Below the Belt (2 page)

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 has-been 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.

J
AMIE’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.

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.

He made a rude noise. “I’m sixty-seven years old with a brain that’s been pounded around more boxing rings than you’ve had hot dinners. You need better than an old slugger, Jimmy.”

Before she could respond, they heard the roar of the crowd from out in the auditorium and the sound of the bell ringing.

“Okay. That’s me,” she said. “I’m up.”

Suddenly she felt dizzy and out of breath. Careful not to show it too much, she took a handful of deep breaths.

She was going to get hurt out there today. She knew what that felt like—she’d trained in Tae Kwon Do for nearly ten years and had plenty of boxing sparring rounds more recently; she knew what it was to take a hit. But this was the first time she was going to be facing someone who wanted to mow her down, knock her out, annihilate her.

She was still trying to get her head straight when her grandfather pulled her around to face him. He held her by both gloves and looked her steadily in the eye. She stared into his watery blue gaze, forcing herself to focus, to be hard, to think of only one thing: winning.

“Okay,” he said with a sharp nod after a few long seconds. “You’ll do. Go take her apart.”

The towel still on her shoulders, Jamie followed him out of the change room.

C
OOPER SAT BACK
in his seat and checked the messages on his cell. Around him, the sound of the crowd filled the auditorium. It was a full house, and the atmosphere was charged with energy.

Despite himself, he could feel his heart starting to hammer against his chest. He’d probably never be able to be around boxing and not have the same visceral, instinctive reaction. He was a fighter. Even if he never stood in the ring again, he would always be a fighter, and the roar of the crowd would always lift him and fire him as it did now.

A journalist he knew walked past. Cooper shifted in his seat, made a show of checking the fight bill. He’d been fielding back pats since he arrived, and he’d just spent a solid ten minutes signing autographs. He might only be the former heavyweight champion of the world, but everyone still wanted to bask in his glow. He wondered how many months it would take before people failed to recognize him. Not long, was his guess. There would be a new contender soon, someone else the public and the media would fall in love with.

It couldn’t happen soon enough for him; the mass attention wasn’t a part of the sport that he’d miss very much. He’d never quite come to terms with the loss of privacy that came hand-in-hand with fame.

He saw from the fight bill that there were still another two ‘exhibition’ bouts to be endured before the real action began and the young fighter he was here to scout was scheduled to fight. As was becoming more and more usual, the exhibition matches were both women’s bouts, part of the sport’s attempts to lift the profile of women’s boxing and build a following.

He considered going outside to grab a drink or make a phone call, tossing up the relative risks of being hit up for more autographs against the boredom of watching fights he wasn’t interested in.

Then he saw her.

She made her way toward the ring with the inward-focus common to all fighters before a bout. She had a large white towel draped over her shoulders, but her long, strong legs were bare beneath the loose satin of her red-and-white trunks.

Jamie. Realizing he had no idea what her last name was, he scanned the fight bill. His finger found the names: Jamie Holloway vs. Maree Jovavich.

Jamie Holloway. Right.

He studied the old man walking in front of her. Was this her trainer? Surely not. But even from a distance he could see the old guy was a former bruiser—there was no hiding the damage years in the ring did to brow, ears and nose. Where the hell had she dug him up from?

He switched his attention back to her, leaning forward as she climbed into the ring. She flipped the towel off her shoulders. Man, she was in good shape. The ring lights caught the ripples of her belly muscles. The defined, firm muscles of her thighs glistened with oil. She wore a chest guard, but beneath the bulk of it he could discern the swell of her breasts, full and generous. Her arms were strong-looking but not too bulky—she was good poster-girl material for the boxing association, a contender who still looked like a woman. The crowd was going to love her if she could actually fight.

She wore her dark hair braided tightly back against her skull in small plaits to keep it out of the way. Her face was shiny where her trainer had greased her brow and cheekbones with Vaseline to help deflect blows. Her gaze was hard and flat as she waited.

He sat back in his chair. She’d been serious about fighting, then, that day at Ray’s. He crossed his arms over his chest and wondered if her talent matched her attitude.

Her opponent, Maree Jovavich, climbed into the ring. Shorter, broader, bigger, she looked like she wasn’t going anywhere fast, no matter how nicely anyone asked. He bet himself she had a hard head, too, the way she scanned the ring, marking out her territory.

He felt a stirring of interest despite himself. This might actually be a good match.

He watched Jamie Holloway as the MC announced the fighters and ran through their stats. Jovavich had ten wins under her belt to one loss. Jamie was untried, but she had two inches on the other woman in height and at twenty-seven was two years younger.

The whole time the MC went through his spiel, Jamie didn’t take her eyes off her opponent, letting the other woman know she planned to wipe the floor with her. Cooper grinned, giving her full points for style. Psyching the other guy out was an important part of the game.

As the MC exited the ring, the referee called both fighters to the center of the canvas. He’d be saying the same thing referees always said, about wanting a good, clean fight, and how he was going to signal when he wanted them to break or stop fighting. Both women nodded. The referee waited for them to tap gloves and move back to their corners. Then he signaled that the round was ready to begin.

The bell echoed around the stadium. The crowd yelled as the two women zeroed in on each other like heat-seeking missiles.

Jamie wasn’t shy—she took the fight straight to her opponent with a jab, followed by a left cross before dancing away from the other woman’s fists. They were both good, powerful hits, and he could see Jovavich reassess Jamie as she shook off the blows and circled in again.

A flurry of punches followed, with both women landing good hits. But Cooper frowned as he began to register a worrying trend in Jamie’s form as the round progressed.

The longer a fight went, the less a fighter thought and the more she fell back on instinct and habit—he knew, because he’d been there a million times. And it soon became clear that Jamie had some bad habits. For some inexplicable reason, she kept hesitating when the other woman was open, and her footwork was off. Instead of maintaining her stance and shuffling in and out, always moving, always weaving, she seemed to forget herself and lift her feet, almost as though she was going to kick the other woman or lunge toward her. The first time he saw it, he frowned. The fifth time, he swore under his breath.

“What are you doing, man?” he muttered as Jamie took hit after hit, the price for those hesitations and that poor footwork.

He could see the writing on the wall by the end of the first round, but he had to sit through all five of them and watch Jamie get pummeled around the ring before it was over. She took every hit and came back for more, even though it was clear to everyone that there was no way she was going to win unless she scored a lucky shot and knocked the other woman out.

By the time he was shaking his head in grudging admiration of her sheer pigheadedness, the final bell rang and Jovavich was declared the unanimous winner on points.

Cooper watched Jamie’s old trainer tend to her in her corner, taking her mouthpiece, mopping at her face, checking her for cuts and bruises. He was saying something to her, but she was shaking her head vigorously, her gloved fists thumping down onto her thighs as she emphasized her point. Finally, the old man gave up and simply held the ropes open so she could exit the ring.

The crowd was still cheering Jovavich as Jamie made her way to the change rooms. She didn’t slouch or slink away from her defeat. She held her head high, staring out into the crowd as she passed, daring them to pass judgment on her loss.

He couldn’t look away, even if he’d wanted to.

Then their eyes met across the sea of people, and he saw her burning defiance and determination.

She’d be back. Even as part of him admired her chutzpah, the fighter in him regretted the lessons she was going to have to learn the hard way until she broke her bad habits—or they broke her.

Not your problem, man,
he told himself.
She’s nothing to you.

He watched her all the way to the change room.

W
HY DID
he
have to be there
? Jamie slammed an uppercut into the long bag two days later. She punched again, throwing all her weight behind it.

Better yet, why did I have to notice that he was there?
She kneed the bag, then followed up with a roundhouse kick that sent it rocking on its heavy chain.

Of all the people she could have locked gazes with in that huge auditorium, it had to be Cooper Fitzgerald. What were the odds? Too high for her to calculate. And yet she’d stared straight into his deep blue eyes as she walked away from the first defeat of her professional boxing career.

“Remind me to never let you get near me with one of those kicks,” Ray said.

He was working the speedball behind her in his lavishly equipped home gym, the rhythmic thudding of his punches a constant in the background.

Her years of Tae Kwon Do had given her the leg strength, speed and accuracy to ensure that her kicks were a force to be reckoned with. She’d been club champion for six years and state champion for two before she’d dropped out to start training for the boxing ring six months ago, following her grandfather’s heart attack. She thought wistfully of the days when she was at the top of the food chain in her chosen sport, rather than the bottom. From where she was sitting right now, they seemed a long way off.

“Let’s take a break,” Ray said, hitting the speedball one last time. “You need to give yourself some recovery time after that fight.”

Jamie kept her focus on the bag, slamming another combination into it—cross, jab, cross, hook, cross, jab. She was sweating bullets and her face ached from the bruises she’d scored in her fight but she wasn’t even close to being ready to stop.

“Not yet,” she panted.

Ray shook his head.

“You are the most stubborn person I know,” he said.

It was the same thing her grandfather had said to her after the fight. He’d been upset by her loss, angry that she’d ignored his advice and gone into the ring before he thought she was prepared. But she couldn’t back down. She was doing this for him, to reclaim his reputation.

Since it wasn’t too hot a day yet, they’d pushed the folding doors that formed one wall of the gym all the way open, and Ray sauntered straight out to where a sun lounger waited beside the pool. She watched him stretch out, momentarily toying with the idea of joining him and taking a break. But she had more work to do.

She hit the bag with another round of punches then, just for fun, some kicks. There was nothing like the buzz she got from the power of a great roundhouse kick slamming into the bag.

She wiped sweat from her brow and caught her breath. Turning, she leaned her back against the heavy long bag and opened her mouth to start giving Ray shit for having less stamina than a girl. And promptly shut it again when she registered who was standing beside the pool talking to him.

Cooper Fitzgerald.

Just like last time, she felt instantly at a disadvantage as she took in his designer denim jeans and crisp white linen shirt. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and his hair looked as though it had been cut by one of those fancy hairstylists to the stars. He looked like a million bucks, while she was covered in sweat and bruises.