The Fighter's Fierce Temptation (2 page)

“Follow.”

Bryant scowled at the older woman. Ever since he had arrived, she’d treated him like a stray dog. She’d introduced herself as Marguerite, the housekeeper at the camp, but when was he going to meet up with Anders himself?

“Come on. I’ll take you to your cabin.” Marguerite glanced over her shoulder as she walked away. “You know, for a fighter, you don’t move very quick.”

Bryant hiked his bag onto his shoulders and began to follow her. According to Marguerite, he and Terry were scheduled to meet before dinner.

Bryant had been mentally preparing himself to state his case to the training legend for the last hundred miles, and now felt like he was being sent to his room for misbehaving. Inside the cabin, he acknowledged the housekeeper’s brief tour and watched her leave, shutting the door behind her. He was going to hope all the women looked like her—tough, gruff, and not interested in him. He needed to focus utterly on training and forget females existed.

Bryant tossed his duffel bag onto the floor in front of the stone fireplace, taking in the rustic overstuffed furniture, the braided rugs on the wood floor, and the open concept that allowed the kitchen and living areas to flow together.

One door opened into a bedroom, complete with a king-size bed, armoire, side table, and writing desk. A large picture window looked out over the open grounds beyond, and through the adjoining door he spied a bathroom completely tiled and very masculine looking. The second door revealed a similar looking bedroom, complete with its own bathroom ensuite.

Returning to the main room, he noticed that the furnishings appeared to have been chosen with guys in mind. Neutral colors, big oversized chairs, sturdy tables, and bar stools.
It’s an MMA training camp! What was I expecting, floral cushions and lace curtains?
Laughing at himself, he sank down onto the overstuffed couch and rested against the cushions.

He wasn’t here for a holiday, but to work. His younger brother’s words still echoed in his head. “You lost your last fight because you dropped your guard. Carlisle caught you straight on the chin. You have to protect your head and face!”

Bryant closed his eyes. Carlisle wouldn’t have gotten that head shot in if he hadn’t first kneed Bryant in the groin, but the referee didn’t call him for an illegal hit. And none of that was going to get Bryant into to the welterweight division championship. He’d done all he could with just him and his brothers—now he needed someone like Anders training him. He had a fight coming up in three months against Macken. He needed to train and train hard.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. But would Anders really take him on? That was the question.

Bryant’s brother, Mason, had sent tape to Anders, but the trainer had sent word back that he was taking a short break. Bryant had talked to some of the other guys who’d worked with Anders. They’d all sworn that Terry Anders was the best damn trainer they’d ever worked with. No way was Bryant going to let any chance to train with him slip past.

Glancing at the clock above the mantle, he saw he had half an hour until dinner and his meeting with Anders. Stepping out of the cabin, he decided to take a look at the training gym.

He headed to the large barn-like structure that had several cars parked out in front. The cabins seemed to be located around the main structure in a half circle, with his cabin the furthest away. Passing the other three cabins on his side of the circle, he noticed all of them appeared to be vacant. The curtains were drawn and he couldn’t detect any signs of occupancy.

He finished walking the short distance and paused as half a dozen teenagers and young adults exited the building and headed for the parked cars. He watched as they drove off and then entered the gym, his eyes going wide in appreciation.
Wow, Anders had a great set up
! In addition to a standard-size training octagon, every type of training equipment imaginable occupied the large barn-shaped area.

Cardio machines, weight machines, and isometric units sat around the walls. A large matted floor provided additional training space, and punching bags of various sizes and shapes hung from heavy chains attached to the ceiling beams.

Bryant inhaled the gym air and immediately felt at home—sweat and bleach, you couldn’t beat that smell.

“Shit! This guy has enough equipment to train a dozen fighters up here! Why only train one guy at a time?” Bryant muttered.

An older man stepped from a door on the far side of the training area, wiping his hands on a black towel. “Well, now, Bryant Burton, that’s a good question you asked.”

Bryant spun around eyeing the white-haired man who prowled toward him. Recognition dawned and he grinned. “Tavvy? What the hell you doing up here?” In long, even strides he crossed the training floor to clasp the older man in a hug.

“Been up here with Anders for the last three years. After Rinaldo’s death, I just couldn’t stand the thought of committing myself to only one fighter again. Anders gave me an opportunity and I took it.”

Bryant could see the pain in Tavvy’s eyes at the mention of Rinaldo’s name. Rinaldo had suffered a blood clot after a fight and had died three days later. Tavvy had blamed himself for not making his fighter seek medical treatment for what they had both known was very likely deep bruising and a possible broken rib. He knew Tavvy had been unable to get past the death of his fighter, but Bryant thought Tavvy had retired from the sport all together.

“Okay, so why, with this much room, why only take on one fighter at a time? And who were those kids I saw leaving just now?” Bryant said, wanting to change the subject from the death of Hector Rinaldo.

“Oh, Anders has taken on multiple fighters in the past. But not fighters that were as close as you are to a major fight. He believes in giving the fighters who come up here his best.” Tavvy eyed Bryant up and down and then turned away and uttered a silent prayer to whoever was listening.

Please let Alice pull this off or we’re all going to be out on our ears and maybe even sued!

Marguerite had waylaid Tavvy fifteen minutes earlier and pulled him in on the madness. While he had his doubts they could pull off this plan for more than a day or two, he owed his life to Anders. If this crazy idea meant Anders could continue his recovery in relative peace, he’d play his role.

He eyed Bryant Burton now and wondered if Alice could do the guy any good. She was as good a trainer as her dad, maybe even better. She had more patience and a better eye for form, and an instinct that would have put her on top as a trainer. But she also had boobs—most of these MMA fighters brought with them a macho streak a mile wide. Meaning they didn’t want to take orders from a women—and wanted to train with a guy who’d give them a bad-ass reputation.

Well, for better or worse, Bryant was going to get some kind of training here.

Bryant headed over to the sparing area and punched at a bag. “Guess all that one-on-one is good for me, right?”

Tavvy nodded slowly. “Depends. You have a good reason for coming up here uninvited? Why aren’t you already at some other camp, getting ready for your fight?”

“Is Anders upset over that?” Bryant asked, glancing in the direction of the main cabin.

“Not really, but the man hasn’t been feeling real well of late. So don’t expect a lot of direct communication with him. I’ll make sure he lets me know the game plan and give that information to you.”

Bryant straightened and stared at Tavvy. “As for why I’m not training somewhere else—I couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted to train with.”

Tavvy huffed. “Find that difficult to believe. There’s got to be half a dozen other camps on this side of the US that could train you.”

“I wanted the best. That’s Anders and you know it. But I haven’t been sitting on my thumbs the last few months, either. My brothers have been helping me out.”

Tavvy gave a sharp bark of laughter. “That’d be how you got that bruise on your cheek, I bet. Mason or Beck put it there?”

Reaching up, Bryant touched the cut his brother had given him and smiled. “Mason seems to think it’s his personal mission to teach me to cover my head.”

“Somebody needs to. You had Carlisle beat until that last hit.”

Bryant nodded. “That’s what I keep hearing. Anyway, I need what Anders has to offer.”

Tavvy nodded in agreement. “Can’t argue with that logic, but normally fighters this close to another major fight are paring down their workouts, not ramping them up.”

“I’m not just any fighter.”

“Bryant, truer words I’ve never heard. You are definitely unique. You’re a good fighter, son. But you’ve just got a few weaknesses you need to fix.”

Bryant span around to face Tavvy. “So, Anders is willing to train me?”

“Can you afford his fees?”

“That’s one thing I don’t have a problem with. I brought the money for the first week with me, and I’ll instruct my bank to wire the future payments over each Monday.”

Tavvy nodded. “Good enough.” He tossed the towel in a nearby basket and headed for the door. “Come on. It’s dinnertime and Marguerite doesn’t like her food to get cold.”

Bryant followed Tavvy into the main cabin and stopped outside the door. Knocking, he waited for a response, shuffling on his feet. His ability to win the upcoming fight was directly tied to the outcome of the next few minutes, and Bryant was more nervous than if he was about to go into an actual cage fight.

From inside, a raspy voice called out, “Enter.”

Bryant opened the door and stepped into an office with bookshelves and a large desk in front of the window. A man sat behind the desk, his hands resting in his lap, rather than on the desktop. A brimmed hat rode low over on his head and a firm set to his mouth gave Bryant the impression he was less than pleased to be having this meeting.

“Mr. Anders? I’m Bryant Burton. I’m sorry to just show up you like this, but I have a fight in—”

“Three months. I know. I watched your tapes.” The man’s voice was husky and a little higher than he’d expected. The guy looked like he’d been ill—his clothes hung on him as if he’d lost weight, and Bryant started to worry about throat cancer or another illness that would take the likes of Anders out of this world. That wouldn’t be good.

Concentrating on making a good impression, Bryant nodded in the direction of the empty chair. “Mind if I sit?”

Anders nodded, and Bryant took a seat. How he was supposed to take the man sitting in front of him? He was nothing like Bryant had imagined! He wasn’t a large man by any means. But that made sense. A heavyweight wouldn’t know how to train bantems and welterweights.

He seemed a man of few words, speaking in succinct, short sentences. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes because of the way he was sitting, his face shadowed by his hat. “Sir, I—”

Before he could get any more words out, Anders held up a hand.

***

Alice held up her hand, being sure to keep her pink-tipped nails facing the window behind her. She’d totally forgotten about her nail polish, and it wasn’t until she was seated in her father’s desk chair, her hands resting on the desk calendar, that, horrified, she realized her mistake.

She hadn’t had time to do anything about them, so she simply resorted to keeping them away from her visitor. She really needed to finish this initial interview and get him out of the office.

Tavvy had reluctantly agreed to help as the go-between for the training regimen with Bryant Burton, and she was now regretting not letting him do this initial meeting as he’d offered. “You met Tavvy?” she asked Bryant.

“Actually, we’ve known each other for a while. For most of my life, if you want to get technical.”

“Good, then you’ll have no problem working with him. As you can hear, my voice… my health’s not the best right now. I’ll communicate my wishes to Tavvy, and he’ll be in charge of seeing that you carry out the appropriate training exercises. You have a sparring partner?”

“Will he need to come up here?”

“The next day or two should be sufficient. He’ll bunk in the second bedroom in your cabin.”

“That’s fine. We’re used to bunking together. I’ll put a call in to him right after dinner.”

Alice nodded her head. “Good. Go eat.”

Bryant’s eyes narrowed. He sat up and made no attempt to leave the office. “Excuse me?”

“Go. Eat.” Alice sat very still in her father’s office chair. She made the mistake of glancing up and had to stifle the gasp that threatened to burst forth at her first glimpse of Bryant’s eyes. They were blue, almost grey, intense, and fringed by the darkest lashes she’d ever seen on a man.

He was absolutely gorgeous, and she considered herself a good judge. She was only twenty-two—the same age as the man sitting across from her—but she’d been around MMA fighters her entire life. Normally, the sight of a mostly naked man, complete with muscles and sweat running between those same muscles, didn’t even cause the tiniest spark.

It was different with the man sitting across from her now.

The woodsy fragrance he wore had already captured her senses. But his eyes. He had eyes like the sky just after a storm. Eyes that held fire and heat and a magnetism that had to be due to his personality—to the drive that had made him an MMA fighter. He had the body of a fighter, too—lean, strong mass, long arms and legs that would give him reach, wide shoulders for strength. A great package overall. But those gorgeous eyes caught her and trapped her, and left her heart racing and sent a deep warmth through her center.

God, I need to get away from him before I give myself away! Or before I do something stupid.

She was not falling for a fighter again. Not ever. Scott had cured her of that forever. But her mind instantly flashed back to Bryant. She could glimpes a smooth bare chest peeking out from his shirt, muscled torso and thighs, strong arms that could pummel his opponent into submission. The way his tight fighting shorts outlined his…

She cut off the thought. Alice felt sweat running between her breasts and cursed the need for a tight sports bra.
Down girl. You are so not falling for a fighter again.

Making a shooing motion with her hand, she held herself still until Bryant finally took the hint and left the office. “Shut the door on your way out,” she barked in a gruff voice.

Once alone, she heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed her posture. She could still smell his scent in the room and found herself wondering if he smelled that divine after a hard workout.
You’ll have a chance to find that out soon enough—and so what if he smells great! Great smell does not mean great person.

Pushing the hat back on her head, she resisted the urge to pull it completely off. She’d put her hair up in a twist to conceal it beneath the cap, and she could feel rivulets of sweat pouring down her scalp and the back of her neck.
God I hate feeling this way! But it was my idea. I have to remember that when I start wanting to complain!

Shutting off the voices in her head, she pushed away from the desk and headed for her room. She’d taken the opportunity to stop by and check on her father earlier, and he’d been sleeping peacefully. The doctors were insistent that he get enough rest and in addition to numerous other pills. They’d prescribed him an anti-anxiety medication that also acted as a sleeping pill on his system. He would more than likely sleep for the next twelve hours. She was going to have to work hard to make sure Bryant only saw her dad from a distance, and only every now and then.

She climbed the stairs to the second story and entered her bedroom. Picking up the dinner tray Marguerite had left for her, she carried it to the small sitting area located on her private deck. The logistics of pulling off this elaborate ruse with one fighter was hard, but not impossible.

Pulling it off with two fighters in residence could prove their undoing. She poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle Marguerite had so thoughtfully provided, and settled back against her chair.

Tavvy was the key to the success of this effort. She’d already watched Bryant Burton fight in his tapes and had designed a preliminary training regimen for him. That man needed to protect his head more. He had his last fight practically won—well, he would have won if he hadn’t gotten himself knocked out! He also needed more practice with some close-up fighting skills.

She jotted down a few ideas as she ate her dinner. Back elbow strikes. Roundhouse kicks to the back of the thighs to weaken his opponent’s foundation. Rolling out of a takedown and ending up in full guard. So many problems she had seen in his last fight could have been corrected or avoided with the proper training.

She finished eating and then took the back stairs down to the kitchens. Marguerite wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but Alice could hear her accepting Bryant’s compliments on her cooking.

“Marguerite, I can see I’ll have to put in extra workouts if I am to have any hope of making my weigh-in three months from now.”

Alice smiled at the smooth compliment and Marguerite’s chuckle in response. Tavvy laughed outright, and she had no doubt he was already thinking the fighter would be lucky to handle his standard training regimen, let alone anything extra.

She couldn’t join the party in progress, obviously, so she returned to her bedroom, where she grabbed the tapes of Bryant Burton and a notepad. She’d already made several pages of notes, but if she wanted to pull off this deception, she needed to make sure she was always completely prepared.

She trusted Tavvy to let Mr. Burton know how things worked around the camp and she also knew if anything came up that he couldn’t handle, he would be sure to let her know. They were in this thing together, and teamwork had never been more important than now.

This was going to be all about business, and she was going to keep herself focused on work. And not on how Bryant Burton had set her heart pounding. Nope, it was going to be her job to get his pounding with some heavy cardio workouts.