EPILOGUE
It had been, without a doubt, one of the most eventful days of Savannah’s life. Of course, she had hoped it would be eventful for Torran, if not so much for herself. However, here she was at eleven thirty at night, contemplating all that had happened over her third glass of champagne.
And wondering how on earth she had gotten here.
It was a forgone conclusion that Torran won his match. Kelton had barely lasted a minute in the ring with him once he gave his all, and thanks to her father’s stalling, the match started only thirty minutes behind schedule. Torran fought like a demon, bolstered by the fact that Savannah was cheering unabashedly for him in the front row - right next to the cage.
She had never been a proponent of violence, but she wouldn’t deny that it gave her immense satisfaction to see Torran take down a man who had once insisted that he won his title because he was better than him. Of course, that had been the nicest thing Kelton had said, but Savannah was sure he wasn’t saying much now. Not with his face swollen the way it was.
She herself might not have been so into the match if she cared more for her image. As Torran’s publicist, she always reminded herself to observe decorum. She was supposed to be calm to temper his wildness, to always be prepared to clean up his messes.
But now, she cared little about any of those things, because, as of three hours ago, Savannah wasn’t Torran’s publicist anymore. Of course, when he first told her he was firing her, she’d been livid. After he was almost sweet to her that afternoon, he was suddenly doing a one eighty! Funnily enough, it was her own father who backed the fighter up, citing that he couldn’t very well marry his publicist. Not when he had a much bigger job for her. According to her fiancée, his company was badly in need of a good publicist to run the department - and he was willing to personally give her old boss, Carthright, her firm resignation.
With a long sigh of contentment, Savannah lounged in the bed she and Torran had thoroughly decimated for the better part of the evening. When the man told her that he planned to use his winnings to buy her a ring, she hadn’t thought he would do it so immediately. But Torran was a stubborn man, never to be dissuaded once he decided to do something.
They had stopped at a jeweler on the way home from the Garden and the shopkeeper fell all over himself to reopen the place when he found out that Torran wanted to drop forty thousand dollars on a ring.
Savannah glanced at her left hand with a small smile. The diamond that glittered there was rather larger than what she might have expected. She tried to tell Torran that it was too much - that she wanted to go with something a little more discreet, but he wouldn’t hear it.
You were kidnapped because of me a few hours ago. Let me buy you a fucking proper ring.
The man did have a way with words.
Outside their little penthouse oasis, the entire city was buzzing. In the same night, Torran Maloney had won back his heavyweight title and one of the UK’s most infamous criminals was in custody in an American jail. The word was that the US was refusing to extradite Two Finger for crimes of reckless endangerment, sexual assault, and carrying unlicensed weapons in the city - just to name a few. If he was lucky, he’d only get fifty years or so in prison. Ireland, Savannah expected, would have been much harsher, considering his rap sheet there. Of course, now no one cared about what the man threatened to expose on Warrick McKinney. In light of kidnapping an American citizen and brandishing a gun at a crowded weekend venue, no one was taking the man very seriously.
Which was, Savannah realized, the ultimate humiliation for a man so used to wielding so much power.
“You’re still awake then?” At Torran’s low question, her eyes drifted upwards to take in the man’s stark naked form in the doorway.
Speaking of power...her hips were still sore where he had gripped them, driving her insane with every deep, cleaving, greedy thrust of his body against hers. She shivered as she recalled the intensity with which he’d devoured her completely until she could literally think of nothing else.
But, naturally, that had been his goal.
Now, Savannah watched him pad across the room to join her in bed once more, and she marveled that this man was hers. “Did I not tire you enough?” Torran took her into his arms obtrusively, drawing her close to whisper his question against her neck.
Savannah laughed softly. “I think I could go another round with the champ.”
“I’ll just bet you could. You’re a tougher fighter than me, darlin.” Raising his head, Torran looked down at her with such exquisite fondness in his eyes that Savannah’s breath caught. “I guess that’s why I love you so bloody much.”
For a man who wasn’t the best with his words, Savannah was quite sure that was the most eloquent phrase she’d ever heard.