My lips still tingled from Connor’s kiss, and my mind reeled from the fact that everything Marta had cooked up had been a ruse.

Lord, what would have happened if Connor hadn’t found out?

I tried to ignore the guilt wobbling around inside my gut over the fact that I’d just left him. But, I’d grown up without a daddy after mine died. I didn’t want to be the one that caused that to happen for Alfonso. But beneath that guilt was joy: joy that Connor wanted me, needed me, loved me. And surprise that he’d almost given up the biggest fight of his career to find me.

Was I worthy of that sort of sacrifice?

My thoughts were waylaid by the brutal punch El Toro hammered into Connor. I lurched towards the edge of the ring, only to be held back by a bunch of hired guards.

“Get up, Connor,” I whispered, and I wasn’t the only one holding their breath as my Irish brawler laid unmoving on the mat.

Toro bounced in place beside Connor, his beady brown eyes focused on his opponent.

“Connor…”

His leg twitched, and I exhaled as he planted a fist in the mat and pushed up. Blood streamed from where his mouth guard dug into his gums. The smile he flashed towards the crowd was gruesome, yet entirely confidant.

I shook my head.

Toro didn’t know what was coming for him as Connor bolted up and spun around in a blindingly-fast boxer shuffle. His wrapped knuckles pummeled the Chilean fighter straight in the face. I winced at the sound of bone-on-bone; the crunch of what had to be cartilage cracking.

Toro’s head rocked backward, and blood gushed from what must be a broken nose.

Connor bounced back, bobbing and weaving in the Polynesian style of fighting that made it look as if he were dancing. He kept at it, striking and jabbing, before crouching down and slapping his hands into the mat before swinging his leg out in a wicked kick. The goal, I knew, was to wear down Toro.

When Toro staggered Connor tossed his head. The lights caught the shine of sweat being flung off his brow as he mugged for the camera, though his eyes searched the perimeter around the ring until they found me.

I knew then and there, with that big cocky grin in place, that he was going to win. Connor could have finished El Toro off at any minute, but he was drawing it out to give his viewers a show.

As the fight wore on, Toro began losing steam. Even I could tell. His kicks and punches lacked power, and he was staggering on his feet. My eyes were glued to Connor as his muscles bunched, and he struck forward as fast as a cobra. I’d watched him practice this exact move over the past two months, and I gasped as he spun around, almost launching himself into the air, before planting a solid kick straight into Toro’s solar plexus.

Toro’s gasp was heard around the world as he flew backward, and landed in a senseless heap on the ground.

Clasping my hands together I watched Connor, sweaty, bloodied, and completely in control as he hovered above his arch-nemesis.

Well, one of them.

The second one was screaming at his downed fighter from ringside. But not even Dick could rouse El Toro.

The phoenix had vanquished the bull.

The announcers went crazy while the referee went to Connor and the medical team treated Toro. Connor pumped his fists towards the darkened sky, lit up with dozens of floodlights. The cheer from the crowd—both foreign and domestic—was deafening.

I clasped my fingers against my lips and smiled.

I wanted to go to him and celebrate his victory, but now wasn’t the time. Now, I needed to be image coach and stand-in agent for Connor McGrath.

Spinning on my heels, I made to push through the throng of people trying to get closer to the action, when a commotion waved behind me.

I froze, already suspecting what was going on even before his hand wrapped around my bicep.

“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?” Connor’s sexy Irish accent made my toes curl as he spun me around.

I braced my hands on sexy, but icky, sweaty man chest and blinked up into his dazzling hazel eyes. The cameras, and reporters, which had been peppering him with questions were now focused on the two of us.

Oh, Lord what were Jeff and Vicki going to say?

Did I really care?

My heart bunched in my throat as his head dipped. “I don’t hear an answer.”

“I was going to message Jeff.”

“He can wait.”

“Connor,” I protested.

He cut me off with a toe-curling kiss that completely fried my brain of any protests. There was a slight tang of copper on his lips as he feasted on my mouth. I melted into him, swooning as he slung his arms around me and lifted me up.

I screamed as threw me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. More flashbulbs popped around us as too many photos were taken. Was my ass going to be on all the tabloids tomorrow morning?

Probably.

But I couldn’t offer more than a token, laughing, protest as Connor McGrath carted me away from the ring, a woozy El Toro, and an irate Dick.

He didn’t carry me far. We made it to his motorcycle which was parked with a few other rental vehicles in a parking lot not far from the Lujo.

Connor sat me down, and I shook my head at him.

“What are you doing? You need to give your post-fight interviews.”

He invaded my space as he walked forward, trapping me between the motorcycle and his slippery body.

“I don’t need to do anything, Princess. I just won twenty-five MILLION dollars.”

His joy was infectious, and I bit my lip.

“Don’t forget the Fub contract,” I whispered silkily.

“You didn’t tell me how much that was for, anyway.” Connor ran his battered fingers through my hair and leaned down. “Why is that?”

“We’re still in negotiations. Well, Jeff is.”

“Is that right? And just where was that number the last time you heard.”

I’d been wanting to tell Connor this all week. Giddiness bubbled through me, and I licked my lips. I crooked my finger. “Come closer.”

He came closer.

My mouth hovered against his cheek. “Well, they want to give you a massive endorsement.”

“Uh huh.”

“They see MMA as an untapped market. They want to make you the Michael Jordan, Floyd Merriweather, and Tiger Woods of the sport.”

Connor grew still.

“Initially they want to sign you for a two-year deal, but if you can make Connor McGrath the same powerhouse as Michael Jordan, there’s no end date.”

I knew what he was waiting to hear, and I wanted to see his face when I told him.

“Right now, the deal is at sixty-million a year. Knowing Jeff, though, he can negotiate for more than the one-hundred-and-twenty million they are offering you.”

Connor stared at me with his mouth open. I’d rendered him speechless.

I caressed his bruised face. “You did it.”

His hand tightened in my hair, and his eyes searched mine. “It’s not enough.”

I blinked up at him. Was he kidding me? He was about to land one of the largest endorsement deals that wasn’t from Nike! “What do you—,”

Connor silenced me with his finger. “I realized something, right before I was about to fight. Yeah, the money's nice, but I want more than that. I want you, and me, and a patch of land. I feckin’ love you, Crystal, and the money means nothing if you’re not here with me.”

Lord, this man could make me swoon. Tears gathered like southern storm clouds in my eyes. I didn’t blink them away as I leaned into Connor. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say.”

His cocky smile almost made me punch him. “What’s that, Princess?”

I grinned and pulled myself close. “I feckin’ love you,” I whispered, trying my hand at his Irish brogue and failing miserably.

Then, I laughed before falling once more into his addicting kiss.

THE END