Holding Strong. Lori Foster
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she read his mind? He opened his hand, stroked his fingers through her silky hair. “What?”
“The quiet and the fresh air.”
She felt good. But then he was so primed that everything she said and did felt like a come-on.
Thick clouds tumbled over the stars and moon, but street lamps illuminated the area. Sluggish traffic went by. People milled in and out of the bar and the hotel across the street.
Apparently in less of a hurry than him to reach her room, Cherry turned toward him to chat. “Yvette left with Cannon right after the fight ended.”
Looping his arms around her waist, Denver nodded. “I talked with him.” Cannon always came as Armie’s corner man if his own fight schedule with the SBC didn’t have him out of town. It was a treat for all the other fighters at the event, and a thrill for the locals. “He’s as sappy as Gage.”
Her smile twitched. “Guess it helps that the ladies really enjoy the fights.”
Shadows played over her, emphasizing the swells of her breasts. With every move she made, that soft flesh drew his eye. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.
And his mouth.
She didn’t exactly flaunt her curves, but she was definitely aware of them and the effect they had. The V-necked T-shirt she wore tonight was casual, but the way it fit her rack kept distracting him. He could tell she wore a bra, but it had to be insubstantial.
He worked his jaw when he saw that the cooler air had tightened her nipples.
Or maybe it was his gaze that did that.
Aware of her watching him, Denver asked her, “What about you?” She attended all the local events and when possible, traveled with Merissa—her roommate, who was also Cannon’s sister—to watch Cannon compete. She’d even gone with them to Japan.
As a day-care worker for preschool kids, Cherry had weekends free and could usually get Friday off by trading with another employee. But Denver knew some women liked the atmosphere, the excitement and interaction with fighters more than the actual sport.
“What about me?”
With the way he stared at her body, he could understand her confusion. Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer, Denver got her walking again. “You enjoy MMA?”
“Mostly.” As they crossed the lot, a trio of laughing men passed them. To make room, Cherry squeezed more closely against his side.
And damn, he liked how she fit. Her five-seven was a lot smaller than his six-two, but not too small.
“I don’t understand all of it,” she admitted, going back to their topic. “But it’s exciting when someone I know wins.”
The increasing wind slapped against them, carrying her hair up to his chin. Denver drank in the scent of her, wondering if she smelled that good—or better—all over.
“I could do without the blood,” she admitted. “And once, I saw a guy’s arm break.” She winced as if she felt the pain herself.
Smiling, Denver paused with her just outside the hotel door to let another group exit. “I remember that fight. The idiot should have tapped. Injuries like that aren’t common, but every now and then they happen.”
“Have you ever been injured?”
He laughed. “Hell, yeah, but not bad. My worst injuries happened in training, not in competition.”
“Like what?”
With a roll of his shoulder, he said, “Joint injuries mostly. A popped rib. Broken finger and broken toe. Torn rotator cuff. Concussion. Pulled hammy...”
“Good grief.” Aghast, she said, “I had no idea.”
“Comes with the territory. Like I said, nothing serious, and nothing too bad in an actual fight.”
Still frowning with worry, she shoulder-bumped him. “Because you’re good?”
“Sure.” Modesty had no place in the life of a professional MMA fighter. “But I’m also trained, and that makes a big difference.”
Hugging his arm, she said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing you fight.”
Since he didn’t know where things were going with her, he didn’t want to plan that far ahead. Mostly he wanted to plan for the rest of the night. Period. “Headache better?”
Smiling, she said, “Mmm-hmmm.”
She looked so sweet it was a challenge not to kiss her. If they were alone, he wouldn’t bother resisting. But people hung around the hotel lobby and just outside its doors. Other fighters called out to him. A woman asked to get her picture with him. Denver let Cherry go long enough to oblige the fan.
When he rejoined her, she whispered, “You’re so popular.”
Only in certain crowds, and right now he could do without the recognition. “Come on.” Taking her hand, he led her inside and went straight for the elevator. They had to squeeze in with other people...including the guy who’d hit on her earlier.
DENVER KEPT HIS mouth shut and his gaze vigilant. Cherry returned the man’s smile with a polite nod, then looked away.
“Calling it a night?” he asked her, with a glance at Denver.
Denver stared back.
“Yes,” she said around a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
Too dumb or too buoyed by liquid courage, the guy eyed Denver again. “You’re a fighter, too?”
Too? Did that mean this bozo was trained? Perfect. Given how he’d panted after Cherry earlier, he’d love to meet him in a competition. “That’s right. You?”
“Just this lame local shit.”
He said nothing to that. Armie made one hell of a living off the “local shit.”
Sticking out his hand, the man said, “Leese Phelps. You’re a heavyweight with the SBC, right? Denver Lewis.”
Without bothering to explain that he’d only recently been recruited to the SBC, Denver gave a brief handshake. “We’ve met?”
“No, but I follow the fights. I’m light heavyweight. Been thinking about moving up, though.”
Probably to dodge Armie. “You fight in this venue?”
“Yeah. You gotta know someone to get in the SBC, right? So I’m stuck here. But I didn’t fight tonight.”
Put him and Armie in the cage together, and Denver knew Armie would annihilate him.
“The SBC lets you wear your hair that long?”
Denver cocked a brow. Yeah, his hair now hung to his shoulders. Long, but who cared? He didn’t. “Doesn’t bother anyone.”
“Huh.”
As the people behind Denver exited the elevator, he allowed himself to be pressed closer to Leese. He started to speak—and Cherry leaned into him.
“I like your hair,” she said. Then she went a step further and reached up to tunnel her fingers through it. In a playful tone, she said, “It’s sexy.”
Denver frowned at her. Sexy was never his intent. He just didn’t bother getting it cut. But sexy? There were still five people crammed in the elevator with them and he felt his ears getting hot.
Cherry looked at Leese. “When you’re as successful at fighting as Denver is, I doubt anyone worries about the length of your hair.”
Leese jutted his jaw enough to look obnoxious. “You’ve