Chapter Five
True to her word, Sophie never once complained about the walk to his gym wearing those torture devices she called shoes. He was more than a little impressed and strangely turned on. Then again, what the hell didn’t turn him on about this woman?
Although his body stayed aware of his unflagging attraction to hers, he’d also paid close attention to her demeanor as they walked. Their trip had started out fun and flirty—partially by design to distract her from her situation and partially because he couldn’t bloody control his libido around her—but the mood had turned pensive rather quickly.
He suspected her thoughts had reverted back to the meeting with her uncle, and Xander let her be. A person couldn’t ignore things indefinitely. They needed to work through them to move past them. Which is why he brought her to the one place he’d never brought another woman; the one place that was his alone, where he could drop all of life’s bullshit at the door and lose himself in the body-punishing hard work of the thing he loved most: mixed martial arts. If she wanted a target to use as a punching bag, this was where she needed to be.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling a silver ring with two keys on it from a hidden pocket on the inside band of his shorts. “TLP2, my home away from home.”
Sophie peered up at the large sign featuring the gym’s name and a shamrock behind a pineapple wearing sunglasses next to it. “That logo is um…interesting. What does TLP2 stand for?”
He chuckled with a slight shake of his head. “The Lucky Pineapple number two.”
“No, seriously.”
Nodding to the ridiculous logo, he said, “I am serious. It’s a satellite location of TLP, the gym my two best mates own in Oahu. One’s Boston Irish, and the other is Hawaiian Smart-ass. I’ll give you one guess as to who came up with the cheeky name and design, and who insisted it go by TLP.”
She gave him a light laugh. “I bet they have an interesting friendship.”
He pulled the glass door open for her. “It’s definitely entertaining.”
“So your friends live in Hawaii?”
The door closed behind them and he punched the security code into the keypad so the alarm wouldn’t go off. “That’s where Jackson and his wife, Vanessa, live most of the time, along with Irish and his fiancée, Kat. Jax and V split their time between the island and here. Then there’s our other best mate, Reid, who lives here with his wife, Lucie. He coaches me at this location.”
Sophie stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “Three couples, huh? Does that make you the seventh wheel?”
Xander barked out a laugh. “I suppose it does at that. They’re all spectacular people. We’re a family of friends who love and look out for one another. You’d like them.”
“Well, if they put up with you they can’t be all that bad,” she replied smartly as she walked past the front desk.
He was used to a lot of different sounds indigenous to a training center—human grunts and shouts, weights clanging together, bodies smacking against the mats or bags—but the clicking of high heels on the painted concrete of the entryway was not one of them.
Mesmerized as he was, it took him a few seconds to register she meant to walk around and almost got to her too late. Stopping her just before she reached the black mats, he said, “You can’t go in there with those on. No shoes allowed.”
Without missing a beat, she placed a hand on his chest to keep her balance and pulled each shoe off by the thin-as-a-stick heel, revealing bright purple toenails. She gave him an impish grin and pressed both shoes to his chest before pulling away so that he had to grab them or let them drop. Something told him he’d end up with a pointy heel shoved up his arse if he let her precious babies get scuffed.
He set them on the counter as he watched her make her way around the floor, taking in the different equipment and machines.
“You know,” she said, glancing over at him coyly from under her lashes, “it seems like the only time you’re not in the gym is when you’re sleeping or fucking. That true?”
Leaning back, he placed a foot against the wall and laced his hands behind his head. “O’course not, you know better than that.” She raised a dubious eyebrow and he smiled. “I also go for long runs.”
Though she was on the opposite side of the cavernous room, it was obvious she rolled her big brown eyes at his answer. “What?” he said with a chuckle. “It’s true enough.”
She trailed her fingers over the tops of the free weights as she moved. “Okay, then tell me why. I know you’re a fighter, but what does that mean? What do you do here from morning to night, six or more days a week?”
Xander brought his arms down to cross them over his chest and studied her as she grabbed onto one of the thick climbing ropes hanging from one of the metal crossbeams. Stepping on the long tail, she leaned into the tension of the rope and stared at him, waiting for his answer. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was asking as someone curious about fighters in general, or as a woman interested in a specific fighter and how he spends his time.
“I train in blocks of time with one or two hour breaks between. Reid changes it up from day to day, but generally I’ll spend a few hours conditioning; a couple working on jiu-jitsu—”
“What’s that?”
“Brazilian jiu-jitsu is a martial art where a fighter grapples on the mat with an opponent to catch him in a submission that ideally will make him either tap out or black out. BJJ and wrestling are used in the ground game of MMA. The stand-up game is a mix of different techniques of strikes and kicks. That has its own training block working with the heavy bags, sparring with other fighters, shadow boxing, stuff like that. And the hours I’m not doing any of that, I give personal training sessions or do paperwork.”
Sophie scrunched her nose in the cutest way. “Sounds like all work and no play.”
He pushed off the wall with his shoulders and made his way to where she swayed slightly with the rope. Sophie Caldwell possessed a gravitational pull he couldn’t resist, nor did he want to, even if it meant going up in flames in the end. Something told him it would be bloody worth it.
“Ah, gorgeous, that’s where you’re wrong.” Xan grasped the rope high up with one hand and stole into her personal space, wanting to see if she’d retreat or stand her ground. Barely any space separated them, and without her heels, she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze, which she did with a steady confidence he wanted to shake. “The kind of hard work that makes your pulse race and your body slick with sweat is also the best kind of play.”
He stared down at her in challenge, knowing full well she understood his double meaning, if not from his words then from the husky sound of his voice as he said them. She was careful to keep her expression plain, as though unamused and unaffected. But the rapid flutter of her heartbeat in her throat told the truth.
“I really think that’s more of a case-by-case sort of thing, but to each his own, I suppose.” Releasing her hold on the rope, she padded over to the giant tractor tire lying on its side. Like a kid at a playground trying out the new equipment, she hopped on top and began walking around the edge. “What on earth is this for?”
He smiled as he watched her place one foot directly in front of the other, like she was taking a circular version of the sobriety test. “Sometimes we swing a sledgehammer at it. Other times we flip it end over end until we spew.”
Sophie squeaked like a mouse and jumped off, staring at the tire like it suddenly sprouted claws. Xan laughed. “Generally we make it to a bin, but even if we didn’t, we always sanitize the equipment.”
“Now you tell me,” she said wryly as she moved on to where the heavy bags hung from support beams and sent one spinning and another swinging as she passed.
“So now you know where I spend all my time. What do you think?”
“It’s impressive,” she said. “At least I’m assuming it is. I don’t know anything about the sport beyond what you’ve told me.”
“Then today is your lucky day.”
Shadows passed over her face and she crossed her arms as if to hold herself together. “Yeah, lucky day. My asshole of an uncle just informed me that I’m losing the thing that means most to me in this world. Good times.”
“I’m sorry, Sophie, that was a daft thing to say.”
She shrugged. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. I’m just on edge.”
Stepping into her, he pulled her arms down and held them at her sides. “And I don’t blame you one bit. I know you’d like to take all your aggression out on him, but since it’d be a damn shame putting something as fit as you behind bars, I figured I’d give you the next best thing.”
“One of those swinging bag things?”
“No,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Me.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious. Come on.” He winked and walked away, heading to the other side of the room where different equipment hung on the wall.
“You’re awfully bossy, you know that?”
“I’ve been told a time or two, yeah.” Xander took down a pair of the smaller boxing gloves hanging on the wall. “But right now, seeing as I’m the teacher, I get to be as bossy as I want. Now, if ever there comes a time when you’re teaching me how to bake sugary treats for the masses, I’ll let you be the bossy one.”
“I can’t help but think that would be the only acceptable situation for me to be in charge in your eyes.”
Xander picked up her right hand and indicated she needed to shove it into the glove he held in front of her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if you had your way,” she said, stuffing her other hand in a glove, “you’d always be in charge. You’re too arrogant not to be bossy.”
“You’re right about that.” He smiled as he pressed the Velcro cuffs down tight on her gloves. “You and I wouldn’t last a week before we were at each other’s throats.”
With his face only inches from hers, he said, “I rather like the sound of us being at each other’s throats. But only if you promise to bite hard.”
Sophie’s face transformed, flushed to that of a wicked temptress as she slid her right arm over his shoulder and stepped into him. Somewhere in his head, alarms sounded with spinning red lights, but seeing her teeth drag over her bottom lip had him utterly spellbound.
As her sultry voice seduced him, she dragged her left glove slowly down his body. “Oh, I’m happy to bite you as hard as you want, baby.” His pulse raced and he felt the glove slide over his shorts and down his right thigh. “But if a guy bites me”—Xander grunted as her wandering hand suddenly pressed up on his junk—“he’d better like his balls permanently wedged inside his body. Have I made myself clear?” she asked sweetly.
Damn, but he liked this woman. He smiled at her and held his hands up. “As crystal.”
Seemingly satisfied, she nodded and backed up a step, sparing his boys in the process.
Xan grabbed two square punching pads, slipped them over the backs of his hands, and tightened the straps with his teeth. Moving to the middle of the octagon, he slapped the pads together, the loud smack making her jump.
“Come on, Soph,” he said with a wink. “Get the lead out.”
…
Sophie felt ridiculous standing in the middle of a gigantic cage in her bare feet, work clothes, and white boxing gloves on her hands. She wasn’t the least bit athletic, and though that never bothered her before, she didn’t relish the idea of embarrassing herself in front of Xander.
“Come on, then,” he said, clapping the pads together a few times before holding them out to face her. “Throw some punches. Pretend these are your uncle’s face.”
Athletic or not, she wasn’t about to back down from the challenge. Staring at his left hand, Sophie balled her fist as tight as she could, drew back, and…tap…hit the pad with all the power of a turtle head-butting a tree trunk.
She screwed her brows together and glanced from her hand to his, then up at Xander when he started coughing to unsuccessfully hide his laughter. An arch of her brow had him clearing his throat. “That’s the idea,” he said. “Now put a little more weight behind it.”
“Interesting choice of words. You don’t coach girls very often, do you?”
“Don’t change the subject. Try it again. You’ll get better each time you strike the pads.”
Great, now if she didn’t get better, she’d be failing at some ancient rule of boxing. Setting her teeth, Sophie repeated the move as hard as she could. Smack. The sound and the impact felt good. He was right. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to hit a lot of somethings.
“Nice,” he said. “You’re a south paw.”
“What’s that?”
“Means you’re a lefty, or at the very least, more comfortable with your left side when you box.”
“I am a lefty. South paw, huh? I like the sound of that.”
“All right, then let’s teach you how to use that paw. Shift your feet so they’re shoulder width apart and your right is slightly more forward. Good. Now this time when you punch, I want you to drive your left hip forward and pretend like you’re trying to go through the pad, not to it, yeah?”
She nodded and held her hands up. Imagining her uncle’s face on the other side of the red pad, she repeated Xander’s instructions in her mind, drew her arm back, and fired it across her body with every ounce of molten anger burning in her belly.
SMACK!
“Brilliant, Soph, keep going.”
And she did. Xander was right. This was exactly what she needed. Something to help her release the myriad of emotions locked inside her. He taught her the different types of punches—jab, cross, hook, and uppercut—and then called out combinations for her using corresponding numbers.
As she began to sweat, Sophie imagined her body releasing the poisonous rage through her pores. Her punches were strong, and every time she connected with the pads, she felt as though she got a little piece of her control back.
She had no idea how long they circled each other in that cage. Time ceased to matter as her focus narrowed to Xander’s voice and his instructions. Then he took off the pads and encouraged her to throw more punches. At him.
“What?” She stared, her chest heaving from the exertion and adrenaline coursing through her veins. “I’m not going to hit you.”
“You’ve got a decent jab, gorgeous, but it’s nothing compared to what I get thrown at me in practice, never mind an actual fight.”
“I’m not hitting you. Put the pads back on.”
“I don’t think I will,” he said, bobbing from side to side on the balls of his feet. “Come on. Hit me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, you’re acting ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous are your bloody punches. You hit like a fucking girl.”
Sophie gasped, her mouth open in shock a split second before her female pride rallied and threw a left hook that connected with his jaw. His face snapped to the side and when he brought it back to center, the blood on the corner of his lower lip didn’t even diminish his big-ass grin.
He touched the cut with his thumb and he sucked off the blood with a wink. The man had to be a masochist. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. How’d that feel?”
She took a moment to think about it while he waited expectantly—and was that a hint of pride on his face?—then a smile curled her lips. “Pretty fucking good, actually.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, beaming.
Heat swirled from her chest to her sex at his casual claim on her. An endearment her feminist side should abhor, and yet it remained oddly silent. How perplexing.
“All right, then,” he prompted, “what else you got?”
Again, she got swept up in the exercise. Wisps of hair that had fallen free of her ponytail stuck to her face and neck, and she could feel the damp circle of sweat in the back of her shirt. But her focus wasn’t on her appearance or wardrobe, or blessedly, losing the bakery. It was homed in on Xander and trying to get inside his blocks to connect with the body shots he kept encouraging her to throw.
Eventually, Sophie had to call an end to the session when her arms were too exhausted to lift. He praised her while helping her out of the gloves, then told her to have a seat while he grabbed them a couple of waters.
Sitting on the mat, her back against the cage, she closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. Being a yoga and meditation girl left her seriously lacking in the conditioning department.
“Here you are.” He handed her a cold bottle and sat next to her.
Sophie couldn’t get it open and up to her lips fast enough. She couldn’t remember ever being so desperate for water and guzzled half of the bottle in seconds flat.
“Hey, easy there, Rocky. You don’t want to make it through all that just to end up choking.” Xander used his thumb to dry the water that had escaped her lips and trailed down her chin.
Nice, Soph. Because dribbling like a toddler isn’t at all embarrassing. Quick, subject change.
“I can’t believe fighters have to do that kind of stuff all day. You must all have a screw loose.”
He laughed lightly. “The only time we have to work all day is during a training camp, which means we’re getting ourselves ready for a fight. And the younger guys don’t necessarily have to train as much even then. But by MMA standards, I’m practically a dinosaur so I have to work twice as hard to get the same results and be twice as careful so I don’t injure myself.”
“If you’re so ancient for it, then why are you just now getting into the sport?”
“I’m not. I’m actually getting back into it. I had a great career on the semi-pro circuit and the UFC was looking at bringing me on as a new middleweight.”
“A middle-what?”
“Sorry,” he said with a grin. “Middleweight means you weigh in for fights at no more than a hundred eighty-five pounds. Now I fight as a light heavyweight, which is max two-oh-five.”
“So you got fat and had to go up a weight class, huh?”
“Gorgeous, the only thing on my body that can be called fat is my d—”
“Okayyyyy,” she interrupted on a peal of laughter. “I set you up for that one a little too well. Back to your story.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Spoil sport. Anyway, I had an accident on my motorcycle and tore up my fucking knee. Doctors said it would likely never be the same again and chances of getting it into fighting shape were even less. Took two surgeries and enough physical therapy to last five lifetimes, but I kept at it until I could finally walk without a limp. I started training hard, bulked up some, entered underground tournaments to fight my way back up from the bottom, and now I’m here. I might not have many years left before my body ends my career for me, but I’m determined to be a UFC champion before then.”
“That’s incredible, Xander. You had the drive to start all over from the beginning, even though the odds were against you. I really admire you for that.”
“Thanks, but I only did what I had to in order to get me closer to my goal. People do it all the time. Doesn’t make me special,” he said as he dropped his eyes to the water bottle in his hands and—
Sophie wondered how many pigs had just taken flight because the perpetually cocksure Xander James appeared to be blushing. Wonders never ceased.
Deciding to give him a break, she didn’t tease him. “Agree to disagree, then,” she said as she resumed her position of head back against the cage and eyes closed.
They sat in companionable silence while they rehydrated and the exhaustion from the workout spread though her as the adrenaline and endorphins started to wear off. Given a few more minutes, she probably would have fallen asleep like that, but she felt it when he turned his gaze in her direction…and kept it there. Instinct told her to leave it alone; don’t ask what you might not want to know. But when it came to her curiosity, she was all feline.
“What?” she asked, not moving.
“What, what?”
“I can feel you staring. Like you want to say something, but you’re not. What is it?”
She expected him to deny it or make a sexual joke of some kind, but he did neither.
“How did you get started in the cupcake business? I mean, I know that it was your grandmother’s, but what made you want to continue it?”
Sophie brought her knees up to her chest and rested her arms across the top as she thought back over the years. She had fond memories from her early childhood, and great ones of her and her grandmother from around her senior year in high school and on. It was the span of years between that she hated remembering. The years where a happy home had turned to one of sadness and isolation, and eventually…abandonment.
So she focused on the early years.
“My grandmother loved to bake. My dad talked about having a different dessert after every dinner because she always tried new recipes and even came up with her own. But the desserts she was famous for were her cake truffles. She perfected her batter recipes, incorporating—or sometimes even inventing—new flavors and textures. When they were just right, she covered them in everything from melted chocolate to powdered sugar to crushed candy.” Sophie sighed. “They were amazing. Everyone thought so.”
“So she opened up a bakery.”
“Not right away. People told her all the time that she should open up a shop and sell her desserts. That she could make a fortune on her truffles alone. Even Gramps encouraged her to do it, knowing it was a secret dream of hers. But Grams was old-fashioned and happy in her role as a housewife and mother. She said she didn’t have any desire to complicate something she loved doing by making it into a business.”
“What changed her mind?”
“Gramps died,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Sophie.”
She gave him a small smile, thanking him for his sympathy. “I was only two at the time, so I don’t remember him, but Grams always talked about how much he spoiled me. My dad and Richard were their only children and me their only grandchild. Anyway, Gramps had made Grams promise that she would try her bakery after he was gone. That she wouldn’t have any excuses left and if she didn’t, he’d come back and haunt her until she did.”
They chuckled. “When did you come in?”
“Not until I was a teenager. I had a few encounters with the law until at the age of seventeen, a judge was ready to throw the book at me and send me to juvie. My grandmother requested that it be turned into a shit-ton of community service hours so she could put me to work at the bakery.”
“Didn’t the judge think she was trying to get you off? Why would he expect that you’d actually do the work?”
“Because if it’s a court order, I’m legally bound to show up, and my grandmother promised the judge that if I didn’t, she would pack my bags herself.”
“Tough lady.”
“She definitely could be,” she said.
“I think I can guess the rest. You worked endless hours at the bakery, and while you probably bitched more than not, you secretly loved it. O’course, being the highly intelligent woman your grandmother is, she knew this and started teaching you all her secrets without you knowing it until one day you woke up and realized you had a great relationship with her and loved the bakery every bit as much as she did.”
Sophie stared at him and briefly wondered if he wasn’t some sort of psychic. Or maybe a spy. Yeah, because your life is so the epitome of danger and intrigue. Life had taught her a cruel lesson at an early age, and after that, she’d done her best not to care about anyone or anything. She may have acted like she hated it, but secretly she’d loved working at the Sweet Spot. A fact that, looking back, Grams probably knew from the start.
Giving him a noncommittal shrug, she said, “Something like that. Then, when her Alzheimer’s got bad enough that she had to move to Golden Ages, I took over like we planned.”
“She must be right proud of you, Sophie.”
Swallowing thickly, Sophie turned her head away from him as her eyes filled with the evidence of her guilt and defeat. She’d failed Grams. The only blessing was that she wasn’t cognizant enough to know it. But somehow that only made Sophie feel worse.
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, rubbing her cheeks on her arm to wipe away the hot tears she’d been unable to blink away. The sparring session may have rid her of the burning anger, but it couldn’t eviscerate the hurt and desperation twining with every cell in her body. “Soon it won’t be anything more than a memory.”
“Can’t you take the money and open up somewhere else?”
“It wouldn’t be the same. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I grew up in that place. I was a military brat and we moved around so much when I was a kid that nothing was ever a constant in my life. Except Grams. When I was little, whenever we visited, I spent all day with her. Helping pour ingredients, listening to her tell stories about Gramps and my dad. I even helped her out front with customers. Her regulars would spoil me with candy when they knew I was in town, and those regulars are still my customers today.”
Finally, she met his gaze, no longer caring if he saw her tough exterior flayed open and raw. “That place is my grandmother’s legacy, where she turned her dream into reality. It’s my home, Xander, and not only because I live above the shop.”
“I know,” he said, turning his body so he sat facing her. His hand lifted and he tapped above where her heart lay in her chest. “It’s where your heart lives.”
She nodded, unable to force anything else past the golf-ball-sized lump in her throat. He opened his arms and invited her with his soft blue eyes to take the comfort he offered. Normally Sophie would have scoffed and told him she didn’t need to be coddled or cared for. That she could handle things on her own.
So she surprised herself when she didn’t hesitate to lean in and let him gather her into his side. She tucked her face against the front of his shoulder and let out a shaky exhale when he tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek on top of her head. Though she managed not to sob or even really cry, she did let the tears fall freely. And they did, soaking his shirt where she’d failed to cause him to work up even the slightest bit of sweat during her bout of attacks earlier.
They sat like that—her curled up and tucked into his embrace, him holding her and rubbing a hand up and down her arm—for an undeterminable length of time. His comfort gave her a rare feeling of safety that allowed her to let her guard down enough to drift into that place between lucidity and the land of dreams.
“Sophie?”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s get married.”
Her eyes snapped open on a bark of laughter. “Sorry, all the exertion must’ve affected my hearing, because there’s no way you said what I thought you just said.”
“I said we should get married.”
Sophie sat up to face him, lingering disbelief still swirling in her brain. “Okay, yeah, no, that’s what I heard the first time.”
“I know it sounds completely mad, but the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.” His handsome face split into a mask of amused confusion; smile on the bottom and furrowed brow on top, as though even he isn’t sure what to make of his BS.
“I’ll need you to draw me a map to get to that whole ‘makes sense’ conclusion. You don’t even know me, Xander.”
“If a legal marriage is the only thing standing in the way of saving the bakery, then let’s get you hitched proper.” One of his hands came up and trailed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Come on, Soph, let me help you.”
She traced her fingers along the black chain-link fence, using the sensations on her fingertips to keep her grounded in the moment. “Xander, we’re not talking about you helping me repaint my apartment or change the oil in my car.”
“And your point is…?”
“My point is that you don’t just marry someone because it benefits them.”
He shrugged. “I’m not suggesting we remain married. Once you have control of the trust and your uncle’s deal falls through, we can fake break up and get real divorced. No harm, no foul, yeah? Besides,” he continued, looking around at all the equipment in the room, “it’s not just your place at stake, but everyone on this block. I might not have the same sentimentality about the location as you do, but it would be a huge inconvenience to move TLP2; one I don’t have time for. So if it makes you feel better, you can think of it as sacrificing yourself for the rest of us.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Like a beautiful virgin being flung into an angry volcano so that the rest of the village may live.”
She laughed, the sound a little wobbly from the nerves mixed in. “Oh my God,” she said, the idea turning itself over and over in her mind. It actually sounded like a viable plan. “It’s so crazy—”
“It just might work,” he finished for her with a sly grin. The kind of sly grin a person got at the thought of “cheating the system” (whichever “system” was respectively screwing them over).
“C’mon, Soph. We can pull this off. Trust me.”
Sophie’s stomach dropped. Trust me. He’d had to go and throw that in. The last time she’d heard that it’d been from a self-serving asshole who was fucking anything in heels behind his fiancée’s back.
Unease settled in her stomach like a brick as she remembered finding Jared with another woman. After two years of building a life and planning a future together—and thinking she’d finally found someone who wouldn’t leave her behind like everyone else—it took less than two minutes for it to collapse into ruins, like a sand castle at high tide.
As much as it hurt, the betrayal had been a badly needed reality check for Sophie. There were only two types of people in her life: the small handful of “good ones” who were taken from her for one reason or another, and the myriad “bad ones” who screwed her over and hightailed it far and fast. The Jared Situation was a reminder that more often than not, people were selfish creatures by nature. She needed to stop assuming the world was filled with benevolent Glindas when the sky was clearly dotted with flying monkeys.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
The gym suddenly felt like an oven set to broil. Sweat rolled down her spine and gathered between her breasts. She needed to get some air. Curling her fingers into the cage, she pulled herself up on shaky legs.
Xander rose to his full height. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” she said as she took a step back in an effort to gain space. But he only followed and turned into her, his large frame telling her that a retreat was pointless.
“Bullshit. Something’s drained the color from your beautiful face, and I want to know what it is.” She opened her mouth to deny it a second time, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. “If you’d rather not discuss whatever it is, I’ll respect that and let it drop. But don’t lie to me by saying it’s nothing when it’s obviously something.”
Strong hands gripped the fence right next to hers. He had her trapped between his arms with nowhere to go. The heat from his body radiated around her and made her hyperaware of him in an intimate way she couldn’t ignore, but she shoved it to the back of her mind because a physical attraction to Xander wasn’t what needed her focus right now. She had to know if she could believe in his intentions. The desire to save his gym was the obvious one, but there had to be something else. If it was for that reason alone, he could have just as easily offered to get her profile set up on eHarmony to help her find her perfect matrimonial match.
Staring up into his eyes, she said, “Earlier, when you said you wanted to talk to me, was this what it was about? Were you planning on suggesting this marriage thing even then?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you about the deal, to see how you felt about it and see what we could come up with if you wanted to stick it to him, but marrying you never crossed my mind, no.”
“Then why?” she asked softly. “Why did you do what you did?”
His eyes softened. “I did what I did in your office because I overheard that tosser say things to you I didn’t like. I hated that he made it sound like someone would have to be crazy to want to marry you. That because you couldn’t or wouldn’t get married you were going to lose everything. I just—”
Xander blew out a heavy breath and gave the fence a quick shake. “I couldn’t stand how bloody smug he sounded. But what absolutely gutted me was how utterly defeated you sounded.”
The steel band around her chest started to ease at the sincerity she heard in his voice. He’d barged in and announced himself as her fiancé in an attempt—misguided as it was—to help her save face in front of her dick of an uncle. She might not know much about the fighter Xander James, but she did believe he had a big heart with good intentions.
Taking a deep breath, Sophie gazed up at him. “I appreciate what you did, Xander. Both in my office and bringing me here. But you’re sure you’re okay doing this?”
“Well, I can check my calendar to be sure, but I don’t I believe I have plans in the near future to wed anyone else so I guess that makes me a free agent.” Sophie smacked him playfully in the chest as he laughed. “Besides, this is Vegas, or damn near. I hear it’s actually a thing here to have spontaneous and ill-planned marriages. So why not join the fun?”
Sophie dragged her bottom lip through her teeth and squinted her eyes in embarrassment. “I have always thought it would be pretty awesome to get married by a horrible Elvis impersonator in a cheesy, stereotypical Vegas wedding.”
“Wait here.” He opened the cage door and jogged down the steps. She lost sight of him when he left the main gym area, but it only took a minute before he was bounding into the room and back in the cage with a self-indulgent smile.
“What are you—”
He stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Hush now, it’s not your turn.” Then he cleared his throat…and dropped onto one knee.
Her brain’s knee-jerk reaction was to send a signal for “panic and flee!” but when he held up a rudimentary ring fashioned from medical tape, she instantly calmed. Drawing in a steadying breath, she smiled down at him as he reached for her left hand.
As he tried—unsuccessfully—to keep a straight face, he said, “Sophie Caldwell, from the moment I saw you behind the counter of your bakery, all fit and tatted and shoving a cake ball into your mouth—”
“Cake truffle.” She laughed. She’d forgotten all about that. It hadn’t been one of her finer moments.
“—I knew I’d spend months thinking about how to get into your knickers. And, in all honesty, my balls in your mouth.” She punched him in the shoulder and he laughed. “Okay, okay. I’d at least like to take advantage of this situation so that maybe I’ll at least get the chance to see your knickers. Like maybe in the laundry or if you leave them on the bathroom floor.” He frowned. “But preferably in the laundry because I keep a neat flat.”
Sophie couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard, but it didn’t deter the man in the least.
“So, Sophie Caldwell, I’d be the happiest man-with-a-permanent-set-of-blue-balls-alive if you’ll agree to marry me in the cheesiest Elvis wedding Vegas has ever seen and promptly divorce my arse when I’ve outlived my usefulness.” Then in a dramatic stage whisper, he added, “Now it’s your turn.”
Her cheeks hurt from smiling so big. The man definitely had a wicked sense of humor that tickled her funny bone. I wonder what other wicked things he could tickle me with.
Whoa! Down, girl. Focus.
Clearing her throat, she said, “That was quite possibly the best proposal in the history of proposals.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” she said. “It is definitely a yes.”