booth. She helped with demonstrations and sparred with various members of the gym. Her looks and skills combined seemed to have converted quite a few eager young men to the sport of MMA, and a few ladies, too. They signed up a record number of new members that day.

This was how it was supposed to be, Kyle thought with a broad smile. Fun. That was something coaching and running a gym used to be before he had to worry about membership dues and customer service and budgets and getting flyers printed and circulated around the city.

He remembered the day Dominic had asked him to manage the place. It’d only been a few weeks after Dom had won the belt. Kyle couldn’t have been more honored and excited. The opportunity to run his own gym, even if it was owned by the UFF, had always been a dream of his. A chance to show everyone he was a winner beyond the podium.

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