Zel: Markovic MMA
Authors: Roxie Rivera
Tags: #romantic suspense, #contemporary romance, #multicultural romance
Book One in the bestselling Her Russian Protector series
Copyright © 2013 by Roxie Rivera
ZEL
Markovic MMA
Roxie Rivera
Night Works Books
College Station, TX
Copyright © 2016 Roxie Rivera
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Night Works Books
3515-B Longmire Drive #103
College Station, Texas 77845
www.roxierivera.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Photo © 2015 Depositphotos.com/
Vladimir Poplavskis
ZEL (Markovic MMA)/Roxie Rivera – 1
st
Ed
ISBN
978-1-63042-077-2
Chapter One
Bored beyond belief, Zel Tesla dragged his gaze away from the gyrating, whip-cracking dancer entertaining the room. Heady cigar smoke melded with the faint aromas of aged rums and cognacs in the VIP room of Las Vegas’ hottest gentleman’s club. An invitation-only crowd of promoters, agents, fighters and hangers-on packed the darkened space.
A flash of movement off to the left caught his waning attention. He glanced that way just in time to see Erin Markovic slide out of her chair and right onto her husband’s lap. From the surprised expression on Ivan’s hard face, he hadn’t expected his wife to behave so brazenly. Judging by her flushed smile, Erin had had a little too much champagne tonight and didn’t really care who saw her cozying up to her husband.
But Ivan didn’t seem to mind his wife perching on his lap like a naughty little kitten. He wound his muscular arms around the willowy beauty and kissed the side of her neck. Laughing, Erin leaned into her husband’s embrace. He nuzzled her neck and dotted a line of kisses along the curve of her throat. She captured his heavily tattooed hand in her thinner, elegant one and threaded their fingers together.
They were an oddly mismatched couple, like Beauty and her Beast, but they were the happiest pair Zel had ever known. Tonight, they seemed particularly pleased with one another. Watching the erotic show unfold onstage appeared to be quite the aphrodisiac for the couple.
Ivan’s massive hand spanned Erin’s slim waist and he pulled her back against him. He whispered something in her ear, and she bit her lower lip before turning to nod enthusiastically at her husband. Ivan reached into his jacket and retrieved a money clip. He peeled off a thick stack of cash and dropped it next to his barely touched drink.
Giving Erin’s hip a pat, he said something to her that made her blush. In the next instant, she stood up and tugging on his hand, dragging him out of his chair. When he was on his feet, Ivan grasped her hand and took charge, leading her out of the shadowy VIP area with purposeful strides.
Not wanting to get caught watching his coach seduce his wife, Zel returned to his attention to the stage, but his gaze didn’t linger there long. Still not entertained by the show, he turned his gaze to the right side of the room. A little farther down, Mace McCoy, his soon-to-be opponent, relaxed in his chair and sipped a glass of ice water. This close to a fight every calorie counted. It was about fuel and stamina at this point. A sip of alcohol could throw their bodies off-balance and leave them struggling in the cage.
Stocky and heavily muscled, Mace had always reminded Zel of a bulldog. He even had the pronounced lower jaw and under-bite. Their eyes met briefly across the darkness. Even in the friendly atmosphere of the arranged get-together, the spark of aggressiveness and competition reared its head. For the first time in quite a while, Zel was actually looking forward to a fight. Worthy opponents were few and far between in his weight class.
Zel’s gaze returned to the performer on the low dais at the front of the room. Dressed like a Gothic pixie, the young woman in shiny black latex panties and side-lacing red stiletto thigh-high boots danced seductively and swung her whip. Brittle streaks of red wax clung to her perky breasts. Dark angelic tattoos curled around her thin arms and wrapped around both sides of her neck. She brought visions of flogging and boot-licking to his mind, neither of which he found particularly sexy.
While her show appeared to enthrall the rest of the room, it did very little for Zel. These days little seemed to interest him. The other single fathers in the grief support group he secretly attended had all reported similar experiences. The married men or those with long-term partners seemed to have better luck when it came to love after losing a child.
But, then again, he’d never had much luck with love.
Since becoming a single father just days after his son was born until the day he had lost his boy, Zel had had no successful relationships with women. There had been two or three women in those eight years who had managed to hold his interest for a few weeks, but he hadn’t been in any kind of position to offer a woman a meaningful commitment.
He had been wholly focused on his son to the detriment of everything else in his life. He had been alone for so long he wasn’t even sure he knew
how
to be part of a relationship. Now, when he most needed a connection to another human being to keep him grounded in life, he utterly lacked the skills for even a first date. He didn’t have a chance in hell of ever making something like Ivan and Erin’s marriage work.
The curtain fell as the Gothic pixie’s dance ended. Hip-hop music filtered through the sound system, masking the sounds of the stage being struck and reset. Scantily clad waitresses roamed the room, offering alcoholic beverages and cigars. Zel dismissed a waitress by lifting his glass of ice water. Smiling understandingly, she moved along to the next patron. Wanting to see how many performers remained before he could cut out of here without making problems for Ivan with the league’s PR team, Zel picked up the glossy program resting on his lap and thumbed through the pages.
Before he could find the right page, the lights dimmed and a soft, pulsing Latin beat began playing. The curtain lifted to reveal a bathroom and dressing area reminiscent of the art deco heydays of Miami. Black-and-white-checkered floor and subway tiles lent an air of realism to the set. A white clawfoot tub sat downstage, a black lacquered vanity and tufted chartreuse bench just to its right. An armoire stuffed with bright silks and satins and a dresser overflowing with lingerie rounded out the furniture props. A bottle of tequila, shot glass, saltshaker and bowl of limes decorated the dresser. Gauzy white curtains framed a false balcony and billowed in a fake breeze. Potted palms gave the scene a South Beach feel.
Brassy and bold, the salsa tune’s tempo and volume increased. Finally, a colorfully costumed young woman strutted onto the stage, her ample hips swiveling side to side in perfect rhythm with her music. Enthusiastic applause greeted Nena Rubens, the world-renowned BBW burlesque.
The sight of the voluptuous beauty paralyzed Zel—he couldn’t even lift his hands to clap. Enthralled, Zel swallowed hard and watched her dance.
When the stage lights fully illuminated her face, he finally recognized her as the sultry, curvaceous goddess gracing the billboard near the warehouse where he trained back in Houston. In that photograph, her shiny black hair splayed wildly about her head as she reclined against a mound of pink pillows, her luscious figure barely covered in upscale lingerie.
Tonight Nena wore a strapless hot pink gown similar to Carmen Miranda’s gaudy getup. As she sensually danced toward the front of the stage, her gloved hands swished the diagonal ruffles of her lime green chiffon skirt. Because the skirt split at the top of her thighs, every swish provided the crowd with a tantalizing glimpse of caramel skin, pink garters and black stockings. She smiled mischievously and nipped the tip of a pink satin elbow-length glove. Twirling it overhead, she gave a hip-swiveling spin and tossed the glove into the crowd. She did the same with the other glove, spinning in the opposite direction this time.
She shimmied to the front of the stage and flicked through the hidden hooks keeping her dress closed. As she danced in a circle, the dress fell to the floor. She sent it stage left with a playful kick. A pink satin cincher trimmed her thick waist, and a black bra adorned with pink beads and sequins enhanced her abundant bosom.
Enthralled by her plump hourglass figure, Zel watched her sashay across the stage, her movements punctuated by the brassy trumpet notes. She made a show of pouring a tequila shot, licking the inside of her left wrist and applying salt. With a devilish smile, she swiped her tongue across the salt and kicked back the shot.
As she sucked the lime juice from the green wedge clamped between her lips, Nena poured another shot. She placed the shot in the tight valley between her heaving breasts. Ass wiggling, she squeezed a fresh lime on the tan crest of her left breast. She sprinkled salt over the wet juice. A second lime wedge was tucked between the cup of her bra and her right breast.
Zel anxiously devoured her buxom figure as she slowly danced her way down the steps of the dais. When she reached the small patch of floor in front of the seated crowd, her eyes scanned the room.
Me. Pick me.
As if hearing his silent plea, Nena moved in his direction. Zel’s stomach dropped as she stopped in front of him and winked. She gestured for him to take the shot. Throat dry and fingers trembling, he sat forward in his seat. His pulse clamored so loudly against his eardrums it drowned out the sound of music and the hooting crowd.
And the phantom boom of Ivan’s angry voice when he dressed him down for drinking…
When he swiped his flattened tongue along the salted curve of her breast, their gazes locked, his cobalt eyes clashing against her chocolate orbs. Savoring the salty lime flavor, he buried his nose in her soft cleavage and wrapped his lips and teeth around the shot glass. Tilting his head back, he swallowed the burning liquid and removed the glass from his mouth. Glass in hand, he plucked the lime from her bra with his lips and squashed it between his teeth. Citrus juice trickled down his chin, and Nena, ever the temptress, trailed a fingertip along his wet skin and brought it to her mouth, sucking the juice from her finger.
Smirking sexily, Nena danced back onto the stage. Hips rocking, she squatted and gave the crowd a full view of her frilly panties. Her nimble fingers unhooked the pink cincher. Swaying side to side, Nena stood and opened the cincher, revealing a pink diamond heart dangling from a navel piercing. She flung the cincher overhead and strutted to the vanity, her black pumps elongating her strides and tightening her calves.
