Knock Out (Worth the Fight) (28 page)

“What are ye waiting for? Come on, honey. Before he gets away.”

She frowned, puzzled, but followed him a few feet down the block. They stopped in front of Rachel’s Antiques. “Go ahead, ‘es in there.”

“Sal’s buying a wedding ring from Rachel’s Antiques?” An odd place for a ring, but then again, nothing about his speed-dial romance with Mrs. Debinska was normal.

Joe chuckled. “Oh, it’s not Rachel’s Antiques anymore. Covers half the block too. Plenty of room. Two main entrances. Prime downtown location. Go on, get yourself in there.” His hand touched her shoulder and gave her a nudge.

Logan held her breath as she entered. The welcome blast of air conditioning eased her nervousness somewhat. This year’s twists and turns made even a ballerina feel dizzy, hesitant and gun shy from one too many surprises.
What on earth is Sal doing in Rachel’s Antiques with—or without
,
she couldn’t be sure—Mrs.
Debinska’s wedding ring?

“Excuse me, miss,” a workman said from behind her. She shifted to the side and watched two guys carry a massive mirror down the length of the enormous open-spaced room. But Sal was nowhere in sight.

“Sal?” she called out. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Joe’s wave from his spot outside the door. Hovering, smiling, and...waiting for something? Maybe he was excited for Sal’s upcoming proposal? Her attention swung back to the workmen, and the open space. Except, someone else stood in the middle of the room. Someone unexpected. Someone so strong and beautiful, her breath caught.

“Logan.”

Despite the air conditioning, the temperature in the room spiked. A rush of emotions twirled around in her: happiness, sorrow, love, anger and confusion. She didn’t know how to react, whether to throw herself at him and never let go. Or smack him on the side of his head for the disappearing act he’d pulled.

“I know, baby. Come here.” His deep, throaty voice was so tempting.

She stood her ground. “Don’t
baby
me.”

He strode across the room and narrowed the distance between them. Logan stayed rooted in place. “Shit, I missed you.”

No words came out; her breath hitched tightly in her throat.

His fingers reached up and caressed her cheek. She held her head firmly in place.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful with your green eyes flaring and your hair all messy.”

She had a hundred questions for him but remained silent. Let him do the talking for a change.

“Why didn’t you cash the checks?”

You know why
,
Keane.
She gave him a look, the answer written on her face.

“Not making this easy on me, huh?” He flexed his fists and shifted on his feet, but his eyes devoured her, full of hunger. Need. Want. Brimming with unspoken emotions she could only guess at.

His hand snaked out, caught her waist, and pulled her closer. “I took your advice,” he muttered, smoothing a stray strand of hair around her ear. He smelled good, clean and soapy and with a hint of mint. The past weeks, she’d dreamed of a moment like this, where he’d come back to her. But for how long?

“What advice?” she whispered, needing to know.

“All of it, baby. All of it.”

She cocked her head and looked up at him, unsure what he was saying.

“You said you’d wait for me, remember?” he muttered. Keane sounded...unsure.

Instinctually, her hand covered the warm expanse of chest over his heart, and she stepped closer. Stunned. Excited. Breathless with the realization of what he must be telling her.

“I’m seeing a psychiatrist. Getting help with the PTSD. And Jimmy.”

Logan wound her arm around his back and pressed up against him. “Oh, Keane.”

“Quit fighting professionally. You were right, it wasn’t helping.” He angled his head and captured her mouth. His tongue danced with hers as her heart beat against his.

Seconds later, his head lifted. He lifted her by the waist and gently moved her away from him. “Like it?”

She grinned.
Oh
,
she liked it
,
all right.

“The place. You like it?”

Her eyes fell on the guys far across the room, hanging an oversized mirror on the wall.

“Figure we’d split the space.”

Her mouth opened and closed. And opened. “You bought Rachel’s Antiques?”

He grinned so broadly her stomach did a pirouette. “Yep, your dance studio is over there.”

“Oh, my God. You’re not kidding.”

“An MMA training club on this side, for returning veterans. Dr. Felter’s satellite office in back.”

“How am I going to afford this place?”

He crossed his arms and his eyes narrowed on her. “You’re not. I am.”

She couldn’t let him walk in here, sweep her off her feet, and then, fulfill everything she’d dreamed about since The Fall. Could she? “What about our business agreement? You’ve managed your part, and I’ll manage mine.”

Foolish, stubborn pride. That’s what this was. But pride had carried her through the bad times like a trusty, dependable pair of ballet slippers.

He rolled his neck, and grunted. Unfolded and refolded his arms. Then, he stepped closer. She imagined the muscles beneath his black T-shirt flexing as he moved. His hand found her waist.

“One more thing—might tip the scale.”

God, the memory of his naked ass at the weigh-in made her feel lightheaded. She leaned into him but his eyes captured hers.

A grin spread across his face. He seemed younger, more carefree. Happy. She laughed. “I’d say you tip my scale every time you look at me. What were you going to tell me?”

Wouldn’t you know, his grin broadened? Six foot two of broad, mean hunk was smiling down on her like she’d given him the world.

His next words made her feel like he’d offered the world to her on a golden plate.

With blue eyes glimmering with emotion and his voice deep and rough, Keane whispered four words that meant more to her than ballet, more to her than anything.

“I love you, Luscious.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

DECISION: The outcome of a bout; when a winner is declared

Six months later

Chloe was a regular at Jimmy’s Fight Club. Perhaps it was the constant influx of hot, retired Marines flexing their stuff as they worked out their issues, both in the cage and back inside Dr. Felter’s satellite office. Or maybe her inner child connected with the young, fresh-faced ballerinas in the making. Or most likely, she needed an escape from ol’ Squirrel Face and the ever-present media attention. After all, Chloe was the most popular Octagon Girl ever to strut her stuff around the cage. Her daddy had made sure of it.

Logan stood with Chloe off to the side of the sparring cage, watching Keane instruct a veteran on how to make an opponent tap out. That’s what Logan thought was happening anyway.

She liked staying late, well after the kids headed home from their ballet lessons, to eyeball Mr. Eyegasm while he went about his business. Oh, Keane still had his surly moments, growling about some of her ballerina costumes or about the way the guys sometimes hung around and watched her dance. But, he seemed happier. Content. And late at night—after he’d taken her breath away in ways she’d never imagined—he told her he loved her.

Chloe sighed next to her. “Boom-Yay’s really something, huh?”

“Yep,
my
something.”

“Well, if ya can tear ya eyes away from him for a dang second, I brought ya a copy of the
Pittsburgh Press
. Y’all made the front page, again.” She unfolded the newspaper and handed it to Logan.

Chloe hadn’t lied—there they were, front page news. Three pictures and a few paragraphs of text. The headline read: Pittsburgh’s Favorite Couple Making a Difference. Keane was going to hate the first picture, a reprint of their first kiss on the ramp at Mellon Arena. But a smaller picture showcased two veterans posing inside the cage. The text underneath outlined the goals and purpose of this first-of-its-kind club and summarized it neatly: “Jimmy’s Fight Club aims to help veterans readjust to life back home.” Good publicity always helped. How else were these guy going to know about it?
Keane’s going to hate this one too
, Logan thought with a grin.

Logan’s hand tightened around the newspaper as she studied the third picture. Why had she chosen that outfit the day the reporters trickled in?

“I think that’s the most beautiful picture. It reminds me of the one on the wall over yonder, but better.” Chloe pointed to the painting of the two young girls dancing. Logan nodded. The shot was priceless, despite her skimpy outfit.

In the photograph, Logan stood against the barre with her leg stretched high overhead. Two little girls flanked her sides, their tiny legs mimicking her posture. Logan had an arm around each in support, although a team of special needs aides were on hand to help. Jenna’s wheelchair was pushed off to the side and barely in the picture. Joanna’s crutch was underneath her armpit. All three of them grinned into the mirror like kittens after a bowl full of cream. Out of all the students attending her ballet classes, these girls were her favorite.

Tomorrow, Logan was sending this newspaper clip off to the art store to frame for her dance school. She had the perfect spot to hang it, too—right next to Pierre’s painting.

“Come here,” Keane demanded from his place on the stairs. “Why so teary-eyed?”

“No reason,” Logan shot back, but Keane stalked up to her and took the newspaper from her hand.

His eyes scanned over it. She knew the exact moment he spotted the outfit because his mouth tightened and his features took on a gruff expression. She leaned up and kissed him hard, until his lips parted, his arms pulled her in tight, and
her
body felt like dancing.

In a year full of surprises, one thing was sure: life with Keane “Boom-Yay” O’Shea would never be dull.

* * * * *

About the Author

Michele Mannon believes life would be incredibly dull without an endless assortment of books and a good sports match on television—preferably with shirtless men (which is, by the way, her inspiration for writing a debut series featuring hot and oh-so-muscular MMA fighters).

Michele lives in central New Jersey where she divides her time between writing sexy and sassy contemporary sports-themed romances, laughing with her family and caring for not one but three heartless cats. Michele loves hearing from readers, so please visit her on the web at
www.michelemannon.com
.

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ISBN-13: 9781426897535

KNOCK OUT

Copyright © 2013 by Michele M. Mahon

Edited by Kerri Buckley

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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