Simon Says (28 page)

Laughing, Barber handed her back the phone. “He wants to talk to you again.”

“Right.” Dakota put the phone to her ear. “I hope you have a good long-distance phone plan!”

“I'll call again later tonight. And in the morning before my show.”

“You don't need to do that.”

“I do if I want to hear your voice.”

“Then…okay. I'll keep my cell nearby.”

“Dakota?”

“Yeah?”

“Tonight, after you get rid of Barber, think of me. And only me.” Simon hung up, and Dakota put the phone away.

Eyeing her, Barber asked, “Any reason for that earsplitting grin?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. Simon says I should think of him tonight.”

“Like there was any doubt?” He uncovered her food. “You understand that if you don't tell Simon everything, and I mean everything, then Barnaby or Marvin probably will, right?”

“It looks that way.”

“Perfect. Now that we have that settled, don't you think you should eat?”

She didn't argue the point. Simon did need to know it all. And then he'd understand that being honest with him meant more to her than possible letters from her mother. Surely he'd forgive her for her earlier omissions. “You know, I'm suddenly starving.”

“That's the Dakota I know and love.”

She'd heard that “L” word more tonight than in all the years since she'd left home. It was growing on her. She liked it.

She'd like it even more coming from Simon. But that could wait. He had a title belt to win back, and she had a past to put to rest. After that, they'd have plenty of time to work out the kinks in their growing relationship.

T
HE
spot on the talk show went great, and as Simon left the studio, he continued to grin. Who knew the hosts, camera crew, and everyone else on the set were such rabid fans? Things had veered off course, but in a fun way, and he felt it was a better show for it. The relaxed conversation, the honesty of the questions, and the opportunity to give detailed answers would prove great promo for the SBC.

He couldn't wait to hear what Dakota thought of the show.

Because it was taped, he should be home in time to watch it with her. First he'd kiss her silly, then maybe take her to the hot tub to play a little more, and then…Simon didn't want to rush her, but he hoped she'd be ready for lovemaking.

He was more than ready. He couldn't even think of her without his muscles tensing and his dick twitching, yet he thought of her at every quiet moment. Hell, sometimes she crowded his brain when it wasn't quiet. In the middle of his interview today, he'd started wondering if she was at the gym, if she was grappling with Barber, if she was enjoying herself.

He needed her.

Soon.

The dry Vegas heat blasted Simon in a smothering tide as he stepped out of the building. Slipping on reflective sunglasses, he glanced around the lot, looking for the car that'd take him back to his hotel.

His gaze skimmed over a lone man leaning against a black sedan. Then shot back.

Shielded by his sunglasses, he studied the man. He stood two inches taller than Simon and had a bulkier build, especially through the shoulders, neck, and chest. Thanks to the heat, sweat had darkened his shaggy blond hair. He wore his own sunglasses, hiding his eyes, but Simon knew they were dark, piercing blue—something often mentioned by the commentators during a stare-down at the start of a fight.

Harley Handleman.

No doubt about it, he was waiting on Simon. The man had nerve. Or he lacked common sense. Simon wasn't sure which.

Turning his back on Harley, Simon located his ride and started in that direction.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Harley called out, “Sublime.”

Simon said nothing. As he'd told Bonnie, what this man had done with her meant nothing to him now. But he wouldn't have it thrown in his face.

“I know you heard me, Evans.”

Simon stopped, glanced over his shoulder. “Then you know I'm ignoring you.”

“I only need a second.”

He snorted. “You need more than that.”

Harley stopped a good distance away and put his hands on his hips. Heat waves undulated off the blacktop between them. A bead of sweat slithered down his temple. “I just want to talk, that's all. I'll save the brawl for the cage.”

Simon smiled and said, “Go to hell.”

“It's important, damn it.”

What a laugh. “Are you a fucking idiot? No, don't answer. That was a redundant question. Of course you are, or you wouldn't be here.”

Harley went taut. His iron jaw jutted out. “I already know you don't care about me sleeping with Bonnie. I heard that from some of the other fighters.”

“They should have also told you that it'd be best to stay out of my way.”

“I'm not afraid of you, Sublime, if that's what you're thinking.”

Simon shook his head and started walking toward his ride. If he stayed, he'd definitely put his fist through Harley's mouth, and truthfully, he didn't want to do that. As Harley said, he wanted to save it for the cage.

“She came on to me, Sublime,” Harley called after him, uncaring of any passersby who might overhear. “I didn't know she'd taken pictures.”

Yeah, right. How the hell could a man not know?

As if he'd heard Simon's thoughts, Harley said, “I was a little distracted with other things at the time. She must've set the camera on a timer or something.” Disgust filled his tone when he added, “Do you really think I want naked photos of myself floating around?”

Simon's neck stiffened. That explained one thing, but he still couldn't believe Harley had come here to talk about his bedroom activities with Bonnie.

Harley strode after him. “I didn't know she was your woman, Sublime.” Then louder, “I met her in a damn bar, for God's sake!”

Simon flagged a one-finger salute and finally reached the car. The driver, a young man fascinated by the exchange, looked from Simon to beyond him at Harley. His eyes widened.

Harley now stood right behind him. “This isn't about Bonnie, you stubborn ass.”

Grinding his teeth together, Simon paused, but he knew he wouldn't get rid of Harley by ignoring him. He slewed his head around to glare. “I'm. Not. Interested.”

“Fine. Fuck it.” Harley jerked off his sunglasses, showing Simon those eerie blue eyes of his. “Have it your way, then. But it's about Dakota.”

It was strange, Simon thought a few seconds later, how one short sentence could change everything.

He went from being annoyed and insulted into a full-blown red-hot rage.

As Simon came after Harley, Harley back-stepped, but he caught himself and stopped to brace for Simon's attack. “God damn it, man, if you hit me I
will
hit you back and then I won't be able to help you or her.”

The words didn't register. Barely restraining himself, Simon spoke mere inches from Harley's face. “Understand this, Harley. Bonnie was one thing. Dakota is another. If you touch her, I'll take you apart.”

“I don't want to touch her,” Harley said, exasperated. “If you would listen, you'd know that I want to help. That's all.”

“I don't need your help.”

“Hear me out, and then make that decision.”

Simon clenched and unclenched and finally relented. “You've got five seconds.”

Harley accepted the opportunity. “A reporter approached me about Bonnie, insinuating that our fight was a grudge match.”

Simon eased back an inch. “Shit.” It needed only this.

“I told him to get lost, so he asked me how Dakota was involved. I had never heard of her, so I walked away from the guy. He's dogged me ever since, and I think it's going to blow.”

Surly and needing to take it out on Harley, Simon said, “Good press for you, huh?”

“You've got it wrong, Sublime. I want the fight, but I want it as fair and straightforward as it can be. Me and you, matching up in the cage. Period. I don't want it to be about anything other than the sport.”

“If that's so, then how did the reporter even know about Dakota?”

“I have no idea. Until he said her name to me, I hadn't heard of her. In fact, when he first mentioned her, I thought he meant the state, like maybe he thought one of us was taking a damn trip or something.” Harley's mouth twisted. “He was real quick in explaining things to me.”

Simon didn't want to admit it, and he definitely didn't like it, but he believed Harley. He had no reason not to. He didn't know that much about the man, but what he did know gave him no reason to think he'd lie, or use underhanded tactics to garner press.

“Fine. You told me. Now I need to go.”

Harley grabbed his arm. “Not yet.”

Slowly, Simon met his gaze. He wanted Harley to know how he'd erred by touching him.

And the second Harley looked at Simon, he more than understood. Lifting his hands away, he asked, “Did you know that my uncle Satch is my manager?”

“It's common knowledge. I know he's obsessed with you winning a belt, too.” Harley hadn't had an easy time in the organization. He often came close to taking a title, but three times now, something had happened to knock him off course.

“When I told Uncle Satch about the reporter, he did some digging. And here's where I can help you if you'll stop trying to find a reason to slug me.”

Simon's shirt stuck to his chest and back. The reflection off the blacktop nearly blinded him. “Get on with it.”

Harley drew a deep breath. “The reporter told my uncle that he got Dakota's name from an anonymous man who contacted him with what he called the ‘whole sordid scandal.' The reporter said he confirmed that you're seeing her.”

“How'd he do that?”

Harley gave him a look. “Jesus, man, you can ask just about anyone in the sport and they know. I take it she hangs out at Havoc's gym? And that she's a looker?” He lifted one solid shoulder. “Guys talk. You know that.”

Yeah, he did know it. No way could Dakota Dream infiltrate an all-male domain without causing a stir.

“Now this damned reporter wants to paint Dakota as a rebound fill-in for Bonnie, and as a bone of contention between us.”

Simon burned. No way in hell would he let the press sabotage Dakota. He'd talk to Drew. He'd—

“But I wouldn't have come to you just over that.”

There was more? “I'm roasting out here, Harley. Do you think you can get to the point sometime today?”

Harley chewed his upper lip, looked around the lot, and hedged uncomfortably. “Like I said, my uncle leaves no stone unturned. He used to be military, and after that, he worked as a bodyguard until I took up fighting. He's a mean cuss with contacts everywhere.”

“Skip the family history.”

After one sharp nod, Harley said, “My uncle is convinced that the man who called the reporter is going to cause more trouble.”

Thoughts churning furiously, Simon narrowed his eyes. “And he thinks this because…?”

“He found out that Dakota just took a spill down some stairs at a local club back where you're training. Is that true?”

Simon hid his surprise. Very few people knew of that, and he couldn't see any of them spreading rumors. Old Uncle Satch really did have his sources. “What of it?”

Using his wrist to wipe the sweat from his brow, Harley huffed out a breath and then propped his hands back on his hips. “Maybe my uncle is paranoid, and maybe he sees conspiracies where none exist. I don't know. But he made me promise I'd tell you, so that's what I'm doing.”

Simon began to feel ill.

“You might already be aware of this, but Dakota's mother died a while back.”

“I know.”

Harley nodded. Eyes squinted from the bright sun, he explained, “Ultimately, it was an infection that killed her. But did you know that it was a fall down some stairs that injured her so bad in the first place?”

A sick foreboding kicked Simon in the gut. He stood there for several moments, taking it in, working it through his brain.

Appreciating his expression, Harley nodded. “Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?”

Simon glanced at his watch, then at Harley. “Got some free time?”

“Nothing until this evening, then I'm running again.”

“Hang on.” Simon walked back to the driver. He tipped him generously, thanked him, and dismissed him. As the driver left the lot, Simon turned and walked past Harley toward his car. “Come on. You can give me a ride to my motel, then to my next appointment. It'll give us a chance to talk.”

Harley jogged to catch up. “So you think it's important? My uncle was right about that?”

“Yeah. He was right.” A thousand questions demanded answers. And most of them would start and stop with Dakota. “Let's go. I'm running late.”

S
IMON'S
trip got extended again and again. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of him while he was in Vegas. After four days away, Dakota was missing him so much that she couldn't stop thinking of him. He called at least once a day, which gave him the opportunity to do a lot of the “talking” that he'd requested.

Starting on the second day of his trip, every sports channel shared quick footage of him. His fame and the attention he got amazed Dakota. Not that long ago, outraged senators who didn't understand the sport had tried to have SBC events banned in their states. Now, most considered it the fastest-growing sport around. It had long since overtaken boxing in popularity.

Simon took the attention in stride, and lamented his delay in returning to town.

Sounding almost bored, he mentioned over the phone that a hit sitcom had invited him to play a bit role. On top of that, he'd turned down offers to commentate select sporting events and even a few other interviews. According to Simon, he'd refused because the timing was wrong and would have interfered with his training.

Dakota hoped that was true, that he wasn't turning down awesome offers just out of worry for her.

While hitting a heavy bag at Dean's gym, Dakota listened to Mallet and Billy speaking of Simon. They liked and respected him, but more than that, they believed in his ability to win. Though Harley Handleman was considered the top contender and a very dangerous man, most would still put their money on Simon.

She was deep into a series of kicks against the bag when Barber came up behind her. “That's enough for now. Let's practice some moves.”