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“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.
