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Her Son's Hero
Vicki Essex
Unacceptable. Fiona MacAvery works very hard to help her son find nonviolent ways to protect himself from the bullying he can't seem to avoid. She's never believed in violence. Then along comes mixed martial arts champ Dominic Payette, and that's who her son turns to for guidance?Dom clearly has a heart under all those… gorgeous…muscles, but there are shadows, too. He's fighting his way back toward a champion belt after putting an opponent in a coma. Fiona admires his dedication. She even admits that he's shown her son how to be more confident. But act on this attraction between them? There's no way she's letting her guard down!
“I’ve got issues, Dom.”
Serious baggage, she thought. “And Sean is my number one priority, and always will be. It would never work out between us.”
He stared hard at Fiona. “Are you saying you don’t think I’d be a good role model?”
“No.” Yes…maybe. The question wasn’t whether he’d be good for Sean, but how Dom’s presence would affect her relationship with her son. Sean needed to know his mother was as strong and tough as any man, and that she’d never let their lives be dictated by another walking ego with muscles. She’d never let herself be intimidated by a man again. She amended quietly, “It’s complicated.”
“Maybe.” His blue eyes connected with hers again and she saw something new in them. His face relaxed into a smile—sure, confident. “Maybe not.”
Dear Reader,
I’m so proud to join the Harlequin Superromance family with my first book, Her Son’s Hero.
This book was born out of my great respect for mixed martial artists and the controversial sport that has exploded in popularity over the past few years. As I read about the lives, dedication, sacrifices and victories of these talented athletes, it became clear they were real romance-worthy heroes. Some of them are a little rough around the edges, but most are good men with a great passion for what they do…plus they have fantastic bodies. It’s kind of hard not to fall in love!
Fiona MacAvery would agree. When pro MMA fighter Dominic Payette comes to town, she thinks he’s just a meatheaded testosterone-fueled brawler. But as he teaches her young son karate-do and shows them both how to face their fears, he’ll prove to them exactly what kind of man he is.
I’d love to hear your thoughts about this book, MMA or anything else that’s on your mind. Email me at vicki@vickiessex.com.
Happy reading,
Vicki Essex
Her Son’s Hero
Vicki Essex
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Vicki Essex lives on a space colony with her husband, space cat, robot dog butler and a fleet of red spaceships…in her imagination. In reality, she lives in Toronto—New York City’s comely Canadian cousin. As much as she likes to punch things, she doesn’t like being punched back, so will likely never face an opponent in an MMA cage. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website at www.vickiessex.com, email her at vicki@vickiessex.com and find her on Twitter @VickiEssex.
This book wouldn’t have existed without
Denise Ing, Fiona Kwong and
Georges “Rush” St-Pierre.
I would never have started writing without
the ATLA fans at fanfiction.net.
Mike and Bryan, thanks for letting me cut
my teeth in your world.
Thanks to Mom and Dad,
who let me stay up past midnight when I
was a teen so I could keep writing.
Thanks to Victoria Curran,
my editor and writing oracle.
Thank you to everyone at
the Toronto Romance Writers, the best RWA
chapter ever!
Thanks to everyone at Harlequin Enterprises,
especially the guys and gals
in proofreading and production.
And for my husband, who indulged me,
consoled me, brainstormed and problem-solved
with me, and cooked and cleaned for me—
there aren’t enough words in the universe, not
even made-up ones. Luboo!
For John, with all my heart, always.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER ONE
“SEAN, SEAN, spawn of the con!”
Dominic Payette turned and watched from the porch as five jeering boys pounded down the sidewalk in front of his house, chasing a scrawny, sandy-haired boy. With his bulging backpack weighing him down, the kid didn’t stand a chance. The pack leader, a big guy with ruddy cheeks and shocking red hair, grabbed the bag and yanked the kid to a stop.
Dom set down the box he was carrying.
“You ignoring me, con?” The big guy shoved the whelp hard. The other boys circled, penning the kid in. “Think you’re better than us, little rich boy?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Or what? You gonna tell your mommy?” Another shove. “Gimme your money, rich boy.”
“I don’t have any. You took it all at lunch!”
Dom gripped the banister hard. He had to give the kid a chance to defend himself. He knew from all those years of being picked on that bruises healed quickly, but pride took much longer. Maybe it was tough love, but those were his rules.
He could see the tense line of the boy’s bony shoulders, the wildness in his eyes. The kid mumbled something, head bowed in resignation.
His tormentor’s lip lifted in a snarl. “Take his bag.”
The gang seized the boy by his sticklike arms while the redhead punched him in the gut. The kid doubled over, and his backpack was yanked off him.
But the bully didn’t stop there. He kicked him in the chest. Hard.
Dom leaped over the railing off his porch, outraged by the redhead’s viciousness and complete lack of honor. He had the kid outmatched and outnumbered—it was hardly a fair fight.
In a few long strides, Dom was on top of the pack, wading into them like a lion into a pile of field mice. The boys froze and stared up at him wide-eyed.
Dom knew he could be scary looking when he wanted to be. Five feet ten inches of solid muscle honed from years of mixed martial arts training, a shorn scalp and the fading bruises along the underside of his jaw would intimidate anyone. He glowered down at the boys. “You guys got a problem?”
The bully whirled around to face him. He went so pale even his freckles disappeared. “Let’s go! C’mon!”
The kids scattered, huge eyes still fixed on Dom. They dropped the backpack as they raced away.
“Are you okay?” Dom asked.
The boy slowly got to his feet, cradling his midsection, panting. His face was tomato-red, as if he was holding his breath.
“Hey, if it hurts, I find it’s better to shout it out.” Dom didn’t need to bruise the boy’s ego any more by telling him it was okay to cry like a girl. Boys at this age were trying to be men. Dom got that the kid needed a different outlet. “Just yell. I swear, most of the pain, it’s in your mouth. Like this…” Dom’s booming bark startled the kid.
But he didn’t say anything. He’d swallowed his pain, forced it deep inside. Defeat dulled his soft gray eyes. He picked up his pack and brushed himself off.
Dom grimaced. “Do you live around here?” he asked.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the boy said warily.
“I guess that makes you smarter than me.” He smiled. “My name’s Dominic. I just moved here for the summer—in that house right there.” He gestured to the two-story Victorian behind him. Showing the boy he lived on his route home from school might make him feel safer.
The kid glanced from the house to the U-Haul truck at the curb. His eyes widened when he spotted the equipment inside.
He inched closer, his caution melting away like snow in the sun. “Are you, like, some kind of boxer?”
An easy misconception, since the most visible piece of gym equipment in the truck was a punching bag. “I do some boxing,” Dom said, “but I’m actually a mixed martial artist. My specialty is karate, but I also have training in wrestling, boxing, judo, Muay Thai and Brazilian jujitsu.”
The kid gazed up at him in awe. “You’re not, like, in the UFF, are you?”
“Actually, yeah.” Dom grinned, wondering if the boy would recognize him. Dom was at the top of his league, poised to win the welterweight Unlimited Fighting Federation belt in September. “Are you a fan?”
“My mom doesn’t let me watch fights on TV. She says they’re a bad influence.”
Dom’s lips quirked. Mixed martial arts wasn’t really for children; people got hurt in the cage and bloodshed was common. But the sport was misunderstood by many, and criticized unfairly as being nothing more than a glorified bar brawl.
The kid walked up to the edge of the truck. “Wow, look at all that stuff. It’s like you have a whole gym in there.”
“I pretty much do. I train eight hours a day.”
“That’s so cool. My name’s Sean MacAvery.” He stuck out a grubby hand. The defeated child from moments ago had disappeared. Dom’s callused paw swallowed the boy’s hand and the kid pumped it with more vigor than expected from someone who’d just been kicked in the ribs. “I live across the street, over there.” He pointed to where almost identical houses lined the road. “Do you need help moving your stuff in?”
Dom had to be careful. In his experience, people in small towns could be suspicious of outsiders, and judging by the way the neighbors kept flicking back their curtains to watch him, he figured the inhabitants of Salmon River hadn’t made their minds up about him yet. “You’d better ask your dad first,” he said.
