Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (69 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Kya

The
stripper stepped around me in her impossibly high heels and walked straight
across the suite to Fenton's room. She left the door open and I could hear her
call out to him.

"You came! I'm so
glad. Just give me a minute," Fenton replied. The shower turned off and
their voices dropped lower.

I stood in the doorway
and could not hear what they said. Did it matter? There was only one real
reason he had invited such a woman to join him in his room. I heard him come
out of the bathroom. I turned on shaky knees and disappeared into the master
bedroom, before he could see me through his open door.

My hands shook as I dug
through my suitcase. Stuffed far in the corner was the black bikini I had
packed at the last second. Lounging by the pool had been the one luxury I was
going to allow myself on this business trip. I fumbled with the ties, but got
the bikini on. I tugged a wispy sundress over the top, found my sunglasses, and
raked my fingers through my loose hair.

In the living room, I rushed
to find the pair of sandals I had left by the patio door. Just as I slipped
them on, I heard the other bedroom door handle rattle. I darted across the
suite and made it out the door before Fenton could say anything. I fled down
the hallway and into the stairwell, unwilling to be caught by the elevator and
forced to hear whatever flimsy excuse he had.

There was nothing he
could say. I read the whole situation wrong. The swirl of emotions had been
entirely on my part. I wanted to blame the adrenaline, the slow ebb of
excitement after my dangerous encounter with the fight fixers, but that was a
lie. I had wanted Fenton from the first moment I saw him in that Vegas
nightclub. It had all meant something to me. To Fenton, though, I was just
another conquest.

I found a lounge chair in
the already blazing sun and lay down. I hoped to bake the chill out of my
heart, but there were tears welling behind my sunglasses. It was ridiculous to
cry over Fenton Morris. He was not worth tears, no matter what he had made me
feel. He was the type of man to invite another woman into the suite minutes
after we had been together.

"Would you like me
to bring you something from the bar?" a waiter asked.

"A mimosa," I
said. "Wait, no, skip the orange juice and just bring me champagne."

I gave the waiter my
suite number. I was already in debt to my boss for the room, so I might as well
enjoy it. And, I hoped the bubbly burst of alcohol would offset the eroding
sadness I knew too well. The last time I felt so alone was after my parents had
passed away. Strangely, that thought gave me some comfort. The way I had pulled
myself out of that grief was to set my feet firmly on a practical path. I was
the only one that was going to look out for me and it was better to focus on
that than Fenton.

I dug my phone out of my
purse, glad I had grabbed it before I fled. The champagne arrived as I checked
my bank accounts, paid a few bills, and calmed myself down. I was fine.
Everything was up to date. It did not matter if my love life was now a complete
disaster because everything else was neat and orderly.

I tipped the flute of
champagne and finished it, then checked my email. I sent a few professional
responses, scheduled some phone calls, and felt my head clear even as the
champagne fizzed through my system. The last email I checked was from my real
estate agent. My offer on the house had been accepted and everything was set
pending an inspection.

I clicked the link and
scrolled through the photographs of the house for the hundredth time. It was
perfect – in a comfortable neighborhood with room for easy improvements that
would boost my equity immediately. It was small with two bedrooms and two
bathrooms, but there was more than enough room for a single woman. I imagined
walking through the empty rooms on my own and closed the browser window. Maybe
being out on the road for work was not such a bad thing.

I rewrote the email seven
times, but finally sent a response to my real estate agent. The inspection was
set for the next week. I would be home from Las Vegas by then and would move
forward with the purchase of the house. If anything, I would fix the house up
and sell it as soon as possible. It was a good investment.

Thinking about my
finances, I calculated the loss I was taking on the luxury suite. That plus the
loss of my bonus would make things tight for the next year, unless I found
another client and made it count. My first thought was Mario Peretti, but he
was too closely linked with Fenton and the thought of Fenton made my stomach
flop. I shoved the sadness away and racked my brain for a new business
strategy.

There was a large golf
tournament in town. Not only did I have an excellent business history with
golfers, but it would piss Fenton off to see me back with the country club set.
If he cared at all. If not, I wanted to be as far from him and his
rule-shirking type as possible. I pulled up the golf statistics for the
tournament and started studying the players' numbers.

"I don't care what
people say about him, I find him irresistible," I overheard the woman
three lounge chairs over say to her friend.

"Really? I suppose
he does have sexy eyes.,” the other woman said.

I kept my eyes on the
golf statistics and prayed they were not talking about Fenton. The last thing I
could handle was hearing other women drooling over him.

"Come on, tell me
you don't think he's handsome," the first woman sat up and thrust a
magazine at her friend.

"Polo shirts are not
really my thing. He looks kinda stuck up."

My shoulders eased and I
was able to turn my head. The women were looking at a tabloid magazine with the
headline "Oh My God!". Underneath the bold letters was a clean-cut,
all-American man with short, cropped brown hair. He did have sexy brown eyes,
minus the devilish glint that Fenton's often showed.

I looked again and
recognized the man on the cover. I had met him minutes before Fenton came to
speak to me at the nightclub. I studied the tabloid cover the women held up and
almost laughed out loud. The man held a golf club over his shoulder – he was a
professional golfer!

"Excuse me, what's
his name?" I asked the women.

They looked up from their
magazine and both their jaws dropped open.

"Jackson
McRay," a voice behind me said.

I turned around and
caught myself before gaping like the other women. He was even more handsome in
person than his cover shot and his smiling brown eyes were fixed on me. My
bikini instantly felt too small, but I could not reach my sundress without
wriggling all around.

"We met the other
night," he said. "Remember?"

"Yes, I do. I mean,
I remember. Sorry, my name is Kya," I said.

Jackson chuckled and sat
down on the lounge chair next to me. "I remember," he said.

The waiter approached and
I drew a complete blank when he asked if I would like another drink. I stared
up at him, trying not to feel Jackson's eyes sweep over my body.

"Are you having
champagne? Sounds good to me," Jackson said. He trailed his glance back up
to my face and smiled. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"No, thanks. That'd
be nice," I replied. I was glad I had on sunglasses as my eyes were wide
and blinking was an effort. He had appeared out of nowhere the moment I was
thinking about him.

"Sorry to sneak up
on you, but I never got a chance to ask for your number the other night. We got
interrupted," he said.

"Interrupted?"
I asked. That was a nice way of dismissing the way Fenton appeared and claimed
me. "Oh, yes. That was business, though it ended up being a waste of time.
I'm an endorsement agent."

"Really? Wait, are
you Kya Allen? You've represented a few of my friends," he said.

I was kicking myself for
confessing my profession, so his response shocked a laugh out of me.
"Sorry, I just forget that golfers manage to be competitors and friends at
the same time. You don't see that in many other one-on-one sports."

"Especially not with
MMA fighters?"

I could tell he was
curious about my involvement with Fenton. There was a hard twinge in my body
every time I thought of him, so denouncing Fenton felt like the right thing to
do. "Mixed Martial Arts isn't really my thing. I started out by
representing tennis players, but golf is really more my game."

Jackson tipped his head
and smiled at me. "I would think you were just saying that if I had not
already heard rumors about your golfing skills. I hear you've got a good
swing."

"There's a
difference between rumors and facts," I sat up and smoothed my hair.

"I like the
confidence," he said. "How about a game, then?"

"I'm not really
dressed for the golf course."

He let his eyes wander
lower for a few seconds. "I don't mind. Actually, there's a mini-golf
course just over there. Want to show me the facts?"

Jackson McRay stood up as
the waiter returned with our drinks. He took both champagne flutes and held one
out to me. I stood up and shimmied into my sundress before accepting the drink.

"I suppose I could
have time for one quick game," I said as I scooped up my phone and checked
the time.

A message from Fenton
blinked on the screen and I felt my stomach drop. He sent it a full twenty
minutes after I had left our suite. Did it really take him that long to notice
I was gone? I thought of everything he could have done in that time and felt
sick.

"I'm sorry,"
Jackson said. "Do you have somewhere else to be?"

I opened the message from
Fenton. "Miss you. Join me?"

I ground my teeth, but
forced a smile. "No, not at all. In fact, my whole day just opened
up."

Jackson held out his arm
and I took it. What exactly did Fenton want me to join? My stomach clenched as
the image of the stripper in silver flashed through my head. Whatever he had in
mind was no good for me. I had been a fool for long enough. Now, it was time to
focus on my career, make up for the costly mistakes I made pursuing Fenton, and
get myself back on track.

Jackson McRay was just
the man to help me. We joined the line of children waiting to tee-off at the
mini golf course. I dropped my phone to the bottom of my purse and banished
Fenton from my thoughts.

It did not matter that I
could still feel his lips on my skin and the full push of him inside me. Those
memories would always bring a wave of heat, but they were in the past. He had
moved on, within minutes, and now was my chance to do the same thing.

I smiled at Jackson and
accepted the pink striped club he handed me. "I know you've got a
reputation for clearing all the hazards, but you're on my turf now."

"Let's play,"
he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kya

I
threw myself into the min golf game as if each hole would get me farther from
the disaster with Fenton. I knew I hurt, but the champagne and silly game helped.
Jackson smiled and laughed and everything was easy. He was not opposed to my
job, he even knew some of the same people, and I did not feel like every time I
brought it up I was detonating a bomb.

"So, Lawrence was
not lying about your golf ability," Jackson said.

"Well, he's the one
that taught me to putt, so I guess I owe this success to him," I said.

"Oh, so that's where
you got that funny grip from."

"What funny
grip?" I asked.

Jackson stood behind me
and slipped his arms around me. "Not that many golfers thread their
fingers together. Though, you make it work and you make it look good."

I laughed. "Mr.
McRay, you're trying to distract me. You know if I sink this last putt, I
win."

"No, I would never
do that," he said with a wink. "I was just trying to find an excuse
to get my hands on you."

I felt the warmth of his
smile reflected in my cheeks. Then, I turned to concentrate on the putt. There
was no reason I could not put the entire Fenton disaster behind me. With
Jackson, I was on sure footing. He was flirting, but everything was open and
easy.

"You won!"
Jackson said. "Now, I suppose I owe you lunch."

"No," I said.
"Lunch is on me, if you let me pitch a new vitamin supplement campaign to
you."

"I'm buying, I lost
fair and square. And I was hoping we could talk about business. Though, I gotta
be honest, I don't mind mixing business and pleasure. Can we still call it a
date?" Jackson asked.

I smiled and nodded.

"Then, it’s a date.
I'll pick you up in the lobby in an hour?"

We agreed, and he gave me
a soft kiss on the cheek before we parted. I found my way back inside and could
not come up with a good reason to avoid my suite. I thought about showering in
the hotel spa, but I could not justify spending one more cent of my boss'
money.

Everything was quiet when
I entered the luxury suite. The dishes had been cleared from our breakfast, the
pillows were no longer strewn on the floor in front of the fireplace, and the
door to Fenton's room was wide open. I glanced inside and cringed at the sight
of a bright orange dress flung over the foot of the bed. His guest was
definitely staying.

I crept into the master
bedroom and locked myself in the bathroom. Despite the pleasant distractions of
the morning, I burst into tears. I started the shower and let a few sobs
escape. It hurt too much to ignore when I was alone.
How could Fenton do that to me? He had been so tender, so entirely
mine, we had made love twice. How I had been so mistaken? How had I let myself
be so used?

The searing hot shower
washed away my tears, and I stood under the spray telling myself I was going to
be fine. I was fine. As an adult woman, I could handle having casual sex
whether or not I put too much meaning into it. It was my mistake and when I saw
Fenton, all I had to do was pretend it did not matter. It should not have
mattered, but all alone in the shower, I leaned against the wall and let it
hurt.

"Kya?" There
was a hard crash against the bathroom door. "Why is the door locked?
Kya?"

"What do you want,
Fenton?" My voice was too harsh.

"Are you okay? Where
did you disappear to? Let me in," he called.

I gripped the shower
curtain with white knuckles. "I went down to the pool to relax for a
while. Then, I got distracted with work. I've got to get ready and go to a
meeting," I said.

I listened hard, but did
not hear a response. Of course, he would not care what I was doing with the
rest of my day. I scrubbed my hair hard, buffed my body with a loofah, and
rinsed clean. I wrapped the towel around me and yanked open the door,
determined to get dressed and out of the suite as fast as possible.

"Fenton! You scared
me!" I clutched the small towel harder. "I thought you left."

"And, miss you all
hot and wet from the shower? No way," Fenton said.

I reached back into the
bathroom and carefully pulled an oversized white robe around myself. "A
little privacy, please?"

He stepped up to the
threshold of the bathroom and left me pinned between him and the door. He
tipped his head as he laser blue eyes searched mine. "What is the matter?
Something's wrong."

"Nothing," I
said. "I just have a busy day. You are not the only athlete in Vegas, you
know."

"Alright," he
agreed. He stepped back but kept his eyes riveted to me. "Did you get a
chance to meet Dana Maria before you left this morning?"

The other woman's name
was like lighting a fuse. I tried to keep myself from exploding. "Yes. I
answered the door."

He waited for me to say
more, but saw that I bit my lip. "What? You have something to say about
her?"

"What's to say,
Fenton? Really." I shook my head and tried to shut the bathroom door in
his face.

"I didn't think
you'd be so judgmental. So she's an exotic dancer, that doesn't mean she isn't
a good person," he said.

"A good person? That
has nothing to do with it. She has nothing to do with it," I said.

Fenton crossed his arms.
"Yes she does. Dana Maria matters to me. If I'm going to stay here, then
she has to be welcome, too."

I shoved him back and
slammed the bathroom door in his face. "Do whatever you like. The suite is
yours."

"What is the matter
with you, Kya?" He kicked the bathroom door. "I thought you were
different. I thought there was someone underneath that country club
shell."

"Yeah? Well, I
thought there was a gentleman under your trash talk and stubble. I guess we
were both wrong." I zipped up a white linen dress and tied the sash too
tight. My hands shook as I clasped a string of pearls around my neck, but I
refused to let that stop me. My curls were springy up wild, but all I did was
tuck a white headband into place. I had to get away from Fenton before my
temper tore me apart.

I whipped the bathroom
door open. "Some people like the way I dress," I said.

Fenton's angry blue eyes
swept down the v-neck dress to the tight white sash. Then, he lunged forward
and caught me in his arms. His kiss was hard, hungry, and relentless. "I
like the way you look, but I like what's underneath better," he growled.

His lips melded to mine
and my futile pushes turned into a hard grip on his shoulders. I was hurt and
angry and suddenly, so turned on. My entire body wanted to have him at my
mercy, to feel him shuddering inside me.

I shook my head and broke
free of his hold. "I have a lunch meeting."

"I'm late for the
gym," he said.

He stormed out of the
suite ahead of me. I rode downstairs in the elevator alone, smoothing my hair
down. Fenton's kiss had left me on fire. I was jealous that he could take it
out on punching bags and sparring partners. Instead, I had to sit at lunch and
smile politely.

"Is that a little
sunburn I see?" Jackson asked. He met me just outside the elevator and
slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.

I willed the hot blush to
dissipate and smiled up at my well-mannered date. "I'm just a little
warm."

"Well, I got us a
table inside so you can cool off in the air-conditioning." He led me into
the hotel's high-end restaurant, where a table was waiting for us.

"Thank you," I
said, sitting down as he held the chair out for me. "You didn't need to go
to any trouble."

"I love the salmon
here," he said.

"Then, how about I
let you order while I get my pitch out of the way?" I asked. "It's
always nicer to get business done before the food arrives."

"Alright, Ms. Allen,
let's hear it." He sat forward and fixed his brown eyes on mine.

"There's actually
not too much to it," I said. "Our agency represents a vitamin
supplement company and they are looking for a long-term endorsement. Your
magazine covers and publicity are just the sort of kickoff hype they were
hoping for, but whatever exposure you decide you want in the future is fine
with them. Really, all they ask is that you were a discreetly placed logo,
share a testimonial of the product, and show brand loyalty."

"Doesn't sound too
taxing." Jackson reached for my hand. "Are there any catches?"

"Just the
non-compete. All they ask is that you do not sign on with any other vitamin or
diet supplements in the future. All other product endorsements are fine, they
just want their niche secure," I said. "If you think about it, that
does not exclude you from any big money or brand name deals. It's a sound
investment, a steady agreement, and a mutually beneficial contract."

"Well said, well
pitched," he said. The waiter came over and Jackson apologized for the
interruption then ordered for us both.

While he ran through his
choices with the waiter, I tried not to fume. It was the first time I had run
through my pitch since landing in Las Vegas. It was a solid deal and saying it
out loud only made me angrier at Fenton. His stubborn need to be a lone wolf
was keeping him from a good investment and me from completing the task I had
been given. I wondered if he was doing it just to challenge me. Everything
Fenton did seemed designed to chip at my exterior and get under my skin. Was
that why he threw the stripper in my face? Was it some kind of test to see if I
was able to keep my cool? If so, I had failed miserably.

"Is that the same
pitch you gave Fenton Morris?" Jackson asked.

I blinked my eyes, scared
for a moment he had read my mind, but he had just finished with the waiter.
"No, actually, I never even pitched him. Mr. Morris is not business
inclined."

"A very diplomatic
answer and another way Mr. Morris and I are completely different." Jackson
hitched his chair closer to mine. "I appreciate a sound business deal and
I am more than happy to sign your endorsement deal."

"Excellent," I
said. "Here, let me send you the forms. That way we can get everything
done before the salads arrive."

Jackson leaned in to
watch as I sent him a series of emails and attachments. While he admired my
quick work on my phone, and the plunging v-neck of my white dress, I caught
sight of Fenton across the hotel lobby. It was impossible to miss him with Dana
Maria tight on his arm in the blaze orange dress I had seen earlier.

"Quick work and a
leisurely lunch. I like your style, Kya Allen," Jackson said.

"Thank you. And,
trust me, you can consider yourself the complete opposite of Fenton
Morris," I said.

Jackson's hand brushed
the hem of my skirt and found my bare knee. "I hope so. Because there is
no way I can play hard to get like him. I'm very upfront and honest about what
I want."

I did not move my knee
away from the tickling circles he traced. "And, what is it that you want,
Mr. McRay? As your agent, I'm here to help," I said.

"I want you on a
real date with me tonight. No business. Strictly pleasure."