Fighting for Love Read online

  “Our one condition, Mr. Carson,” Hank went on. “Is that you can’t throw the vase at your boss. You have to be close enough to hit him with it.”

  Steve dumped the flowers and water from the vase into the bar sink. He hefted the vase with one hand and smiled.

  “Anytime you're ready, Mr. Carson,” Hank said softly.

  Steve’s eyes lit up. He charged forward. If the look in his eyes was any indication, he was intent on seriously damaging Graham’s head.

  There was a flash of brown hair. A scent of something familiar. Esme’s pointed heel connected with Steve’s gut. The flat of her hand struck the side of his face. She swept Steve’s legs out from under him and easily took the vase from his hand, placing it safely on the foyer table. Her flowing clothes redraped themselves with a soft swish of fabric.

  It all happened so fast. Like the bout Graham had witnessed last night. There’d been no bright blue hair. No bright blue eyes. But that scent…

  The hem of her trousers barely covered her blue toenail polish peeking out of those impractical shoes.

  It couldn’t be E.R. Jones.

  His dick gave a happy wave of recognition. It was.

  Cursing, Steve rolled on the floor in a fetal position.

  Graham blocked the front door and extended his hand to her – the woman who’d distracted his thoughts all night and all day long. “We haven’t been formally introduced. Esme, is it?”

  “Charmed, Mr. Richmond.” E.R. Jones claimed his hand with a grip that tried to set boundaries and maybe pop a few joints while she was at it.

  “That bitch broke a rib,” Steve gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

  “We did warn you, Mr. Carson.” Hank wheeled himself toward the door, but Steve was in his path. “If you sign that contract now, Mr. Richmond, we’ll send you our findings next week.”

  Steve crawled out of Hank's way.

  “Was it Esme? Or…” Graham dropped his voice so that only she could hear. “E.R.?”

  Whoever she was, she tore her hand away and flung open the door. No longer cool. No longer detached. But she didn’t run. She held the door for her father while she held Graham’s gaze.

  “Hank, I didn’t get Esme’s card.” Which would have her direct number on it. Graham scribbled his name on the bottom of the contract. “I was impressed with the demonstration and might have need of her tonight.” Not might. Definitely. It was a big need, and he'd need her all night.

  “You want her services, you call me,” Hank said with all the pride and protectiveness of a father.

  “Expect my call later.” After he made sure Steve saw a doctor. After he called the firm he’d hired to vet E.R. Jones for an update. After he stocked up on condoms.

  ~*~

  “You should have seen her, Daisy,” Pop crowed at dinner. “It was textbook. Big ass ego hits the floor in less than five seconds.”

  It felt good to have Pop bragging about Esme’s fighting skills again. It kept her from dwelling on Graham’s promise to call. She wanted to attend a late night fight in Beverly Hills to check out another fighter. If Graham called, Pop and Daisy would make her take the “assignment.” And if she was alone with Graham –

  Yippee, her libido cheered, looking forward to hot sex.

  “Have you forgotten?” Daisy dropped her fork in her salad. “If Esme’s ass hits the floor wrong, she might end up in a wheelchair, too.”

  Esme preferred not to think of her back twinges as anything that grim. She'd had those thoughts in the first few weeks after the accident, and she’d felt paralyzed. “I respected the ten second rule,” she said in mock seriousness. The ten second rule had been the girls’ rally cry during their MMA fighting years, a way to gather one’s determination and strength by telling yourself you only had to endure ten more seconds.

  Daisy scowled. “If you thought the client needed a demonstration, you should have called me.”

  Something dark and cold knotted in Esme’s stomach. “Is that why you give me all the cream puff assignments? You think I can’t pull my weight?” Esme clenched her fork. Her own sister considered her disabled?

  “Let’s talk about something else.” Daisy stabbed at her kale. “Marmalade got stuck behind the dryer again today.”

  The cold spread into Esme’s limbs. The fork handle imprinted in her palm. Her sister thought she was as weak as Pop. That explained a lot. The last minute reassignments to low key clients, like Amanda. Daisy’s working long hours alone. “I know how to handle myself.” Her words fell from her lips like shards of ice, not that it mattered. Daisy’s guilt about the car accident had made her into the ice queen. There was only one way to prove Esme’s point – the truth of where she went every two weeks. “In fact, I – ”

  “Girls!” Pop’s outburst prevented Esme from spilling her secret. And then his cell phone rang, saving the twins from his usual lecture on family and what was important. Pop backed his chair away from the table for some measure of privacy.

  The caller was probably one of his poker buddies, but the knots in Esme’s stomach tightened. Graham had said he’d call. The thought of being with him made her pulse race and Lady Land tingle, but his knowing who E.R. Jones was made her feel as hamstrung as Daisy assumed she was.

  “Diamond.” Using her sister’s given name, Esme stared at Daisy until she looked up.

  Her sister’s eyes threatened to spill guilt-ridden tears over the dark circles of exhaustion, circles Esme had been too distracted to notice. “You know you shouldn’t call me that.”

  “Diamond and Emerald didn’t lie to each other or keep secrets.” How Esme longed for that time again. “I know my limits – ” Esme said without so much as a back twinge. “ – and I know yours. You can’t run this company alone. You’re tired. And a tired security guard makes mistakes.”

  “But it’s always been my job to keep you safe,” Daisy said softly.

  “You’re fired.” Esme reached for her sister’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “The car accident wasn’t your fault. And I’m not made of glass. I won’t break if there’s a scuffle.”

  “Me, either.” A smile crooked a corner of Daisy’s mouth. “I put an elbow in a photographer’s solar plexus today.”

  Esme could tell by Daisy's tone she’d enjoyed that. “I could plant an elbow strike in one with my eyes closed.” If only Daisy let her.

  “We should hang out tonight.” Daisy grinned. “Watch movies. Drink wine. And talk. Really talk.”

  “I’d like that,” Esme said. All except the talking part. Another month and Esme would tell Daisy everything. But if they talked tonight, she’d have to lie. And lately, the lies had been piling too high.

  “That was Graham Richmond.” Pop wheeled himself back to the table. “He wants Esme on security when he goes to a club tonight…since his sidekick is on pain meds.” Pop grinned and held up his palm for Esme’s high five.

  She obliged, albeit weakly. “Do I have to?”

  Daisy glanced from one to the other. “What’s wrong? Is Richmond an ass? An eye-sore?”

  “He’s attractive,” Pop teased. “Plus he’s a billionaire. If I swung that way, I’d go for him.”

  Esme kept silent.

  “Let’s see.” Daisy set down her fork. “Good looking guy. Billionaire. Wants to go to a club. You like to dance. And he asked for you.”

  “Don’t forget we’re billing him by the hour,” Pop said. “And the van needs a new transmission.”

  Esme pushed her plate away, continuing a recitation of don’t forgets in her head: Don’t forget Graham wanted to shut down Esme’s revenue stream. Don’t forget Graham knew things about her that no one else did. Don’t forget how good Graham could make her feel.

  Shit. She couldn’t forget anything.

  Chapter 5

  Graham exited the elevator in the hotel lobby feeling on edge. He knew who E.R. Jones was. While Steve was nursing bruised ribs and a bruised ego upstairs, Graham was meeting Esme for a night on the town. A night that was su
re to lead to pleasure.

  But as he looked around the lobby, his spirits sank. He didn’t see her. She hadn’t come.

  And then a woman stepped in front of him, one with long, straight hair that was a rich, reddish-brown, wearing an orange mini dress that clung to strong curves and showed off bare legs his hand itched to touch again. E.R./Esme had arrived.

  He couldn’t reconcile the appearance of the blue-haired, raccoon-eyed fighter from last night with the shapeless woman who’d knocked Steve on his ass. One was solid muscle and exuded power. The other was like a shaggy door mat. And now this vision of shapely elegance? She was a chameleon, able to blend into different situations. What did that say about her potential in bed?

  He felt a grin split his cheeks.

  “Change of plans. I have a prior engagement.” She squelched that grin with her statement.

  A possessiveness gripped Graham so tight he could barely speak. “Cancel it.”

  “No.” She placed a palm on his chest. “This is not happening.”

  “That’s what you said last night.” He gave her an appreciative once over that had her dropping her hand as if burned.

  “What’s this all about?” She stared up at him with stubbornly set brown eyes. “Clubbing? You’re not the clubbing type.”

  “What type am I?” He was the type hung up on chameleons, ones with curves he could hold onto. Curves only he would be touching tonight.

  “You’re the entitled, relationship for sex kind of guy.” Esme clutched the small folio with her cell phone the same way she’d clenched his hand when she shook it, like she’d be happy to crush his infatuation with her.

  He hesitated. What if her prior engagement was with a boyfriend?

  But then her gaze dipped to his action zone and he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She had too much strength of character to look at him like that if she wasn’t available for his touch.

  “Cancel your engagement,” he said gruffly. “I’m your type.”

  “God, help me if that’s true.” She dragged her gaze back to his face. “Because you’re the type who only calls a woman when you need a date. Afterward, you screw her brains out, but then have some flunky make sure she’s gone by morning.”

  It annoyed him that coming from her it sounded as if he didn’t respect women. “I have a set of rules.” Best get that out early. “I don’t lie about my feelings. This isn’t about love.” It was never about love.

  It was never about possession before either, a small voice in his head whispered.

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Tarzan.” Her gaze hardened. “Are you going to tell Hank?”

  “That you’re fighting?" At her brief nod, he realized Hank didn’t know Esme was active. That information gave him power. “I won’t tell him. But you’re going to tell me why you’re fighting and why he’d care that you were.” It wasn’t knowledge necessary to take her to his bed, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know why she needed to be a chameleon.

  “I don’t answer to you.” Despite Esme’s bravado, her eyes were etched with delicate lines of worry.

  “I don’t want to own you.” Possess for a night or two, sure. Bury himself so deep inside her he lost track of where she ended and he began, definitely. “I’d just like to know you better before we – ”

  “Not happening.” She placed a palm over his tie. Over his heart. Pressed him back a step. Toward the elevators and his bed.

  The music in the lobby was one of those jazzy soundtracks that made Graham think of good whiskey and good sex. But Esme wasn’t going to make this easy. And she was treating him as if she was in control.

  “If you don’t stop touching me,” he said, keeping his voice down so others in the crowded lobby couldn’t hear. “We’ll get to know each other carnally first. In whatever dark corner of this hotel lobby I can drag you to.” Graham waited until Esme dropped her hand to her side. Below the belt, he was a throbbing knot of need. He’d been unable to abide by his rules last night. He had to stick to them tonight, if only to prove he was in control of his wild, urgent need for her. “Let’s skip the club and have a drink. We can act like two civilized people getting to know each other.” He pointed toward the noisy, crowded bar and took a step toward it.

  Her high heels didn’t budge. “If you want to go slumming with a fighter, find another girl. I’m too busy to talk.”

  He ran a hand down her bare arm. Her skin was smooth. The flesh solid muscle. She wasn't soft. Or easy. “I’ll double your fee. Just to talk.” Everyone had a price.

  Her eyes flashed and she clutched her phone folio tighter. “All right. We’ll have a drink. But not here.”

  He was surprised she wasn’t videotaping their agreement as she had earlier. “For double your fee?”

  Esme nodded. “Half to the agency. Half to me.” She removed his hand from her arm. “And one other thing. You’ll place a bet for me on my next fight. To win.”

  “I don’t bet.” His voice came out hard enough to make his package pulse with regret. This wasn’t going to work out. Not the talking. Not the sex.

  “You don’t gamble? Is that some kind of rule? Like no one night stands?” Her smile was wry. “Then I’ll say goodnight and we’ll both cut our losses.” She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  The clean smell of her enveloped him as her long hair brushed across his chest. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed her arm and led her down the hallway toward the restrooms. “I don’t bet. Everything else is negotiable.” As soon as they were out of sight of the main lobby, he spun her into his arms and kissed her the way he’d been dreaming about kissing her since last night – body to body, mouth to mouth, no boundaries, no rules.

  Her body became pliant beneath his touch. Her hands speared into his hair.

  “I want you,” he said fiercely when he came up for air. “I want to taste every inch of your body. I want to have hard, dirty sex without worrying someone will interrupt. I want to make you groan and scream and shatter.” He pressed his erection against her belly.

  She closed her eyes, but didn’t pull away. “I don’t have time for you. For…for…this.”

  “I can replace sleep. You don’t need it as much as you need sex with me. Sleep is overrated.”

  Laughter in the lobby had her opening her eyes and inching back. “I need to go. I can’t promise you anything. Not unless you agree to place the bet.”

  ~*~

  Walking away from Graham, Esme’s blood raced through her veins like a sports car in an empty toll lane.

  Being near the man was dangerous to her plans. She wanted him to get in her pants again. But she needed to get across town to see that fight. And...and...and...

  And there was Pop and the discrepancy with the amount of money needed for his surgery and the amount of money she’d saved.

  And there was Daisy reminding her of her mortality. How much longer would her skill and her luck and her confidence hold out in the octagon?

  And there was Graham’s refusal to place the bet. Sure, that had been a shot in the dark, but once she’d named her terms, she’d been hopeful.

  “I can help you,” Graham said in his slow Texas drawl, the one that made her think of Sunday morning sex.

  She turned to find him right behind her, more swayed by the offer of help than she could let him know. She’d been saving for Pop’s surgery for five months and felt so alone.

  “I didn’t recognize that look in your eyes last night.” He brushed a lock of her hair aside, tucking it behind her ear. “But tonight, I do. It’s desperation.”

  Esme held her breath. Was she that transparent that a sexy stranger had looked deep into her soul when her family couldn't seem to?

  “Desperation makes people do stupid things,” he said.

  And here he’d been making her melt. “You had me...until you called me stupid.”

  "I didn't question your intelligence." His hand drifted to her shoulder, tracing the neckli
ne of her bodice above her breast. “I can help.”

  He couldn’t, of course. He was just a man driven by lust.

  For me, a small voice in her heart whispered. It’d been a long time since she’d let any man get close, much less one she wanted to bang bones with so very badly.

  She removed his hand.

  “How much do you need?” Although she hadn’t mentioned money, his question shouldn’t have surprised her given she’d asked him to place a bet.

  “One hundred thousand dollars,” Esme blurted.

  Graham didn’t blink an eye – in fact, both his eyes dropped judgmentally to her cleavage.

  “I’ve saved half that. And no. I’m not going to sell you my body. Not for any price.”

  “Why not?” His expression was darker than storm clouds coming in off the coast. “You sell it in the ring and on the streets as a security guard.” He tenderly traced the green bruises on her wrist. “You’d get less abuse on my mattress.”

  She’d never sold her body. Sex was something she enjoyed and gave freely when the guy and the time were right. He was neither. “You could give me the money. You’d barely miss it.”

  Graham placed his big hands on her shoulders and let them drift lower. Despite the fact that they were in the lobby, his hands didn’t continue their descent down her arms. They slid around to the curve of her breasts, moved lower to her ribs, lower still to her hips. His fingers squeezed into her flesh.

  How easy it would be to melt into a puddle at his feet and shout, “Take me!”

  “Much as it pains me to say it…” Graham made small circles on her hips with his fingers. “No.”

  He’d just examined her like a heifer he was considering purchasing and found her wanting? She shoved him back.

  “We’d enjoy each other in bed.” He gave her that slow as Texas grin, the devil in his dark eyes. “And other places.”

  She knew it was true. Her body hummed with the truth of it. “That doesn’t change the fact that I need the money in a month.” That left her time for one more fight. Winner had to take all.