Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (64 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Fenton

I
did not tell her she was better off without me. It should have been obvious.
The party was getting out of control, but Kya did not leave. She bounced around
the dance floor, the wild fans and MMA fighter wannabes not letting her supple
hips and waist go by without pulling her into the rhythm the speakers pounded
out. I wanted to shove them all aside and let Kya go untouched, but I could not
reach her.

Shots of tequila appeared
in front of me along with women in tiny scraps of dresses with sour lime wedges
between sweet glossed lips lined up wherever I walked. The more I drank, the
easier it was to forget the feel of the mats against my face. Peretti's gloved
fist against my face had made me see red. The split second played again and
again, slowed only by the tequila.

Peretti's fist or Kya's
face – no wonder all I wanted in front of me was tits and tequila. I called for
more and the music got louder and the crowd got wilder. I wondered if they all
had the same volume button.

Let's
crank it up
, I thought.

When I saw Kya leave, I
let go. It was not long until the tequila spun the party into a dark whirlpool.
I let it swallow me. At least, I was going down alone.

#

The flat screen
television had three different stiletto heels sticking out of it. A spider web
of shattered screen surrounded a leopard print, black patent leather, and gold
high heel shoe. I wondered idly where the others were, but my head hurt too
much to look. I kept my aching head pressed into the pillow as I wriggled to
get a horizontal look at the rest of the room. One of the white sofas from the
sunken living room stood at the foot of the bed. At first, I thought it was a
white feathered headdress, one of those fifty pound Vegas showgirl
monstrosities. Then, I realized the sofa had been torn open, white down
feathers had exploded everywhere.

A trail of beer cans,
tequila bottles, and shriveled lime wedges trailed out the door of the master
suite and into a bigger disaster. Had the bouncers let in a pack of circus
lions? I remembered a group of performers, lithe women in tight costumes. The
memory flashed too bright, flaming hoops in front of the bar. It could not have
been real, but it might have explained the standing row of circus rings, bull
whip, and singed ceiling.

"Mr. Morris?
Everyone has been escorted out. It's time to go." A burly security guard
stood over my bed.

"Time to go? This
hangover is gonna need until at least noon," I said.

"The hotel wants you
out in the next ten minutes. Do it or the manager will call the cops," the
burly guard's equally big partner said.

"Oh, come on, I'm
sure worse has happened here." I sat up and forced the room to stay right
on its axis.

"Done by guests that
can afford to pay for the damages. You can't. You're out," the first guard
said.

"Your bags will be
sent to your manager's room," the second guard added.

"Can you at least
let me find a shirt?" I asked.

"You're wearing
one."

I looked down. I was
wearing a tight white women's shirt with a low v-neck. In rhinestones it said
“Vegas Can Kiss My A$$.”

"Yeah, I can pull
this off," I said. I dragged myself out of bed and yanked the tight shirt
down to meet the jeans and belt. "How do I look, boys?"

"I've seen worse,"
the second guard said.

"Man, way to kick a
man when he's down," I said. I yanked my arms out of their massive hands
and marched towards the elevator on my own. At least, they stopped to let me
swerve into a pair of oxblood loafers I had left by the door.

"You're not taking
him out the lobby." Kya slipped in the door and planted her hands on her
hips. "Once he's out of the room, you can let me escort him out of the
back of the casino."

The towering security
guards eyed Kya's slender 5'5" frame and flashing green eyes. They glanced
at each other in a stratosphere far above her fierce chin thrust.

The first security guard
shrugged. "Just get him out before the cops come."

"Good luck getting
this one on a leash, lady." The second guard gave me a shove towards Kya.
I stumbled, and she caught me in both arms.

"Oh, God, did you
bathe in tequila after I left?" Kya asked. She held her breath as she
dragged me into the elevator and shut the door on the curious security guards.

"What's your plan
here, genius? This elevator goes to the main lobby, right across from the front
doors. Lots of action, lots of reporters by now," I said.

Kya rolled her eyes and
punched the button marked B1
 
–
 
Laundry. "We'll have to take our
chances. The maids down there might kill you after they've seen what you did to
the penthouse suite, but that has to be better than the crowd in the
lobby."

I leaned against the
mirrored walls of the elevator and closed my eyes. My stomach stayed on the
penthouse for a few floors before lurching sickly down to join the rest of me.

"Want some
coffee?" Kya asked.

I opened one eye. She
held out a paper cup from the fancy kiosk in the main lobby. I took it and
sipped gratefully.

"About the strip
club," I began.

"I know, I know, I
had no business showing up there. I don't know what I was thinking," she
said.

The doors opened on the
basement floor. I had no idea what to say, but I grabbed her arm, anyway.
"It wasn't what it looked like."

"It looked like none
of my business."

She dragged me out of the
elevator and along a wide corridor. Maids pushing their heavy room cleaning
carts were not surprised as we went by – though a few gave my t-shirt an extra
glance. I flexed my muscles and got appreciative smiles in return.

I stopped when a lovely,
black-haired maid asked to take a picture with me. I put my arm around her and
smiled as she held up her camera phone. She squeezed my ass as the camera
flashed. Despite the hollow ache of the hangover, the TKO, party, and tossing
out had raised my notoriety to a new level.

Kya came back to shepherd
me along. "You got kicked out of here, remember? The manager is about to
call the police?"

I slipped both hands
around her waist and pulled her close. "I remember dancing with you last
night."

She slapped my hands and
twisted away. I pulled her back flush against my body. The curves of her
backside pressed against my jeans and a blast of heat burned off the rest of
the hangover. I held Kya's waist and slipped my other hand down the front of
her thigh.

"You left too
soon."

"Right after you
told me you're better off alone," she said. "Now, I'm thinking you
were right."

"Well, there is
something I can't do alone." I nuzzled my stubbly cheek along her neck and
whispered in her ear. "If you really want to help me…"

I thought about begging.
In fact, I would have begged. I needed Kya, wanted her more than anything. She
burned in me like a fever and my lips against the soft skin of her neck were
only a small part of the cure. If I had any hope of getting her out of my
system, I needed all of her.

Kya pried my hands off
and held me at arm's length. "I do want to help you, Fenton. The vitamin
supplements people are still interested. I can use my expense account, get you
a new room, a suite even."

Better
than a cold shower
, I thought. "Thanks for the coffee
and the detour, Ms. Allen. Now, if you don't mind, I need to face my public –
adoring or not. You know what they say about publicity."

#

"Yeah, I didn't
think you'd thank me. All I did was drag you out of a reporter's riot and find
you a new gym to train in. Gonna get you ready for your next fight and get you
back on track to the title, too. Yeah, no need to thank me," Aldous said.

I ignored my coach and
pummeled the punching bag he held. It was Peretti, over and over again, and
what I should have done to him.

"Oh, so now you're
focused," Aldous said.

"Yeah, now I'm
focused," I said. "You know I'm thankful for everything you do. Best
way to show it is to get that title."

"Best way to do that
is to get your life in balance," he said. He let go of the punching bag
and crossed his arms over his chest. "And, the first step is to realize
you can't keep everything separate and in tight little boxes. That's not how
life works."

"What am I keeping
separate?" I asked. "This is all I've got."

"This and whatever
is all over your face when that little blonde spitfire is around," Aldous
told me.

"I don't need
endorsements to succeed. You've always agreed with me on that." I ripped
off my gloves and headed to the weight machines.

"That's not what I
meant and you know it." He followed me and corrected the weight I chose on
the lat pull-down machine. "You get the same expression I wore when I
first met my Tia."

"It's not like that.
She's only after me for an endorsement deal." I pulled hard against the
heavy weight. "And, I'm not ready for anyone right now. No love until the
title is mine."

"I'd say Peretti
knocked you pretty good, but you've had this crazy notion in your head for
years now," Aldous said. "Life is not going to wait for you to have
everything lined up all neat. And, love certainly doesn't work that way. Let me
tell you about love. If you don't open the door when it comes knocking, it’s
just going to come crashing through anyway."

"Where's your focus?"
I asked. "I just told you Kya Allen is not interested in anything but an
endorsement deal. If it’s not on the dotted line, then she's not interested. So
what if I find her attractive? There are plenty of ways to deal with
that."

"Is that what your
little party last night was all about?" he asked. He threw me a towel.
"Might as well shower up and get some rest. You're a wreck."

I leaned my forehead
against the cool tile of the shower as the hot water kneaded my sore muscles.
Aldous was right about one thing– last night's party was meant to get Kya off
my mind. First, there were the fake twins with their matching shade of blonde
and tiny silver skirts. After Kya appeared on the dance floor, I ditched them
in favor of a tall woman with blue streaks in her black hair. She had the most
amazing hands, but when Kya left the party, all I did was drink.

I toweled off and found
the Army surplus cot Aldous had set out for me in a private corner of the gym.
I knew as soon as I shut my eyes, I would see Kya.

"Hello?" I
answered my phone on the first ring.

"So, I was going to
take you up on your offer, but I'm not so excited about sleeping in the back
room of a boxing gym," Dana Maria said.

"I'm sorry, sis. I
can explain," I said.

"No need to explain;
your story is all over the media. I think it’s safe to say I was right. We
don't know each other anymore and you don't owe me a thing," my sister
said.

I slumped back on the
hard cot. My reputation had skyrocketed my popularity over the past few hours.
I was now a trending topic. I could not change the way the world viewed me,
now. Too bad my sister and Kya had to see me that way, too.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kya

When
I gave the front desk clerk my company credit card and requested a suite, I had
no idea what I was getting. Within minutes, a porter accompanied me to my old
room, gathered up my suitcase and carryon, and whisked me five stories higher.
There, he unlocked the door to a miniature paradise.

Large picture windows
overlooked the pool. From that height, it was a jungle-like vista with spots of
bright blue. The rest of the view stretched out over Vegas with all the major
casinos easily identified. I stood and had to admire the bright, garish
architecture of the town.

It was easy to understand
why people loved Las Vegas. There was no mistaking it for any other place and
that made escaping the normal day-to-day almost automatic. Except I was there
to work. I turned to explore the suite and laughed out loud.

A full kitchen complete
with restaurant-grade appliances and hand blown glass fixtures overlooked a
wide sitting area. A gas fireplace glowed against the bright sunlight of the
room, promising to be a warm and cozy contrast to the neon lights later that
night. Two rooms with double-doors swung wide flanked the main area and both
had king-sized beds and luxury bathrooms. The master suite was distinguishable
by an added hot tub alcove in the corner.

I finally understood why
so many endorsement agents got seduced by life on the road. Expense accounts
were easy to abuse under the excuse of wining and dining a client.

"Come in," I
called at a knock on the door.

A tall man with a golden
tan and flashing white teeth strode into the suite and placed two cases on the
granite counter of the kitchen. "The front desk told me you were thinking
about dining in this evening. I am the personal chef assigned to your suite.
Room service is also available, but I thought I would let you know I am free
this evening if you would prefer something prepared fresh here just for
you."

I blinked, thinking he
might be a mirage. Had I stared out the picture windows at the desert sun too
long? "I, um, am planning to entertain a client tonight. The Mixed Martial
Arts fighter, Fenton Morris. Have you heard of him?"

The blond chef smiled.
"If I had missed his billboards, I certainly would have heard about his
big scene at the MGM this morning. Seems like a rough customer, but easy to
cook for. Steak, risotto, fresh vegetable medley. It'll be nice to cook for an
athlete that might actually eat leafy greens."

"That sounds
wonderful," I said. I wrung my hands and looked around at the suite again.
Was this for real?

"And, how about a
glass of wine for you? Perhaps a nice peppery Cabernet?" The handsome chef
tied on a white apron and opened the larger of his cases. He selected a bottle
of wine and cocked a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Wine? Yes, now. Now
would be good," I agreed.

He laughed. "Don't
worry. Drink this and take your time getting ready. I'll have appetizers ready
for your guest when he arrives. Stuffed mushroom caps and parmesan crostini,
always a hit."

The personal chef winked
as he handed me a large glass of wine. I stammered my thanks and wandered into
the master suite in a daze. Only twenty minutes ago, I had sat in my small
hotel room struggling to send just the right invitation to Fenton. Now, I was
sipping wine in a luxury suite while contemplating which dress to wear.

"I can do
this," I said out loud. "I can land this client."

I had started to refer to
Fenton as “this client” because otherwise, all I could think about was his
laser blue eyes watching me across last night's wild party or his wide hands
catching me around the waist, his warm lips trailing down the side of my neck.
I shook myself out of the lingering thoughts and selected a coral red dress
with a conservative neckline. To make up for the high neckline, I swept my hair
into a loose bun, careful not to imagine my client's hot kisses along the skin
I exposed.

I was ready. Heavenly
smells drifted from the kitchen. And it was already ten minutes past the time I
put on the invitation. The picture window framed a stunning desert sunset, but
I could not enjoy a second of it. My heart sank faster than the fiery sun.
Fenton had no reason to come. All of this was a waste and instead of a bonus, I
would be paying off my expense account for the next six months.

If the client would not
come to me, then I would have to go to the client. I had already suffered
through an innuendo-laced conversation with Kev Casey and found out the gym
where Fenton was training. He'd also let it slip that Fenton had slept there
last night. I would head there first and then, I gulped at the thought, search
all the strip clubs in Vegas.

I pulled open the wide
door of the suite and teetered backwards on my gold strappy high heels.
"Oh, you came! I mean, hello. Please, come in."

Fenton was caught halfway
between the elevator and the suite door, clearly hesitating about which way to
go. When he saw me, he scrubbed the back of his neck and ducked past me into
the suite. "You didn't need to do all this. I think we've talked all the
business we're going to talk," he said.

"Can I get you a
drink, sir?" the personal chef asked. His light blue eyes iced over
Fenton. "Ms. Allen, I hope you are enjoying that wine. Would you like
another glass?"

I thanked him and he
fetched the glass I left in the bedroom. Fenton watched him go and chewed on
his lip. The blond chef refilled my glass and winked at me as he brought it
over.

The muscles in Fenton's
shoulders rippled as he shrugged. He sauntered over and took my hand holding
the wine glass. He brought it to his lips, sipped lightly, and then brushed a
kiss along my fingers before releasing my hand. "Delicious. I'll take a
glass of whatever she's drinking. Then, how about a tour?"

The tension between the
two men did not dissipate until the chef returned to the kitchen. Fenton gave
him one last look and then wandered into the master suite. I shook my head and
followed. I was not used to being fought over, and it was every bit as
thrilling as it was frustrating. This was just business, but I wondered if I
was the only one thinking of it that way.

"So, tell me about
the new gym? Probably nice to be in a real boxing gym versus the backstage
setup at the MGM," I said. I kept my tone light as if the choice had been
Fenton's.

"Getting kicked out
has certainly boosted my notoriety," Fenton said. "Ticket sales for
my next fight are through the roof."

"I'm glad it all
worked out," I said.

"Why haven't you
unpacked?" he asked. He circled around the master suite and ran a hand
along the rim of the hot tub. "You changed for dinner, but you didn't take
anything else out of your suitcase. Aren't you staying?"

"I am. I just have
not decided which room I prefer," I said.

"Really? I would
think a nice hot soak before bed would help take the pressure off landing your
next big client," he said.

I leaned on one hip and
tapped the toe of my other foot. "Funny, I thought the same thing, except
I imagined you might like a nice long soak to ease your sore muscles. But, if
you prefer sleeping at your gym, I guess that's up to you."

He scowled and planted
both his feet. He took up a fighter's stance every time he was uncomfortable.
"I told you, Kya, I don't need your charity or your bribes. I'm perfectly
comfortable at the gym. I've slept in worse places."

I could hear my boss'
advice in my head –
The way to a client's
signature is through his stomach, or if you're feeling it, through his pants
.

"The chef said
something about mushroom cap appetizers. I'm hungry, are you?" I asked. I
headed back to the main room and found the appetizers artfully arranged on a
silver platter. I picked one out and held it up to Fenton's frown. "Here,
taste this. Let's forget about business for awhile and enjoy ourselves."

He opened his mouth and
accepted the savory bite. A shiver ran up my arm and tingled down my spine as
his bottom lip brushed my fingers. "Delicious," he said and licked
his lips.

The only way to break off
from staring was to grab another appetizer. This time, it was a hard slice of
cheese topped with a light dab of mustard and sprinkled with thyme. I held it
out to him on a napkin, but Fenton stepped closer and opened his mouth again.
The corners curled up as I gave in and fed him a second bite. I stood
transfixed as he savored it slowly.

"My turn," he
said. He selected another slice of cheese and brushed my hand away as I tried
to take it from him. "Trust me, it tastes better this way."

I let him feed me the
fragrant bite. My senses jumped as the perfect blend of flavors touched my
palate and he brushed an extra flake of thyme from my bottom lip. I sunk to the
sofa and took a long sip of my wine.

The chef cleared his throat.
"Dinner is served."

"Excellent,"
Fenton said. He gathered up the silverware and both plates. "Smells great.
Thanks. I think we can take it from here."

He left the chef holding
out a chair for me and returned to the sofa. Fenton set the dinner plates down
on the coffee table and picked up a mushroom cap appetizer to feed me. I opened
my mouth to accept the taste, unable to deny my growing hunger. As I chewed, I
caught the blond chef's eye and blushed. All I could do was nod. He packed up
his cases and left before I could swallow.

"I hope I ordered
the right thing," I said.

Fenton nodded and picked
up a complicated remote. A few buttons later, the lights were dimmed, the
fireplace flickered warmly, and a slow song drifted out of hidden speakers.

"I love steak,"
he said.

I gripped my knife hard
enough to hide the tremble in my fingers and cut a small piece. Fenton accepted
the bite, sliding closer to me on the couch to catch all the juices. My mouth
watered as I watched him.

He closed his eyes.
"So good," he sighed.

My lips tasted the
peppered char of the steak as I leaned in and kissed him. Fenton's blue eyes
flew open then closed on another delicious sigh. The heat of his lips warmed me
from my toes to the tips of my ears and when he pulled back to look at me he
laughed.

"Ms. Allen, are you
blushing?" he asked.

"It's the
fire," I lied. "It's a little too warm. How about we move back to the
table?"

"And let you cross
back over to business? I don't think so," he disagreed. "I think I'm
starting to agree with my coach. He doesn't believe business and pleasure
should be separate if they come together naturally. It’s like holding apart
magnets, just a waste of energy standing in the way of something like
that."

This time, he kissed me
and it was a deep, plunging taste. The hunger in my core sharpened, but it was
not for any of the delectable food set out in front of us.

"So you'll
stay?" I asked.