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Below the Belt
Sarah Mayberry


When Jamie offers her boxing trainer Cooper her irresistible body he’s blown away. The sex they share is seriously sensational and their chemistry’s explosive – in bed and in the ring.But can Cooper win the fight for Jamie’s heart?







SARAH MAYBERRY lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner, Chris, who is also a writer. When she’s not writing a book, Sarah works as a scriptwriter for TV. She tried kickboxing once, but soon realized she was a writer not a fighter. When she’s not avoiding exercise, Sarah loves reading, shopping, writing and going to the movies.




Below the Belt

Sarah Mayberry





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This one is for Chris.

Thank you for all the laughter and love, and for teaching me so much about writing over the years.

The only reason I am here is that you are beside me.

I love you.

As always, big thanks to Wanda also, because she is, simply, the best.




Table of Contents


Cover (#ub4488070-dd22-5124-9b0c-905adf206ce3)

About the Author (#ubd4360d7-d6a8-58fc-87f0-7436f79ae482)

Title Page (#u8001d168-7c58-56e4-87e2-6ea1c7f46775)

Dedication (#u1b7719ba-269f-589c-901d-85b99912ee29)

Prologue (#u908b9bd7-39b4-595f-8de8-6a3e7b5d63a2)

Chapter One (#u166ca4c9-0bfe-57cd-80c0-d307a9cab8cc)

Chapter Two (#ub0957494-308e-5917-959b-17d6191a5af1)

Chapter Three (#ube5f35e7-2169-5572-8264-3062ca5b5d51)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


HE WAS A BIG MAN. Six foot three inches tall, broad shoulders, powerful arms and thighs—he dominated the boxing ring just by standing in it. Despite his size, he could move. Like Muhammad Ali, he danced around his opponents, fast and balanced, a joy to watch.

Jamie Sawyer studied his every move on her television screen, her thighs and shoulders and belly tensing, her right hand curling into a fist as he hit his opponent with a jab, then followed up with a cross to the body.

The power of the man. The elegance. The sheer beauty of watching him fight.

“He’s the one,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Cooper Fitzgerald. He’s the one I want.”

On the screen, Cooper hit his opponent with a whistling uppercut that came out of nowhere. The other fighter’s head rocked back, his eyes closed. He staggered backward. Then he hit the canvas like a two-hundred-pound slab of meat.

Reaching for the remote control, Jamie froze the image as the camera pulled in close on Cooper Fitzgerald’s face.

A nose with a charming bump in it from many breaks, strong cheekbones, a square jaw, deep set navy-blue eyes, dark hair. He was a good-looking man. But she wasn’t interested in his looks. She was interested in the fierce, triumphant snarl on his face and the light of victory in his eyes. He was a winner, a champion. For four years, the best heavyweight boxer in the world.

And now he was retired and starting his own fighters’ gym and taking on fighters to train.

She planned to be one of them. She was going to be one of them. She needed him if she was going to keep her promise.

“I still like Godfrey,” her grandfather said from behind her on the couch, his voice thin and reedy.

Every now and then it struck her how much he’d changed since his heart attack six months ago. The loss of his robust, deep voice was just one of many profound shifts.

“Godfrey’s experienced, he’s connected. He’s my choice,” he said.

“No, Cooper Fitzgerald is the one,” Jamie said again. “He’s the one who’s going to put me where I need to be, Grandpa.”

He knew better than to argue with her when she dug her heels in.

“Have to get him to take you on first,” he said.

Jamie stood. Her legs ached from yesterday’s roadwork, but she still planned on getting another ten miles under her belt today.

“He’ll take me on,” she said.

She just had to find the right way to ask…




Chapter One


COOPER “THE FIST” Fitzgerald adjusted the collar on his silk shirt and tweaked the cuffs on his jacket. Despite how well-made and well-cut the suit was, it felt wrong. He’d spent half his life in workout clothes, covered in sweat—he wasn’t a suit kind of guy and probably never would be. But he’d come courting, and he was smart enough to know that he needed to look the part if he was going to convince Ray Marshall to leave his current trainer and join Fitzgerald Fighters’ Gym.

Before hitting the doorbell and announcing his arrival, Cooper squinted at the sleek, modern house Ray had just bought. Situated on the beachfront of the increasingly exclusive Sydney suburb of Bronte, he figured the place was worth well over 1.5 million. But he already knew that Ray wasn’t hard up for cash. If Cooper was going to woo him to his stable, it was going to be about more than money. It was going to be about offering him the one thing that all fighters wanted: immortality. Just like every fighter who’d ever donned leather and sweated his rounds in the ring, Ray wanted to be remembered. Ali, Sugar Ray, Tyson—no one would ever forget their names, even if Tyson was as infamous these days as he was famous. And Cooper knew he could make Ray unforgettable. He had all the raw ingredients to become a legend of the sport rather than some guy who’d gotten lucky with a few heavy purses. Together, they could fly high.

It was getting to the “together” bit that was going to take some fancy footwork, since Ray had been with his current trainer since he started.

Aware that he was stalling, Cooper hit the bell. He was nervous. Like the suit, this was the part of setting up his own establishment that made him feel the least comfortable. He was a fighter, not some slick sales guy with a line of patter. Hell, he was only thirty-four. Not young by boxing standards, but if his body hadn’t given out on him, he’d still be in the ring, giving up-and-comers like Ray a pounding. When he’d bought the gym last year, it had been with the long-term in mind. No way had he planned to be training at this age. That was supposed to come later. Much later.

He glanced at his hands. A scar ran across his left knuckles. He rubbed it absently. He missed fighting. Stupid to pretend otherwise. But there was no point spending the rest of his life thinking about what might have been. The doctors had given him a clear choice after he’d detached the retina in his left eye in his last fight—keep fighting and go blind, or retire.

Some choice.

“Hey, man, good to see you,” Ray said as he opened the door. He gave Cooper a one-armed hug around the shoulders, the muscles of his big arms hard against Cooper’s back.

A heavyweight, Ray was an inch taller than Cooper, with a broad-nosed, heavy-browed face and olive skin. He wore his dark hair shaved close to his scalp, a style that made it easier for training and disguised the fact that it was rapidly receding.

“Good to see you, too,” Cooper said. Before he’d retired three months ago, he and Ray had trained together for a while. There was plenty of mutual respect between them, a good foundation for a future partnership.

“Come on in and check out my new pad,” Ray said with a big grin.

Cooper followed him along a white carpeted hallway, the plush pile so deep and thick underfoot that he was almost in danger of breaking an ankle in the stuff. The hall opened into a huge living room with a high ceiling, slick black-leather-and-chrome furniture and lots of windows. The glare from the morning sun pouring through all the glass was almost unbearable and he squinted his eyes in self-defense.

“Yeah, I know, I gotta do something about that. Get some curtains or something,” Ray said. “Let’s check out the pool.”

They passed through a state-of-the-art kitchen to a terrace that was dominated by a lap pool and a separate structure that housed a shiny gym bristling with high-end equipment, all of it visible through a wall of windows. Ray waved Cooper into one of the chairs arranged in a conversational grouping near the house.

“You want coffee?” Ray asked.

“Sure. Why not?” Cooper said.

Ray stepped toward the house and opened the sliding door a crack.

“Yo, Jimmy—coffee would be great, thanks, if the offer’s still good,” he called.

Cooper sat back, resting his right ankle on the knee of the opposite leg. Man, but his collar felt tight. Resisting the urge to run a finger under it like a kid at church on Sunday, he surveyed the rear of Ray’s house.

“Great place, bro,” he said.

“I like it,” Ray said, laughing at his own understatement. He shook his head. “If you could have seen where I grew up…”

Cooper understood. The best fighters were the ones who needed it as well as wanted it. They all had their hardluck stories, some harder than others.

“So, have you thought any more about my proposal?” Cooper asked, cutting to the chase. They both knew this wasn’t a social call.

Behind Ray, he caught sight of a figure moving around the kitchen making coffee. Because Ray had used the name Jimmy, Cooper was surprised to see it was a woman. A really hot woman, he noted as she bent to retrieve something from a lower drawer. She was wearing a uniform, a plain back dress with a zip up the front and a white apron around her waist. When she leaned over he copped an eyeful of strong, athletic legs and a tight, round butt.

Some guys preferred their women skinny like greyhounds but he’d never had a thing for bones. He liked women with breasts and butts, and strong, athletic women particularly got him going. Perhaps it was the combination of textures, hard and soft, silk and steel…

He realized Ray was talking. He’d been so preoccupied with checking out the hired help that he’d missed half of it.

“…but I’ve got some reservations, I’d be lying if I said any different,” Ray said. “And I’ve got a favor to ask, if we can cut a deal.”

Damn. Had Ray just said yes to him, and he’d been busy staring at some bimbo’s butt?

Focus, Fitzgerald.

“I want us to be straight up if we’re going to do this thing, Ray, so let me know what your concerns are and we’ll deal with them,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly on Ray now, even though he could still see the woman out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, you know, it’s the experience thing. You’ve got no track record. Sorry, man, but it’s true. You were one hell of a fighter, and I’d kill to have half your form, but you’re freshly minted as a trainer,” Ray said.

Cooper nodded. “You’re right. I’m new, I’m untested—which means I’m also hungry. I like to win, Ray. You know that about me. I built a career being a winner. And I’ve trained with some of the best guys in the business—guys you don’t have a chance of getting near because they’re in the U.S. now, or they’ve retired. I’ve got a lot of knowledge and experience to pass on—and I’m hand-picking my boys because I only want to work with fighters who I know have what it takes to go all the way. You’re at the top of my list, that’s why I’m here,” Cooper said.

“Yeah, sure, I bet you say that to everyone you’re talking to,” Ray said, and Cooper could tell he was only half joking.

“I’m not talking to anyone else just yet,” Cooper said. “Like I said, you’re at the top of my list.” Maybe it was a mistake to give away so much, but he hadn’t come here to shadowbox. He held Ray’s eye, and the other man slowly nodded.

“Okay. Okay. I’m interested,” Ray said.

Cooper grinned, and Ray grinned right back at him.

“So what’s this favor you mentioned?” Cooper said, jerking his tie loose and unbuttoning the collar on his shirt. They were on the downhill run now, he could feel it.

“I’ve got a friend, an up-and-comer. No fight record, just starting out. Loads of natural talent, strong, fast, great power. I said I’d put in a word with you,” Ray said. His gaze slid over Cooper’s shoulder as he spoke, and Cooper frowned.

Was it just him, or did Ray look a little…uncomfortable?

“Fair enough. Get him to come down to the gym tomorrow. I’ll take a look at him, put him through his paces. If I like what I see, I’ll certainly consider him,” Cooper said. That was as good as it was going to get. He had a reputation to build, and untried fighters would not do it for him.

“Uh, yeah. Thing is, it’s a she, not a he,” Ray said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, Ray, but I don’t follow women’s boxing,” Cooper said coolly, hoping Ray would get the hint and drop the subject.

It wasn’t that he thought women’s boxing was wrong or freakish the way some of the old-timers did. He simply didn’t think there were enough women out there truly committed to the sport. It was different for men. Often boxing was the only way out for them, and that gave them a hunger, a commitment that couldn’t be faked.

“If you saw her fight, you’d know what I mean. She’s good—really good. I think she could go all the way,” Ray said.

“Not with me,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “I’m not interested in training women. I want real fighters, not a bunch of Barbie dolls playing around with boxercise.”

The door to the house slid open as the maid appeared with a tray of coffee. His gaze honed in on her instinctively, taking in her straight brunette hair, pulled high in a ponytail, the fine bones of her face, her full lips and the supple grace with which she moved. Her eyes were an unusual light gray, almost silver, and were slightly tilted. Her body was everything he’d imagined—strong and curvy, her legs long, her shoulders square and proud.

“Women’s boxing is huge now,” Ray said. “Purses are bigger, and the Women’s International Boxing Association has really stepped things up. With women like Laila Ali out there, it’s only going to get better.”

“Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for your friend, but I’m not interested in taking on someone who’s going to bail when the going gets tough. Boxing is a man’s sport.”

The thump of the tray dropping abruptly onto the table drew his attention back to the maid. Coffee had slopped over the sides of both cups, but she wasn’t the least bit concerned. Instead, she had her hands on her hips and was glaring at him.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Her voice was low, husky.

Sexy.

“Jimmy…” Ray said, standing and dropping a hand onto her shoulder.

She shook him off, her gaze still pinned to Cooper. She was furious with him. He took in all the telltale signs—the slight flush of color in her cheeks, the tension in her body, the way she’d taken up a classic defensive stance, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her knees slightly flexed.

Then he got it—she was the wanna-be fighter Ray had been pitching to him.

“You want to explain to me why boxing is only for men?” she asked, ignoring Ray’s attempts to mollify her.

“Because people get hurt. Because it takes discipline and commitment. Because it’s not easy,” Cooper said, holding her gaze. “You need any more?”

Her chin came up. With the sun shining on her anger-hardened face, she looked like an Amazonian warrior woman, ready to take on any and all comers. He flashed to a thought of what she’d be like in bed. Fiery, he bet, fighting for supremacy every inch of the way.

“What makes you think I’m any less committed than Ray? Or you? What makes you think that women can’t handle being hurt? Ever heard of childbirth?”

She was getting worked up, her breasts rising and falling rapidly now as her temper got the better of her. Man, she was a handful. And hot. Damned hot.

“Thanks for bringing up my next point. Male fighters don’t get pregnant and throw away their careers just when they’re hitting their strides,” Cooper said.

She gave him a scathing look, starting at his handmade Italian shoes, trailing up his silk-and-wool clad legs, up his torso until she made eye contact with him again.

“I can only imagine what kind of inadequacy a big man like you must be hiding if he can’t handle the idea of a woman who can hold her own,” she said.

That surprised a crack of laughter out of him. He settled into his chair a little more and crossed his arms behind his head—mostly because he suspected it would piss her off.

“Believe me, baby, this big man’s not hiding any inadequacies. You’re welcome to take a look, if you like,” he said suggestively.

She actually took a step forward, the muscles in her jaw clenching, and Ray moved to intervene.

“Jimmy. Cool down. Go inside and take a breather. I’ll talk to Cooper,” he said.

“I’m not going to change my mind, Ray,” Cooper said, suddenly serious. “If you coming to me is tied to taking on your friend, then we don’t have a deal. I’m not interested in women fighters.”

“As if I’d want you as my trainer after hearing all this bullshit,” Jimmy fired the words at him. “I can’t believe I thought there was a brain behind all that beautiful boxing. I guess it must be dumb luck that you can even chew gum and walk down the street at the same time.”

She spun on her heel, striding toward the house without a backward glance.

Both Cooper and Ray stared after her, watching the unconscious animal grace of her movements. Once she was out of sight, Ray let his breath hiss out between his teeth and ran a hand over his head.

“That went well,” he said.

Cooper waited for the other man to meet his eye. “I meant what I said. Anything else we can talk on, but Jimmy is not, and will never be, a part of our deal. Okay?”

“I hear you,” Ray said. “And for the record, I’m sorry that got so…out of control. Jimmy’s kind of intense. Driven, if you know what I mean.”

“I thought she was your maid,”

Ray laughed, surprised. Then he shook his head. “Don’t let her hear you saying that. She took time off work to come over and meet you.”

“What kind of name is Jimmy for a girl, anyway?” Cooper asked. Not because he was really interested. He was just…curious. Which was definitely not the same thing.

“It’s really Jamie, but Jimmy is a childhood nickname that stuck.”

Cooper made an intuitive leap. “You’re seeing her?”

Ray shook his head. “Years ago. Jimmy doesn’t like to be pinned down.”

Cooper got the distinct feeling that Ray wasn’t too happy about that. He could see where the other man was coming from—even a few seconds in her company had been enough to tell him that Jamie wasn’t the kind of woman a guy walked away from easily.

“So, am I calling my lawyer and getting him to draft a contract?” Cooper asked.

Ray’s glance strayed to the house again. “I need to think about it. Can I call you tonight?”

Cooper frowned. Ray obviously felt a strong loyalty toward this Jamie woman if he was prepared to rethink a deal that had been as good as done. There wasn’t anything Cooper could do about that, however—no way, no how was he taking on a woman fighter. He was building his gym, his reputation, and he wanted to win. Women’s boxing wasn’t going to achieve any of those goals for him, and he refused to join the ranks of hasbeen fighters who couldn’t cut it outside of the ring.

“You know my number,” he said, standing.

They were both silent as Ray led him through the house. Cooper kept an eye out for Jamie. There was an intensity to her, a focus…And, of course, there was that hot body. But there was no sign of her.

He paused on the doorstep to offer Ray his hand.

“I’ll hear from you tonight,” he said firmly.

“For sure,” Ray said.

Walking down the path to his car, Cooper reflected that if Jamie and her fighting ambitions hadn’t been inserted into the deal, he’d probably be walking away with his first fighter in his pocket right now. He swore under his breath, more and more pissed off as he thought about it.

Damn it, he needed Ray. He was young, full of promise, the perfect cornerstone for the stable Cooper wanted to build.

Some sixth sense made him glance over his shoulder before he stepped into the street. A curtain twitched in one of the front windows and someone stepped out of sight. She was probably wishing she’d slugged him one. Hell, if Ray hadn’t intervened, she might even have tried.

Cooper laughed. Even though he was feeling royally pissed that her presence had soured his deal. She had balls, he’d give her that. Big, hairy ones.



JAMIE’S HANDS flexed as she watched Cooper Fitzgerald stride down the front path and into the street. He walked slowly and deliberately, head up. An advertisement for arrogance.

“Jerk-off,” she said.

“What happened to �it has to be Cooper Fitzgerald’?” Ray asked.

Jamie turned around. She shrugged casually. She’d seen so many of Cooper’s fights, read so many interviews with him, she’d had one hell of a preconceived idea about what he would be like. More fool her. He might come across as witty, charming and intelligent in the media, but in the flesh the guy was just another garden-variety knuckle-dragger who saw women as living, breathing amusement parks for his genitals.

She’d known enough of them in her time, thank you very much. Hell, she’d slept with a bunch of �em, so she definitely knew what she was talking about. Why she’d thought this guy was going to be any different from the rest of the species she had no idea.

It’s because you’ve always been dumb about guys, a little voice whispered in her ear. It was true, too—her bad judgment where men were concerned was a matter of historical record.

“I made a mistake. I thought he was something he wasn’t,” Jamie said, turning away from the window. “Grandpa wanted Godfrey. I guess we’ll knock on his door next.”

Ray cocked his head to one side, studying her. “Maybe you ought to take this as a sign, quit before you ruin that gorgeous face of yours,” he said.

Jamie made an impatient noise. “I thought you said you were going to help me.”

“I did. I will. I just…I guess I don’t understand why you suddenly want to get in the ring,” he said.

Jamie stared at him, almost tempted to tell him about her promise, about her burning need to set things right for her grandfather, to wipe out the shame that had become her family’s heritage.

“It’s in my blood. What can I say?” Jamie said.

Ray didn’t look as though he believed her, but he also knew her well enough not to push.

“I’ll try Cooper again tonight when I call him,” he said.

“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t take him as a trainer now if he crawled on his belly. I want someone who believes in me, not some grudging, sexist asshole.”

“He’s a good guy. A smart guy,” Ray said.

She flicked an appraising look his way. “You’re going to go with him, aren’t you?”

“He’s got stuff I need to know. And Lenny’s getting past it,” Ray confirmed.

“Good luck. You’re going to need it,” she muttered.

Ray smiled and shook his head, used to her lip.

“I gotta get back to work,” she said. “Thanks for pitching me today. I owe you one.”

“Do I get to pick what the one is?” Ray asked.

She punched one of his bulging biceps as she brushed past him, keeping things light. Ray had never really gotten over the fling they’d had five years ago. She would have driven him crazy if they’d stayed together, but he hadn’t quite admitted that to himself yet. She’d done him the biggest favor of his life when she’d walked out on him. She didn’t do commitment. She certainly didn’t do love, whatever the hell that was apart from a really great way for a person to let herself get screwed over.

“I’ll wax your car for you, but that’s about as close as you’re going to get to what you’re thinking,” she said as she headed toward the front door.

Behind her, Ray laughed. She felt the small moment of tension slide away, as she’d intended.

“Always with the mouth, Sawyer,” he said.

She swiveled on her heel. “Don’t call me that around anyone else, okay? As far as anyone knows, I’m Jamie Holloway, not Sawyer, and that’s it.”

Ray held up his hands. “Whoa, chill out, Jimmy. I’m not an idiot.”

She nodded. She’d overreacted, but as soon as anyone heard her last name, they’d know. And she wanted a chance to prove herself before the shit storm descended.

Kissing Ray goodbye, she agreed to hook up with him for a training session later in the week and made her way out to her beat-up sport Ford utility. She checked the passenger-side rear tire before she got in and saw that it was running flat again. Fortunately, there was a gas station around the corner where she could pump it back up, and she’d allocated funds from this week’s paycheck to cover a new tire. It was all staving off the inevitable day when the damned rust bucket fell apart, of course, but until that moment came, she’d eke every last mile out of the old girl if it killed her.

For just a second—a weak, self-pitying second—she allowed herself to wonder what it would have been like if she’d finished her naturopath training all those years ago, if her father were still alive and he hadn’t done what he’d done. How different would her world look? How different would she look?

“Pathetic, girl,” she told herself as she swung into the truck.

Twisting the key in the ignition, she waited for the engine to catch, holding her breath as she heard the familiar labored whine of the starter motor turning over. As it had more and more lately, the motor failed to catch on the first try. Closing her eyes, she banged her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Not now, you piece of crap.”

She’d asked her fellow hotel maid and friend Narelle to cover for her back at the Hyatt on the Park while she met with Cooper. But if she didn’t get back soon she’d be missed and the last thing she needed was another warning letter in her personnel file.

The thought of being one step closer to unemployment because she’d rearranged her life to be insulted by an ignorant ape was almost unbearable. Especially when she remembered the shiny red hunk of metal that selfsame ape had climbed out of when he’d arrived at Ray’s place earlier—a Ferrari Spider convertible, no less. And here she was, unable to even get her piece of shit to start.

And he’d been wearing a suit—a dark gray single-breasted number that had clearly been custom-made for him, along, no doubt, with his white silk shirt and his fine black leather shoes. It had thrown her for a moment, seeing him dressed like a businessman. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—fight trunks and a sheen of sweat, perhaps? Ben-Gay and workout gear?

Whatever, it had all made him seem far less approachable than she’d imagined him to be. It had also made her feel defensive. She hated having to ask anyone for anything, but she’d psyched herself up to approach him. Then he’d walked in looking like some kind of GQ model instead of the fighter she’d been expecting.

No wonder he had a reputation with women. That handsome face of his, those deep set, intense eyes, that big, strong body—she defied any woman to look at him and not wonder what he’d be like naked and hard. Until he opened his mouth, that was. Then the illusion was well and truly destroyed and most right-thinking women would be either reaching for the heaviest object handy, or heading for the door.

Shaking her head, Jamie held her breath and tried the ignition again. She was about to give up and go beg Ray for a lift when the motor caught, coughing to life and belching black smoke out the exhaust.

Crowing with triumph, she patted the dash with renewed affection and slammed the truck into gear.

As always, she’d scraped through. Just as she’d scrape through being rejected by Cooper Fitzgerald. There were other trainers out there—good ones who would believe in her and see the same dream she saw. And when she was finally wearing the world champion’s belt, she’d have the pleasure of cutting Cooper Fitzgerald stone cold dead.

It was an image that appealed a lot, and she was grinning fit to bust as she pulled out into traffic.




Chapter Two


A MONTH LATER, Jamie forced herself to sit quietly as her grandfather taped her left hand.

“How’s that?” he asked.

She flexed both hands into fists, then slid off the massage table in the women’s change room and tried a few punches in the air.

“Good. Not too tight,” she said.

“Let’s get your gloves on,” her grandfather said.

He was a little pale. Nervous for her. That made two of them. She had so much adrenaline pumping through her system right now that she was ready to jump out of her own skin.

This was her first professional fight.

“Stay warm, but don’t tax yourself,” her grandfather advised once her gloves were laced.

“It’s going to be all right,” she assured him. “I’m going to win.”

He nodded and dropped a towel over her shoulders, patting her on the back. “You’re a tough customer, Jimmy.”

She knew it was too much to expect more from him. He’d already leaned on old fighting contacts to get her this match, despite his belief that she should wait until she had a trainer before she started competing professionally. But she was sick of being knocked back, first by Cooper Fitzgerald, then by Bob Godfrey and a string of other lesser lights. None of them had even wanted to see her fight. None of them were interested in women’s boxing. She figured the quickest way to turn the situation around was to burn up the canvas with a few fast wins—then they could all come knocking on her door.

Bouncing from foot to foot, she tried out some combinations—jab, jab, cross, jab, cross.

“Keep your guard hand up,” her grandfather instructed, referring to her left hand. “I don’t want to see it away from your chin unless it’s in your opponent’s face.”

She nodded her understanding and forced herself to be more conscious of protecting her head.

“Told you I didn’t need anyone else except for you,” she said, trying out some body shots now.

He made a rude noise. “I’m sixty-seven years old with a brain that’s been pounded around more boxing rings than you’ve had hot dinners. You need better than an old slugger, Jimmy.”

Before she could respond, they heard the roar of the crowd from out in the auditorium and the sound of the bell ringing.

“Okay. That’s me,” she said. “I’m up.”

Suddenly she felt dizzy and out of breath. Careful not to show it too much, she took a handful of deep breaths.

She was going to get hurt out there today. She knew what that felt like—she’d trained in Tae Kwon Do for nearly ten years and had plenty of boxing sparring rounds more recently; she knew what it was to take a hit. But this was the first time she was going to be facing someone who wanted to mow her down, knock her out, annihilate her.

She was still trying to get her head straight when her grandfather pulled her around to face him. He held her by both gloves and looked her steadily in the eye. She stared into his watery blue gaze, forcing herself to focus, to be hard, to think of only one thing: winning.

“Okay,” he said with a sharp nod after a few long seconds. “You’ll do. Go take her apart.”

The towel still on her shoulders, Jamie followed him out of the change room.

COOPER SAT BACK in his seat and checked the messages on his cell. Around him, the sound of the crowd filled the auditorium. It was a full house, and the atmosphere was charged with energy.

Despite himself, he could feel his heart starting to hammer against his chest. He’d probably never be able to be around boxing and not have the same visceral, instinctive reaction. He was a fighter. Even if he never stood in the ring again, he would always be a fighter, and the roar of the crowd would always lift him and fire him as it did now.

A journalist he knew walked past. Cooper shifted in his seat, made a show of checking the fight bill. He’d been fielding back pats since he arrived, and he’d just spent a solid ten minutes signing autographs. He might only be the former heavyweight champion of the world, but everyone still wanted to bask in his glow. He wondered how many months it would take before people failed to recognize him. Not long, was his guess. There would be a new contender soon, someone else the public and the media would fall in love with.

It couldn’t happen soon enough for him; the mass attention wasn’t a part of the sport that he’d miss very much. He’d never quite come to terms with the loss of privacy that came hand-in-hand with fame.

He saw from the fight bill that there were still another two �exhibition’ bouts to be endured before the real action began and the young fighter he was here to scout was scheduled to fight. As was becoming more and more usual, the exhibition matches were both women’s bouts, part of the sport’s attempts to lift the profile of women’s boxing and build a following.

He considered going outside to grab a drink or make a phone call, tossing up the relative risks of being hit up for more autographs against the boredom of watching fights he wasn’t interested in.

Then he saw her.

She made her way toward the ring with the inward-focus common to all fighters before a bout. She had a large white towel draped over her shoulders, but her long, strong legs were bare beneath the loose satin of her red-and-white trunks.

Jamie. Realizing he had no idea what her last name was, he scanned the fight bill. His finger found the names: Jamie Holloway vs. Maree Jovavich.

Jamie Holloway. Right.

He studied the old man walking in front of her. Was this her trainer? Surely not. But even from a distance he could see the old guy was a former bruiser—there was no hiding the damage years in the ring did to brow, ears and nose. Where the hell had she dug him up from?

He switched his attention back to her, leaning forward as she climbed into the ring. She flipped the towel off her shoulders. Man, she was in good shape. The ring lights caught the ripples of her belly muscles. The defined, firm muscles of her thighs glistened with oil. She wore a chest guard, but beneath the bulk of it he could discern the swell of her breasts, full and generous. Her arms were strong-looking but not too bulky—she was good poster-girl material for the boxing association, a contender who still looked like a woman. The crowd was going to love her if she could actually fight.

She wore her dark hair braided tightly back against her skull in small plaits to keep it out of the way. Her face was shiny where her trainer had greased her brow and cheekbones with Vaseline to help deflect blows. Her gaze was hard and flat as she waited.

He sat back in his chair. She’d been serious about fighting, then, that day at Ray’s. He crossed his arms over his chest and wondered if her talent matched her attitude.

Her opponent, Maree Jovavich, climbed into the ring. Shorter, broader, bigger, she looked like she wasn’t going any-where fast, no matter how nicely anyone asked. He bet himself she had a hard head, too, the way she scanned the ring, marking out her territory.

He felt a stirring of interest despite himself. This might actually be a good match.

He watched Jamie Holloway as the MC announced the fighters and ran through their stats. Jovavich had ten wins under her belt to one loss. Jamie was untried, but she had two inches on the other woman in height and at twenty-seven was two years younger.

The whole time the MC went through his spiel, Jamie didn’t take her eyes off her opponent, letting the other woman know she planned to wipe the floor with her. Cooper grinned, giving her full points for style. Psyching the other guy out was an important part of the game.

As the MC exited the ring, the referee called both fighters to the center of the canvas. He’d be saying the same thing referees always said, about wanting a good, clean fight, and how he was going to signal when he wanted them to break or stop fighting. Both women nodded. The referee waited for them to tap gloves and move back to their corners. Then he signaled that the round was ready to begin.

The bell echoed around the stadium. The crowd yelled as the two women zeroed in on each other like heat-seeking missiles.

Jamie wasn’t shy—she took the fight straight to her opponent with a jab, followed by a left cross before dancing away from the other woman’s fists. They were both good, powerful hits, and he could see Jovavich reassess Jamie as she shook off the blows and circled in again.

A flurry of punches followed, with both women landing good hits. But Cooper frowned as he began to register a worrying trend in Jamie’s form as the round progressed.

The longer a fight went, the less a fighter thought and the more she fell back on instinct and habit—he knew, because he’d been there a million times. And it soon became clear that Jamie had some bad habits. For some inexplicable reason, she kept hesitating when the other woman was open, and her footwork was off. Instead of maintaining her stance and shuffling in and out, always moving, always weaving, she seemed to forget herself and lift her feet, almost as though she was going to kick the other woman or lunge toward her. The first time he saw it, he frowned. The fifth time, he swore under his breath.

“What are you doing, man?” he muttered as Jamie took hit after hit, the price for those hesitations and that poor footwork.

He could see the writing on the wall by the end of the first round, but he had to sit through all five of them and watch Jamie get pummeled around the ring before it was over. She took every hit and came back for more, even though it was clear to everyone that there was no way she was going to win unless she scored a lucky shot and knocked the other woman out.

By the time he was shaking his head in grudging admiration of her sheer pigheadedness, the final bell rang and Jovavich was declared the unanimous winner on points.

Cooper watched Jamie’s old trainer tend to her in her corner, taking her mouthpiece, mopping at her face, checking her for cuts and bruises. He was saying something to her, but she was shaking her head vigorously, her gloved fists thumping down onto her thighs as she emphasized her point. Finally, the old man gave up and simply held the ropes open so she could exit the ring.

The crowd was still cheering Jovavich as Jamie made her way to the change rooms. She didn’t slouch or slink away from her defeat. She held her head high, staring out into the crowd as she passed, daring them to pass judgment on her loss.

He couldn’t look away, even if he’d wanted to.

Then their eyes met across the sea of people, and he saw her burning defiance and determination.

She’d be back. Even as part of him admired her chutzpah, the fighter in him regretted the lessons she was going to have to learn the hard way until she broke her bad habits—or they broke her.

Not your problem, man, he told himself. She’s nothing to you.

He watched her all the way to the change room.



WHY DID he have to be there? Jamie slammed an uppercut into the long bag two days later. She punched again, throwing all her weight behind it.

Better yet, why did I have to notice that he was there? She kneed the bag, then followed up with a roundhouse kick that sent it rocking on its heavy chain.

Of all the people she could have locked gazes with in that huge auditorium, it had to be Cooper Fitzgerald. What were the odds? Too high for her to calculate. And yet she’d stared straight into his deep blue eyes as she walked away from the first defeat of her professional boxing career.

“Remind me to never let you get near me with one of those kicks,” Ray said.

He was working the speedball behind her in his lavishly equipped home gym, the rhythmic thudding of his punches a constant in the background.

Her years of Tae Kwon Do had given her the leg strength, speed and accuracy to ensure that her kicks were a force to be reckoned with. She’d been club champion for six years and state champion for two before she’d dropped out to start training for the boxing ring six months ago, following her grandfather’s heart attack. She thought wistfully of the days when she was at the top of the food chain in her chosen sport, rather than the bottom. From where she was sitting right now, they seemed a long way off.

“Let’s take a break,” Ray said, hitting the speedball one last time. “You need to give yourself some recovery time after that fight.”

Jamie kept her focus on the bag, slamming another combination into it—cross, jab, cross, hook, cross, jab. She was sweating bullets and her face ached from the bruises she’d scored in her fight but she wasn’t even close to being ready to stop.

“Not yet,” she panted.

Ray shook his head.

“You are the most stubborn person I know,” he said.

It was the same thing her grandfather had said to her after the fight. He’d been upset by her loss, angry that she’d ignored his advice and gone into the ring before he thought she was prepared. But she couldn’t back down. She was doing this for him, to reclaim his reputation.

Since it wasn’t too hot a day yet, they’d pushed the folding doors that formed one wall of the gym all the way open, and Ray sauntered straight out to where a sun lounger waited beside the pool. She watched him stretch out, momentarily toying with the idea of joining him and taking a break. But she had more work to do.

She hit the bag with another round of punches then, just for fun, some kicks. There was nothing like the buzz she got from the power of a great roundhouse kick slamming into the bag.

She wiped sweat from her brow and caught her breath. Turning, she leaned her back against the heavy long bag and opened her mouth to start giving Ray shit for having less stamina than a girl. And promptly shut it again when she registered who was standing beside the pool talking to him.

Cooper Fitzgerald.

Just like last time, she felt instantly at a disadvantage as she took in his designer denim jeans and crisp white linen shirt. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and his hair looked as though it had been cut by one of those fancy hairstylists to the stars. He looked like a million bucks, while she was covered in sweat and bruises.

She pushed herself away from the bag and turned her back on both men. She didn’t care that he was here. He didn’t matter. And it didn’t matter that he’d seen her lose the other night.

Concentrating on her combinations with renewed determination, she attacked the bag some more, trying to keep all of her grandfather’s advice top of mind: keep your guard hand up; shuffle forward, never step; snap your punches, don’t push them; punch through your opponent, not into her.

After four minutes of hard work, she paused again.

He was still there, she could sense him. Damn him. Why didn’t he get his business with Ray over with and leave?

Sucking much-needed air into her lungs, she began to rain kicks on the bag—a snap kick from the knee, then another thundering roundhouse and a spinning back kick that sent the bag swinging.

“That’s some kick you’ve got there.”

She ignored him. Asshole.

“What style do you do, Tae Kwon Do? Maui Thai?”

She kneed the bag and followed up with some elbow work.

“Tae Kwon Do. State champion three years in a row, right, Jimmy?” Ray answered for her.

She spun another kick into the bag. “Two years,” she corrected.

“You’re good,” Cooper said.

Because she was out of breath and gasping for a drink, she stopped and tugged one of her gloves off so she could grab the water bottle.

“Thanks. Coming from you, it means so much,” she said.

He lifted an eyebrow at her sarcasm and, even though he was wearing those dark sunglasses, she could feel his gaze slide over her body. She felt a ridiculous, completely unwelcome surge of awareness and covered by throwing back her head and gulping water.

“How are you pulling up after your fight?” he asked.

She swallowed then brushed at the sweat beading her forehead. She knew exactly how she looked: red in the face, shiny with exertion, hair stuck to her forehead and neck. She was also sporting one badly bruised eye, a swollen lip and numerous bruises across her belly and ribs.

“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t want to talk about the fight.

“You found yourself a trainer yet?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” she asked, reaching for her towel.

“Just wondering if you’ve got someone other than that old man to tell you where you’re going wrong,” he said.

Jamie’s hands curled into the towel. If he had any idea who her grandfather was, he’d know how stupid he sounded right now. But telling him would open a can of worms she wasn’t ready to deal with yet. She was going to face the boxing world down one day—but it would be on her terms, on her schedule.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me,” she said. “I’ll get sick of this boxing thing soon enough and go back to my needlework and cookie-baking like a good Stepford wife.”

Flashing him a saccharine smile, she slung the towel around her neck and strode over to her gym bag.

She tossed her workout gloves inside and hoisted the bag onto her shoulder. Ignoring Cooper, she kissed Ray on the cheek as she passed by.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

Then she headed for the house, her stride long, her head high, every muscle in her body signaling to Cooper Fitzgerald that he could go hang, thank you very much, as far as she was concerned.



COOPER SLID HIS sunglasses up onto his head, the better to watch Jamie Holloway stalk away from him.

He was still coming to terms with the way his body had reacted to seeing her again at close range. The tight black shorts and form-hugging crop top she’d been wearing left precious little to the imagination, especially when soaked in sweat from a good, hard workout. She had a sizzling body—all firm muscle, with high, full breasts. His body had gone to red alert the moment he’d recognized her, then she’d turned around and a visceral stab of emotion had ripped through him when he’d registered her bruised and battered face. He was still trying to work out exactly what that emotion had been. Protectiveness? Anger? Frustration?

As her rounded, muscular butt disappeared into the house, he turned to Ray, a frown on his face.

“Who is the old guy, anyway?” he asked.

“Her grandfather. He did a bit of fighting in his time,” Ray explained vaguely.

Cooper swore. “You’re kidding me? She’s got her grandfather giving her advice in the ring? No wonder Jovavich ate her for breakfast.”

“She wants it. She’ll learn. Losing that fight is burning her up. It won’t happen a second time,” Ray said.

Cooper gave the other man a frustrated look. “I saw the fight, okay? She’s a long way off being ready to go pro. She’s got bad habits—and now I can see why. She’s used to fighting with her feet as well as her fists.”

“I had to be in Melbourne and I couldn’t make the fight. What happened?”

Cooper slid his sunglasses back onto his face. “She wasn’t ready. Someone ought to tell her that.”

Ray spread his hands wide. “You think I want her in that ring in the first place? I felt freakin’ sick when I saw her face this morning.”

You and me both.

“Yeah, well,” Cooper said, suddenly aware that he was wasting way too much time on a dead-end subject that had nothing to do with him. “I wanted to talk to you about your training schedule for next week.”

He sat beside Ray as he began to outline the new training regime he’d come up with, a plan designed to build stamina and capitalize on Ray’s speed in the ring. They talked for half an hour or so before Cooper checked his watch.

“I’ve got to be someplace else, but I’ll see you at the gym tomorrow, yeah?” he asked as he stood.

“Yeah.” Ray ran a hand over the bristle on his scalp, his gaze fixed on the horizon for a beat as he thought something through. “She’s got another fight in two weeks time, you know,” he said.

Cooper palmed his car keys. “Then she’ll lose again. Someone needs to tell her to quit while she’s ahead.”

“She’s not a quitter,” Ray said, looking at Cooper as though he was the one who could do something about the situation.

“She’s not my problem,” Cooper said very firmly.

He was almost sure he meant it, too.



YET TWO WEEKS LATER, Cooper was watching as Jamie Holloway made her way to the ring for her second pro fight, the old man following in her wake with bucket and water and stool.

Why am I here?

He’d asked himself the same question about a million times. There was no promising young fighter to scout here tonight—there was only Jamie and her pigheaded determination. And still he was sitting here, on the edge of his seat, hoping to see a different outcome for her this time.

Stupid. Pointless. Frustrating. Because if she fought the way she did last time—and the odds were she would—she was going to lose.

He leaned his elbows on his thighs as the MC read out the fighters’ stats. Jamie’s opponent this time around was a girl from Queensland, taller than Jamie, more experienced. Not that that was hard.

He could see Jamie’s grandfather talking steadily near her ear as she waited in her corner for the referee to call her forward for instructions. What was the old man saying? And did it matter, when she had years of training, fighting and thinking in another discipline holding her back? As soon as the pressure was on, Jamie was going to want to use her knees and legs again. And that split second of hesitation where her brain overrode her instinct was going to leave her wide open to attack. Just like last time.

Nodding one final time, Jamie moved away from her grandfather toward the center of the ring where the ref was waiting. Cooper watched the old man climb down from the ring, his movements slow.

Talk about the blind leading the blind. What a ridiculous bloody situation.

Cooper stood. He’d seen enough. Then the bell rang, and the two women came out fighting. As before, Jamie threw the first punch, a nice straight armed jab that rocked the other fighter’s head back on her shoulders.

He sat down.

It didn’t take long for Jamie’s old habits to undermine her natural talent. And she was talented—Ray hadn’t lied when he said that. She was strong, fast, quick on her feet. She had good power in her punches, good control. She wasn’t afraid to go in hard and risk her opponent finding an opening. But that hesitation and that fumbling footwork let her down every time.

As the round ended and the bell rang, he watched with frustration as she sank onto the stool in her corner. She had a lot of potential. But she was never going to reach it if someone didn’t take her in hand.

After the regulation minute, the bell rang and the second round started. Again Jamie landed some good punches first up, and Cooper looked to the judges, urging them to score her high. But as the round ticked into the second then the third minute, those hesitations of hers began to tell again.

“Think with your fists, not your feet,” he found himself yelling in frustration at the ring. His voice was one of many, drowned out by the crowd, and he sprang to his feet, unable to watch anymore.

She was taking a pounding, her head bobbing on her neck, her steps slowing as her body reacted to the pain. He couldn’t stand by and watch her go down. It was like watching a bully kick a dog.

He excused his way past the other fans to get to the aisle. Descending the stairs, he headed for the nearest exit. At least, that was where he thought he was going. The bell sounded the end of the second round and somehow he found himself smooth-talking his way past the security guy guarding the ring and barreling up to Jamie’s corner where she was sitting on her stool, breathing heavily and washing her mouth out while her grandfather rinsed her mouth piece over the bucket.

“Stop lifting your goddamned feet,” he barked at her as soon as he was within earshot. The ring was four feet off the ground, putting him well below her, but her head snapped around when she heard him. “You keep wanting to use your feet and it’s killing your technique.”

She looked dazed, a little punch drunk he figured, but then her eyes cleared and she frowned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Listen to me. She drops her guard every time she hits you with a cross. Watch her, you’ll see it. Block her with your forearm, and move in with a hook. You get her right, you can lay her out,” he said.

He shot a glance toward the center of the ring. He could see the ref gearing up to begin the third round.

“Why?” Jamie demanded, staring at him intently.

“Why what?” he asked, gaze darting to the ref again. Their time was nearly up; had she taken in a word he said?

“Why are you giving me advice?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. Call it charity.”

She shook her head in turn. “Not good enough. I don’t take charity.”

The ref gestured for Jamie to move away from the corner, but she stood there, holding his eye.

He swore. Loudly. Was he insane? Was he really going to allow some misplaced sense of guilt and sexual interest and God knows what to push him into this decision? He had his training ambitions to think of, his reputation, his future…

“All right. I’ll take you on. Now get out there and lay her out,” he said.

She gave him a fierce, almost feral grin before giving her attention over to the fight.

Still not quite believing what he’d done, Cooper stood back and watched as Jamie took it up to her opponent again.

Man, but she was full of pluck.

“Name’s Arthur,” a voice yelled near his ear, and he tore his gaze from Jamie—his fighter—to see her grandfather standing there, gnarled hand extended.

“Cooper,” he said, shaking hands.

The old man bobbed his head and Cooper switched his attention back to the fight just in time to see Jamie step inside the other woman’s guard and send a smoking right hook toward her opponent’s jaw.

He knew before it landed that the fight was over. The other woman’s head snapped to the side. Her eyes rolled white, and she staggered into the ropes then down onto the canvas. The ref stepped in to deliver the eight count. Like a pro, Jamie kept her eyes glued to her fallen opponent until the ref signaled the fight was over.

Then Jamie lifted her arm in a single, triumphant punch to the sky.

Her first win. Despite his misgivings, he felt the rush, too. And when she glanced across at him, grinning, he grinned back.

Her grandfather was whooping with joy, and Jamie slid between the ropes and out of the ring to hug him.

“I told you,” she kept saying. “I told you I could do it.”

When they finally broke, she looked toward Cooper almost shyly.

“She dropped her guard just like you said, so I did what you told me to do,” she said.

“I know. I saw.”

She bumped her gloves together. He could feel her uncertainty. He guessed that she hadn’t thought beyond this moment, she’d been so focused on scoring her first win.

“So, what now?” she asked.

“Now the hard work really begins,” he said.




Chapter Three


SHE HAD A TRAINER. And not just any trainer—she had Cooper Fitzgerald. Lying on the ratty couch in the apartment she shared with her grandfather later that night, Jamie lifted the bag of frozen peas from her cheekbone so she could see her grandfather where he was puttering around in the kitchen.

“He wants to see me at his gym first thing tomorrow,” she said.

“I heard. Not deaf yet,” her grandfather said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

She fell silent again, reliving in her mind the moment when her fist connected with her opponent’s jaw and she’d won the fight. All because Cooper showed her the way. Excitement and anticipation bubbled up inside her. With him at her side, she was going to make her mark.

“He’s good,” she said, dropping the bag of peas again. “The way he spotted her weakness like that.”

“Yep. He knows what he’s doing.”

Crossing over from the kitchen, he slid a plate onto the battered coffee table in front of her. Toasted cheese and ham, his specialty.

“Should have more protein after a big fight, but you know my cooking’s not up to much.” He shrugged as he sank into his favorite armchair and rested his plate on his knees.

He was wearing an ancient green shirt her grandmother had bought him back when they were first married, and what was left of his gray hair sat up in tufts over his ears. His once-strong shoulders curled forward with age and tiredness, and the hands that held his plate were thick and twisted with arthritis.

A fierce rush of love filled her. She adored this old man with everything she had. He’d never let her down, never betrayed her, never stopped protecting her. And now it was her turn to do the same for him.

Her critical gaze scanned the room, noting the grayed curtains, the stained walls, the chipped tiles in the kitchenette and the way the stuffing was exploding out of one corner of the couch where the upholstery had given way after years of wear and tear. Arthur Harrison Sawyer deserved better than this. In his day, he had been a boxer of renown, one of the greats who had forged a name for Australian boxers around the world. He’d fought both Muhammad Ali and Frazier before he’d dropped down a weight class and carved out his own niche. He’d fought hard and long and with enormous heart.

He deserved better.

She was going to make things better for him, for both of them. They were going to get out of this apartment. She was going to make sure he had heating in winter and cooling in summer, and that he never had to think twice about buying his monthly copy of The Ring, his favorite boxing magazine, because it was a luxury they couldn’t really afford.

She was going to make it possible for him to hold his head high again after what her father had done. She was going to right the wrong, remind the boxing world that the name Sawyer was an honorable one, a great one, not a symbol of weakness and greed and failure.

“We’ll be able to leave this place soon,” Jamie said as she reached for her toast. She bit into it without testing it for temperature and hissed with pain as she burned the roof of her mouth.

“Every time,” her grandfather said, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh as she lunged for her water glass.

“What can I say? I’m a creature of habit,” she said with a grin.

Leaving her toast to cool some more, she lay back on the couch, repositioned her bag of peas and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow she had her first session with Cooper Fitzgerald. Things were finally on the move.

She frowned as the one reservation she had about her new trainer circled to fill her thoughts, as it had on and off ever since the fight and Cooper’s unexpected appearance in her corner: she didn’t know what had changed his mind about her.

She wanted to think it was because he saw the potential for greatness in her, but she was also uneasily aware that every time they’d met, he’d looked at her the way a man looks at a woman he wants to get busy with.

And she hadn’t exactly not noticed the fact that he was a whole lot of man, either.

Was it going to be a problem? She opened her eyes and stared at the water stain on the ceiling.

She’d make sure it wasn’t a problem, one way or another. This was her shot, and it was way more important than sexual curiosity or whatever it was that existed between them.

Sitting up again, she tested her toast with a finger before taking another bite.

“Smart girl,” her grandfather said with a half smile.

“Absolutely,” she said.



THE MOMENT Jamie Holloway walked in the door of his gym in the inner-west Sydney suburb of Newtown the next morning, Cooper realized he’d bought himself a whole world of trouble when he signed her on.

For starters, every single male in the gym stopped what he was doing the moment he noticed her long legs clad in tight black Lycra, her bodacious ass and her generous breasts. It didn’t matter that she was wearing a loose white T-shirt over her leggings. Or that she was sporting a bruised cheekbone, didn’t have a scrap of makeup on and her hair was pulled back into a tight, high ponytail. She was sexy, hot, gorgeous, and every man in the place knew it and wanted to do something about it.

And that wasn’t even the most disturbing part of it all. No, that honor belonged to the fierce, fundamental surge of jealousy and territorialism he felt when all those male eyes checked her out.

Mine, his body and his animal instincts screamed. Get your freakin’ eyes and minds off her.

He was about to embark on an intimate, intense relationship with her that was supposed to be based on mutual trust. He was about to become her mentor, for Pete’s sake. And all he could think about was how it would feel to have her body against his, skin to skin, and how wet and tight and hot she’d feel as he slid inside her…

Shit.

Take a cold shower and get over it, Fitzgerald.

It wasn’t as if he was hard up for booty action. Hell, he could pick up his phone and have a woman just as sexy and hot in his bed within the hour.

The thought didn’t provide the release valve he needed and he was frowning by the time she’d crossed the gym floor and stopped in front of him, her expression open and sunny.

“You’re late,” he said. “Lesson number one, I expect my fighters to be punctual.”

The smile froze on her lips.

“We couldn’t find a parking spot. My grandfather’s still looking,” she said.

He eyed her coolly. “Warm up, then we’ll talk,” he said.

She frowned, opened her mouth, then shut it again without saying a word. Slinging her bag to one side near the wall, she pulled out a skipping rope and began to jump.

He went over to the counter near the front door and started checking some paperwork his lawyer had sent through, keeping a discreet eye on her all the while.

Slowly, the guys around him stopped gawking and started working out again.

Pathetic. Men really did think with their dicks—and he was as bad as the rest of them.

Arthur Holloway entered a few minutes later, stopping alongside the counter to greet Cooper.

“Hiya,” he said, his gaze sharp as he checked out first Cooper then the gym. “Nice place you got here.”

Cooper glanced around at the raw brick walls, the exposed ceiling beams, the scarred wooden floors and the single regulation boxing ring that occupied the very center of the space. A long time ago the building had originally been a grain store, but it had been a gym for many years now and the smell of leather and sweat had soaked into the mortar. When he’d bought the place he’d repainted, fixed broken windows, installed new bathrooms and equipment and updated the offices, but the place retained its old-school feel.

That and the fact that he was around the place a lot more now that he was retired had helped build membership numbers and business was booming. It didn’t hurt to have pros like Ray training here. Guys who sat behind desks for a living liked to sweat alongside real fighters. Made them feel as if they were playing with the big boys.

“Thanks. You always come to Jamie’s training sessions?” Cooper asked. He hoped he wasn’t going to have problems with the old guy countermanding orders or sticking his oar in.

“Nope. Just wanted to check this place out, make sure it’s everything Jimmy seems to think it is,” Arthur said.

By which the old guy meant check Cooper out.

Cooper was about to respond when he registered that Jamie had moved onto the long bag and was pounding it with a series of powerful kicks.

“Excuse me,” he said. He strode across the floorboards and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of her.

She stopped. Her eyebrows rose toward her hairline as she registered his annoyance.

“What now?”

“From now on, I don’t ever want to see you using your legs to fight again. You got that?” he said. “You’re a boxer. Boxers fight with their fists, not their feet.”

“What?” Her silver eyes flashed defiance. “It’s a good workout, a good warm-up.”

“You lost that first fight and you nearly lost last night because you’re used to relying on your legs too much. Every time you want to fire off a roundhouse or a back kick, you lose precious seconds reminding yourself that you’re in a boxing ring and only your fists are legal,” he said.

She shook her head. “No way. I lost that fight because she was faster than me.”

Why was he surprised that she was disagreeing with him at the very first hurdle? Had he honestly expected anything less from a woman with so much attitude?

He was tempted to yell at her the way his first trainer used to yell at him back when he was young and hot-tempered and lacking in discipline. But Jamie was a smart fighter. She learned quickly when she wanted to—she’d shown him that in spades last night when she took his advice and knocked her opponent out. He wanted to harness those smarts straight off the bat. Going head-to-head with her wasn’t going to achieve that.

“You warm enough to go a few rounds?” he asked.

She looked surprised that he wasn’t pressing the issue.

“Sure.”

Cooper scanned the gym, honing in on Mick. At around a hundred and sixty pounds, Mick was a middleweight like Jamie and only had an inch on her in height.

“Mickey, suit up. I want you to go a few rounds with Jamie,” Cooper called out.

Mick looked as though all his Christmases had come at once. Cooper rolled his eyes. The sooner the rest of the team started to see Jamie as one of the boys, the better.

One of the gym assistants helped Jamie tape and glove up and fitted her with a padded head-guard while Cooper did the same with Mick.

“I don’t want you to go easy on her,” he instructed as he worked.

Mick kept throwing glances Jamie’s way, especially when she pulled off her T-shirt to reveal a tight-fitting sports crop top. Cooper grabbed the other man’s chin and brought his gaze back to meet his own.

“Listen to me. I want you to press her—not too hard, she’s probably still feeling last night’s fight. But I want you to make her sweat, okay?”

Mick nodded. Checking the laces on Mick’s gloves, Cooper gave him the all clear and held the ropes for him to climb into the ring. Then he signaled for Jason, one of his gym assistants.

“Yeah, boss?” Jason asked, his attention glued to Jamie.

“Grab the video camera. I want you to get everything she does,” he instructed.

It was a common enough tool—football players used tape all the time to review plays and understand their own strengths and weaknesses. Jamie was so stubborn and strong-willed that he knew the only way she’d understand his no-kick rule would be if she saw her faulty footwork herself.

Cooper glanced across to see Arthur had joined him, arms crossed over his chest.

“This’ll be interesting.”

“At the very least,” Cooper said.

They grinned at each other. Arthur had a tooth missing, a common hazard for boxers despite the protection of mouth guards. Curious, Cooper studied the other marks that boxing had left on the old guy’s face.

“You used to fight, Ray said?” Cooper asked.

“Did he? Yeah, I’ve seen a few rounds,” Arthur said with a shrug. He kept his focus on the two fighters warming up in the ring and didn’t offer up anything more.

Taciturn old bugger.

Cooper switched his attention back to the ring.

“Okay, let’s get into it,” he ordered.

Jamie and Mick met in the center and tapped gloves before falling into orthodox stances and starting to circle one another. True to form, Jamie was the first to move in, feinting with her right before hitting Mick’s torso with a left cross. Mick let her get a few shots in before he began to work her over. None of the hits were hard or intended to hurt, but both fighters had worked up a sweat within minutes and it didn’t take long for Jamie’s footwork to become compromised as she began to feel the pressure.

Cooper let them fight for a few more minutes before calling a halt.

“Thanks, Mick. Nice work. Jamie, my office,” he said.

Grabbing the video camera from Jason, he led the way to his domain.

By the time Jamie followed a minute later, towel in hand and without her gloves and head gear, he had the camera hooked up to the TV and the tape ready to play.

Jamie’s expression was wary as he gestured her toward a chair opposite his own.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to film us,” she said.

“Didn’t I?”

She was still breathing heavily. In the enclosed space of his office he was very aware of her scent—something fresh and bright that he guessed was her deodorant.

Instead of taking a chair, she leaned against his desk, her butt propped on the edge. He had to force his gaze away from her long legs as she crossed her ankles and leaned back on her arms.

For a fleeting second, he allowed himself to wonder what those thighs would feel like clenched around him as he pounded into her.

“Well, go on,” she said.

He hit the play button and they both watched the opening few skirmishes. As Mick picked up the pace, the first of Jamie’s hesitations appeared.

“Kick,” Cooper said, just in case she hadn’t seen it. “And another one, and another one. You don’t actually throw them, of course, but they’re there. You want to fight with your feet so bad it hurts.”

Her mouth and face grew tight as she watched herself make the same mistake over and over. Finally she called a halt.

“Okay. I get it. You’ve made your point.”

He switched the television off.

“You’ve got some bad habits we need to break.”

She nodded. “Yep. How?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

He outlined them to her as she patted the sweat off her face and chest. He followed her movements with his eyes, imagining what her breasts would look like naked, how heavy and smooth they’d feel in his hands. A bead of sweat raced down her belly and he barely resisted the urge to lean forward and trace its path with his tongue. She’d taste sweet and salty at the same time, he bet…

Registering that he had a hard-on, he rolled his chair closer to the desk. He had to stop thinking like this.

“It’s not going to be easy,” he concluded. “It’s going to take time and effort.”

“I’ve got time. I’ve got effort,” she said, straightening from her slouching position against his desk.

Once again, he struggled to keep his gaze on her face.

“Okay. Let’s get started,” he said.

She opened the door and hovered, waiting for him to join her.

“I’ve got to make a quick phone call,” he lied. “You start in on the speedball.”

She exited and he ran a hand through his hair.

His possessiveness where she was concerned, his hyperawareness of her physically, his constant slide into sexual fantasy, the huge freakin’ boner in his pants—it all had to stop. She had come to him for one purpose. She was his fighter now, not an object of lust.

He was her trainer, her mentor, her guide, and she was officially off-limits.

Man, but this was going to be one hell of a test of his willpower.



BY THE TIME SHE was heading into the change rooms after her first session with Cooper, Jamie knew that he was a far better trainer than she’d ever imagined. She also knew that he was the most sexually desirable man she’d ever known.

It was his attitude, the feeling she got when she was around him, as much as his body—although that was pretty damned impressive all on its own. Even though she’d taken pains to disguise her interest, she’d been unable to stop herself from watching him as he moved around the gym in between giving her instructions. His arms alone were enough to make her knees weak—solid, round with muscle, strong. When he demon-strated a technique on the speedball to one of the younger fighters, she’d paused in her own workout to watch the muscles of his back and arms in action. Nice. Very nice.

Then there was his butt. Simply watching it flex as he walked made her fingers curl. She knew from watching his fights that he had a broad chest with well-defined pecs and abdominal muscles, and she closed her eyes as she stood beneath the shower, imagining how it would feel to have her breasts pressed up against all that masculine hardness. As the water pounded down on her, she slid her hands over her soapy breasts and down between her thighs, imagining it was his fingers finding her damp and ready for him.

Abruptly she became aware of what she was doing—eroticizing her hard-won trainer on day one. She switched the water to full cold.

She knew herself well enough to understand that the simmering desire she was feeling wasn’t going to evaporate. She either had to learn to control it and ignore it, or she had to neutralize it.

As she dressed, her thoughts flew to the handful of men she could call on for casual sex if and when she wanted it. She’d never been sentimental about sleeping with the opposite sex—not for a long time, anyway—and it was a mindset that had always served her well. Human beings had needs—food, shelter, sex. Not necessarily in that order, depending on what else was going on in a person’s life. Right now, for whatever reason, she needed sex. Since she couldn’t get it from Cooper, for a variety of very sensible and rational reasons, she would look else-where.

She grabbed her phone from her workout bag and called Dean, her most recent lover. He was flatteringly pleased to hear from her, but couldn’t hook up until Thursday night.

Today was Monday. She frowned. She felt distinctly edgy at the prospect of having to wait that long until she could feel a man’s naked body pressed against her own.

“Are you still there, Jimmy?” Dean asked when the silence between them had stretched too long.

“Sure, I’m here. And Thursday is fine,” she assured him quickly. Honestly, how hard up was she, anyway? “I’ll come to your place, okay?”

The one down side to living with her grandfather was that it made entertaining at her place next to impossible. Not that she was keen to inflict her dumpy little dive on any of her lovers. When she remembered the way things used to be, the beautiful things her mother had collected, the sumptuous furniture her father had insisted on…

She zipped her bag shut with a firm hand. The world had moved on, and she was in the process of clawing back some of what had been lost. There was no point in dwelling on the past.

Steeling herself for one last encounter with Cooper before she could escape for the day, Jamie headed into the gym.

She could feel a bunch of male eyes tracking her as she made her way to Cooper’s office to say goodbye. They’d get used to her. Most fighters’ gyms were light on for women, but they would get over the fact that she looked different from them soon enough. Especially when they realized she wasn’t about to sleep with any of them—including Cooper.

Cooper’s office was empty when she ducked her head in. She scanned the gym, wondering if she’d missed him in a corner somewhere. She hadn’t. He’d gone. Without saying goodbye.

He’s your trainer. Like it matters if you say hello or goodbye or up your nose with a rubber hose to him. The only thing that matters is that he knows how to help you become the best.

She shook off the moment of stupidity. Her grandfather was waiting for her near the door and she forced a smile and gave him a wave.

Roll on Thursday.

She had a feeling she was going to need every inch of Dean’s work-hardened body by the time their date rolled around.



HOW COULD A PERSON feel so much frustration and so much satisfaction at the same time?

It was a question that dogged Cooper over the next few days as he guided Jamie’s training sessions. She was a fast learner—much smarter and more intuitive than Ray or the other two promising young guys he’d taken on. Not that he would ever voice that thought aloud—there was enough male-female politics clogging up the airwaves in the gym without him throwing another element into the mix.

She knew her body extremely well and only had to listen once when he explained something before she was able to adapt her stance or her action and demonstrate what he was looking for. She was also responding well to his retraining exercises, although she’d grumbled the first time he’d strapped the five-pound soft weights around her ankles. But the added weight at her feet was having the desired affect—every time she lifted her foot following the instinct to kick in defense or attack, she registered the extra load and became conscious of what she was doing. He was confident they would soon rid her of her that fatal hesitation—and once that was gone he had the feeling he was going to have a truly exceptional fighter on his hands.

That was where the satisfaction part came from. He’d made the right decision in taking her on. She was so driven and committed and full of potential that she deserved a chance to go as far as she could.

His simultaneous frustration stemmed from the fact that while every day brought progress in her skill level, it also inevitably brought a new form of torture for his already tightly leashed libido.

He was going insane with wanting her and not being able to have her. He’d never been so hot for a woman before. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t have her. Or perhaps it was something unique to Jamie. Whatever, it was driving him around the bend and leaving him in severe danger of suffering the first case of blue balls he’d had since his teen years.

He’d had his hands on her enough now, shifting her body into position, guiding her, to know exactly how good she felt. Pretty damn good, was the answer.

But his lust had moved on from simply wanting to know her physically.

Now his fantasies involved wanting to hear that husky voice of hers cry out in ecstasy. He wanted to look into her beautiful eyes and see her lose her mind a little. She was always so focused and intent—he wanted her soft and pliant and wanting in his arms, in his bed.

So, yeah, he was just a little frustrated. With himself, with his body, with the fact that he was in an impossible situation that didn’t look as if it would resolve itself anytime soon.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried to take care of business with someone more suitable. He’d taken one of his casual girlfriends out on Tuesday night and hadn’t been able to muster even a fraction of the desire he felt for Jamie. Kara was a flight attendant, gorgeous and blond, a woman he’d had plenty of no-strings good times with in the past. He’d been sure she’d do the trick, but after a bout of lackluster kissing and fumbling in his Ferrari, he’d been forced to give up the attempt as a bad joke and drive her home, shaken to realize that wanting Jamie had killed him below the waist where other women were concerned.

Really freakin’ great. Talk about being between a rock and a hard-on.

Today, Thursday, he almost groaned out loud when Jamie arrived for her evening workout wearing a pair of Lycra hot pants and a teeny-tiny gym top.

Did she know? Was she doing it on purpose?

Admittedly, it was pushing one hundred degrees outside, but was it really necessary for her to flaunt what he absolutely could not have right in his face like this?

Apparently, the answer was yes.

“It’s hot out there,” she said as she dumped her bag against the wall. “Days like this I wish I had air-conditioning. Grandpa never gets a good night’s sleep when it’s too hot.”

He tore his focus from the sheen of perspiration that had formed in her cleavage.

“Yeah, it’s a killer,” he said.

“I can work a little later tonight,” she said. “I had the morning shift at the hotel, and I’m meeting a friend around nine or so, so if there’s anything extra you want me to do…?”

He admired her work ethic, he really did. If he could get his mind out of her underwear, he’d probably think of something really productive for her to do.

“I want you to work on upper body strength today,” he said. He indicated the weight equipment in the corner. “Let’s see if we can’t get a little more power into those punches.”

“I’m all about the power,” she said.

He followed her as she crossed to the four-station apparatus. His attention was glued to her butt the whole way. Realizing what he was doing, he snapped his gaze away and checked to make sure no one had noticed.

Nope. They were all too busy staring at Jamie’s butt.

Grabbing the wide bar of the lateral pulldown machine, she adjusted the weight stack and began to do reps. He watched her technique for a few minutes, telling himself that he was doing his job and not checking out her breasts.

In desperation, he sat opposite her and started to do some tricep pushdowns. Maybe if he got a really good muscle burn going he could stop behaving like a life support system for a hard-on.

“So when do you think I’ll be ready for my next fight?” Jamie asked as she rested between sets.

“Got to break that bad habit of yours first,” he reminded her.

“I know. Just…curious,” she said.

“Impatient, you mean. Every fighter wants to rush to his next fight.”

“Her next fight,” she corrected, a gleam of humor in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, that’s my bad habit,” he admitted. “Got to keep reminding myself who I’m dealing with.”

As if he needed reminding that she was a woman. His gaze dipped to her breasts. Man, but he wanted to taste her.

He was surprised by the intent look in her eyes when he returned his gaze to her face. She looked…hungry. Almost predatory.

His cock tightened as he understood that she’d caught him looking at her and knew that he was thinking about her.

And she liked it. A lot.

A bolt of pure desire shot through him.

Damn.

“You know what? You should just work your way �round the machines,” he said, standing. “I’m going to go for a run. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

She frowned. “It’s absolutely boiling outside.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Maybe all that baked-in heat in the roads and buildings would fry some of this lust out of his body. Something had to, because he’d never been so close to breaking his own rules and simply reaching out for what he wanted.

It was a quiet night thanks to the weather, but there were one or two guys still working out on the speedball and long bags in the other corner. He’d have to lead her through to his office and kick the door shut before he could get his hands on her. But once they were in there he could slide his hands inside those tight little pants she was wearing and find out if she was as hot and ready for him as he wanted her to be…

“You just keep doing your thing. And if you finish before I get back, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

He walked away from her before he could act on his X-rated thoughts.

In the change room, he dragged on a pair of running shorts and a sports tank. When he laced his track shoes, he saw his hands were shaking.

This was getting out of control. He had to do something. Maybe give Kara another shot, force himself to go the distance this time. Surely once he actually had her in his bed, his body would report for duty?

Perversely hoping that it would be really, punishingly hot outside, he did some warm-up stretches and made his way to the front door.




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