Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (16 page)

Nothing. That was the problem.
“It’s fine. I’m ... edgy.”

“Ghosts can do that to you.”

“What ghosts?”

“Spike. It’s never fun when your
past slams you against the wall and tries to kill you.”

“Forget about it. I’m not that guy
anymore.”

Which was the truth. He’d been
undercover as a drug-dealing scumbag. Now he was a stripping scumbag. Big
difference.

“So, who are you then?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’m a guy trying to
do a job.”

“Right, and I’m a virgin nurse.”
She crossed her arms on her chest and leaned against the wall.

“What does it matter?” he said.

“We’re going to be partners. There
needs to be a certain amount of trust here. You’ve lied to me about everything
from the first day we met—about your sister, your mother, your history with
Spike. Can you tell me one thing that isn’t a lie?”

“I need this job. I need to do it
well.”

She studied him. Hell, did she
read his real meaning, that he needed to nail her for drug distribution so he
could move up the chain at the DEA?

“You swear that’s the truth?” she
said.

“I swear.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He sighed. “Ask me anything and
I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Okay, your favorite birthday
present.”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“Because it’s more intimate than,
‘I need to do a good job,’ ” she mimicked.

He suddenly wondered if this
chatter was only meant to keep her anxiety at bay. She wasn’t an exhibitionist
by nature. Was she nervous about going onstage?

“My favorite birthday present?” he
repeated.

She smiled, an expectant look on
her face. He’d have to come up with something better than the six-inch knife
Chauncy gave him for his twenty-fifth birthday. Think, damn it. Think back.

“An army GI Joe,” he said.

“Who gave it to you?”

“My ... father.” He stretched one
arm out, then the other. He hadn’t used the “F” word in nearly fifteen years.
The last time he’d used it was when he’d accused Mom’s jerk boyfriend of not
being his father.

He glanced down the hall, not
wanting to make eye contact with Sandy. She had the uncanny ability of being
able to read his emotions, maybe even his thoughts. He couldn’t risk that,
especially now.

He shook out his arms and rolled
his neck. Pro wrestling might be a fake sport, but the potential dangers
weren’t. You had to be loose, on your guard and ready for anything — kind of
like working undercover.

He felt Sandy touch his arm and he
glanced into her emerald green eyes.

“Do you still have it?” she asked.

“What?”

“The GI Joe?”

“Nope.”

“Seven ... six...” the security
guard counted. A few more seconds and the interrogation would be over. He’d be
safe in the ring.

“But it was your favorite,” she
pushed.

He wished she’d stop asking
questions, stop poking and prodding and—

“What happened to it?” she asked.

“I put it in the trash compactor,
okay?” He felt raw, like a layer of skin had been ripped from his body.

“Four ... three ...” the guard
said.

“Why did you destroy your favorite
present?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to forget him as
easily as he forgot us.” Damn it, how did he let that slip?

“You’re on!” The security guard yanked
back the curtain.

Jason froze, panic flooding his
veins. But was it from the rush of the crowd’s cheers, or from the sudden exposure
of his soul?

 “Jack the Stripper and his Virgin
Nurse!” the announcer called over the PA system.

Arm looped through The Stripper’s,
Sandy bit back her shock and attempted to saunter down the ramp in virgin-like
style.

Jason had destroyed his favorite
gift because his father had forgotten about his family? Talk about baggage.

She smiled and waved at the crowd,
trying to focus on tonight’s performance, not on the man she clung to.

Forgotten, as in abandoned? No
wonder he didn’t trust anyone.

So far, most of the things he’d
told her had been based on lies. He lied about his family, his past, and
probably why he came to BAM in the first place. Yet she read truth in his eyes
when he said he needed this job and needed to do it well.

She sensed there was more at stake
than money. He was trying to prove something to someone, maybe to make up for
past mistakes like being involved with drugs? Everyone made mistakes,
especially if you didn’t have a good role model to lead you through the tough
years of adolescence. Jason must have felt so lost without a father.

Let it go.
Her job wasn’t
to fix this guy no matter how much pain she read in his eyes.

The lyrics of “Virgin Princess”
blared from the loudspeakers, reminding her she strode alongside The Stripper
because she was his Virgin Nurse.

That shocked her back to the
present. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. This wasn’t the time to
think about saving another wounded wrestler. Hadn’t she learned her lesson from
Cody’s cruel betrayal? He, too, had been in need of tender loving care,
emotional as well as physical. She’d been there, tended his injuries and
listened to his secrets. In the end, it meant nothing. He’d been playing her
all along, like a well-tuned harpsichord. After that disaster she swore never
to let a man get that close again.

The Stripper took her hand,
planted a chaste kiss on it and started up the steps to the ring. Drawn to the
fire once again, Sandy thought, watching his muscular ass stretch his polyester
pants. But it wasn’t only his body that fascinated her. It was the festering
wounds he’d buried deep inside. Pain. Disappointment. Maybe even a broken
heart.

Forget about it!

But how could she? The need to
heal drove her into this business and kept her here for ten years, watching the
pathetic lives of these men, some who didn’t live to see forty, and others who ended
up in a wheelchair at sixty thanks to arthritis and the residual effects of
steroid abuse.

Steroids. She hated what they did
to the guys, the false hope they promised for success and money.

The Stripper tossed his jacket
over the rope and Sandy caught it one-handed. He swung his hips, ran his hands
down his chest and ripped open his shirt. The female fans shrieked with joy.

Something was different tonight.
The Stripper didn’t seem as uninhibited as he was last week. One problem might
be his unplanned confession just now. It wasn’t easy admitting that your father
abandoned you, then turn around and strut into a stadium full of people
flaunting your sexual magnetism.

He slipped his shirt off, one
sleeve at a time, and tossed it in her direction. He still wore the gold medal
of St. Michael, the same one that got caught on his shirt the other night. She
wondered why he didn’t leave it back it the locker room.

Another hip jiggle, hands on his
pants and—rip! The pants were gone, revealing a tight pair of trunks. Whoa,
that was new.

Keeping in character, she
swallowed hard, acting as if she was amazed by his package. He tossed the pants
over the ropes and they landed on her head. She slid them off slowly, her eyes
widening as she admired his crotch.

“What, you want a closer look
Sweetheart?” he taunted.

She glanced at the audience,
seeking their opinion.

They cheered. Okay, fine. Pops always
said to “give them what they want.”

She draped his clothes over the
guardrail and climbed the steps. She slipped between the ropes into the arms of
the waiting Stripper. He held her close. Her hands roamed his back, his buns,
and she gave him a pinch. The crowd laughed. Her fingers traced up his back to
his shoulders. She noticed a few rough spots on his right shoulder, jagged like
the skin had been torn. Then there were those other scars, the bullet wounds
she’d felt the first day she’d worked on him.

Leaning close, he whispered, “You
having fun?”

“Don’t you wish.” She gave his
pecs one last squeeze and licked his nipple. The crowd roared. Jason’s eyes
turned a darker shade of blue.

“Watch it, cupcake,” he said.

She shrugged and climbed down the
stairs, waiting for the match to begin. She still refused to prance.

Dr. Killroy’s music queued up.

Never thought I’d find myself
here
. But then, this was about keeping her brother safe from his own
stupidity, not about healing the cocky but scarred Stripper.

Dr. Killroy marched down the ramp
and grabbed a mic from a roadie. “You stole my nurse, Stripper!”

The Stripper smiled and crossed
his arms over his broad chest.

Killroy continued his rant.
“You’re not good enough for her. Not now, not ever. She’s a quality female.
I’ve been planning our affair for five years.” The Doctor sauntered over and
slid his arm around Sandy’s shoulder. She glared at him. Rick Killroy wasn’t a
bad guy, but his cigarette breath was enough to make a woman pass out.

“Tell me you missed me, baby,” he
crooned.

She turned her head away, hoping
to inhale a quick gasp of fresh air.

“Tell me you got a cherry for me
in one of your lab coat pockets.”

With two hands, she pushed at his
chest, hoping to put enough distance between their faces so she wouldn’t puke
on his pristine white coat.

“Let me look for it, will ya’
baby?” He grabbed her arm.

The Stripper flew over the top
rope and clobbered Dr. Killroy, who fought to keep a hand on Sandy. The three
of them scuffled, she elbowed the doctor in the ribs and stumbled to the
announcer’s table.

Adam Mat, lead announcer, opened a
folding chair and invited Sandy to sit next to him. Might as well watch the
match from a safe spot.

The two wrestlers rolled and
punched. The Doctor tossed a clipboard at The Stripper, nailing him in the
shoulder. Sandy sat straight, but she didn’t see any blood.

She suddenly realized she had no
idea where this match was going. She assumed they worked out the details while
Mable was fitting her costume. All Cosmo needed Sandy to do was look sexy and
prance.

She’d put that off long enough.
She stood, straightened her lab coat and pranced to her corner. The wrestlers
stopped in mid-punch and stared at her, their mouths open. Was she that bad of
a prancer?

Whistles from the men in the
audience indicated otherwise. She must be doing okay.

“What?” she said to the two of
them.

They continued to stare. Then
Jason nodded at her shirt.

Cripes! In the scuffle, Dr.
Killroy must have ripped off a few of her buttons. She was naked down the middle,
though wasn’t completely exposing her breasts, thank God. She clenched the
shirt closed with both hands.

She’d known this was a mistake—all
her brother’s fault. The next time she saw him she was going to … to what? She
still owed him. She should have saved him from being stuck in a wheelchair.

Out of the corner of her eye she
watched a two-by-four swing… and hit The Stripper across the back of the head.

“No!” she cried as he went down.

Then she realized his attacker was
none other than her brother.

“Duke!” She ran up to him. “What
are you doing?”

Clenching his head with his hands,
Jason got up, stumbled and collapsed on the mat.

“I meant to nail you, Dr.
Killroy,” Duke said into the microphone. “You’re the reason I’m in this
wheelchair.”

The crowd roared. Sandy felt sick.
They were using his disability as a story angle?

Jason stood again, wavered and
ambled back to the ring, his hand gripping his head. Okay, okay, this was all a
good show. He wasn’t really hurt. Duke knew what he was doing.

“Well, I appreciate your help,
young man,” Killroy said into a mic. “It makes my job that much easier.”

Someone threw him a doctor’s bag
and Killroy climbed into the ring, dropped the bag beside The Stripper and
pulled out a syringe. She shuddered even though she knew he wouldn’t really use
it.

Duke gripped Sandy’s arm. “What’s
he doing? That wasn’t in the script!”

No, this couldn’t be happening.
Killroy hadn’t really gone mad and wasn’t really going to inject Jason with ...
with what?

“I’m doing this for you, Nurse
Virgin,” Killroy said into the microphone. “This serum will make him tell the
truth. He doesn’t love you and he thinks you’re a spoiled ice princess. I’m the
only one who truly loves you.”

Clutching her shirt in front,
Sandy raced up the steps and launched into the ring.

Killroy’s hand came down on
Jason’s shoulder before she could get to him.

“What have you done?” she
demanded, shouldering Killroy out of the way. The syringe flew out of his hand
and made a perfect arc, landing dead center on the announcer’s table.

She shoved at Killroy. “What was
in there?”

Jason moaned and pushed up on all
fours, then stood, leaning against the ropes. “What the hell?” he muttered.

“How do you feel?” she asked,
looking into his eyes. “Are you dizzy? Someone toss me my bag,” she ordered a
roadie.

Jason pulled her against his chest
and leaned close. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

“It is not!” She pushed away.
“What did he do to you?”

Killroy whipped the mic in Jason’s
face. “Tell her what you really think about her.”

She shoved at him. “Get away!”

“You need to hear this,” Dr.
Killroy pressed. “You need to know the truth.”

“What did you give him?” she
cried, her voice vibrating with anger. Were they all insane? What if Jason was
allergic to whatever Killroy injected him with?

Killroy slapped Jason across the
chest with the back of his hand. “Tell her!”

The crowd hushed. Sandy seethed.