Chapter 21
The faint scent of sweat, male body spray, and a sharp undertone of adrenaline mixed with testosterone assailed Mariah as she entered the back door of Owl Creek Casino on Saturday afternoon.
"Hi, Doc," Angelo, the bear of a fight promoter for Out West MMA, glanced up from his desk as she passed it. "Thanks for helping us out again."
"For you? Anytime." She laughed as his half hug enveloped her. Once Angelo learned she was Kevin West's big sister, she had become Angelo's family by default. Didn't hurt that her brother had headlined an outstanding bantamweight fight for Out West last summer.
He tugged his suit back into place and handed her a paper. "Here's the final list. Fights start in two hours, if you can get the fighters ready."
"Of course. Hey, who's working with me today?"
"Dr. John Brandeis. He's running late and asked for you to do the pre-fight physicals; he'll stay late to finish the post-fights."
She gulped. "Sounds fair. Everything in the locker rooms?"
"As always, it's all ready." His smile pushed his cheeks up until his eyes disappeared.
"Anything else for me?"
With a wink, he reached around to a short file cabinet behind him and produced a disposable cup of steaming, aromatic coffee. She sipped and sighed.
Then, glancing down the list, she felt her heart sank when she reached the second-to-last fight. As she had feared, Vaughn was fighting in the light heavyweight division against Linc.
A shiver worked its way up her back to settle on her neck. Linc. She had worked a fight where he had competed before. Everyone knew Linc's reputation. That jerk had been around for years, sprinkling bad attitude and dirty tricks around many regional matches.
As for women being anywhere near the octagon? His opinions were clear: ring girls were the only females allowed near the ring. Not as fighters or officials and certainly not as a ringside doctor. The last time Mariah had done his pre-fight, he figured out who her brother was, and from there she rode a downhill spiral of his veiled, disrespectful comments. God help her if she ever disqualified him from a fight.
With a deep breath, she pushed her shoulders back. Passing the arena, busy with workers setting up chairs and testing the light and PA systems, she entered the backstage area where makeshift locker rooms had been set up.
Nodding to the suit-clad inspector as she entered the makeshift exam room, she checked her equipment. Blood pressure cuff, pulse ox, a box of vinyl gloves, a penlight, and fight forms on a clipboard, all ready. She shrugged off her blazer, draped her stethoscope over her neck, and indicated to the inspector to send in the first fighter.
Twelve fighters later, the door opened and Linc stalked in, took one look at her, and snorted. Good lord, he was a big guy when she'd seen him at the ranch. But up close and this pumped up, the man was more than a little scary. If he wasn't on steroids, then he had the best training regimen she'd ever seen. Sure enough, she turned the key on the urine cup he presented for his drug screen and it came up as clean. The guy radiated strength and killer instinct, and judging by his snarl, knew it all too well. He stopped bare inches from her, invading her personal space and hovering over her, like he'd done at the Brand ranch.
Trapped.
Didn't matter that the nice fight inspector stood ten feet away from her. Stomach acid bubbled up. She shoved it back down and faced Linc as she disposed of her gloves. No way would she let him get the satisfaction of scaring her. Again.
"Have a seat." She motioned to the chair as she fought an urge to cover her chest.
The inspector wouldn't notice Linc's tiny delay, but Mariah read the disrespect, loud and clear. Her skin twitched. It wasn't that the guy towered over her and could tear her arm off without breaking a sweat. Lots of fighters—men and women—were strong. This guy was different. Personally intimidating.
Threatening.
She needed to get through the exam and move on.
"Arm, please."
Another pause and he lifted his arm for the blood pressure cuff. Only he didn't bring it all the way up, so she had to bend down.
While the cuff inflated, he sneered at her. "Nice seeing you again, Doc. Your brother still training at that loser gym in Salt Lake?"
Ripping the Velcro cuff off, she then punched a button on the pulse ox machine. "Finger, please."
Damn him if he didn't give his middle one.
Again, nothing overt, but his leer made her want to hide. She recorded results and removed the devices. Ignoring the sweat irritating her upper lip, she settled the stethoscope earpieces in place. "Deep breath."
He complied, staring at her chest the entire time.
"Any head injuries lately?"
"For me or the guys I've fought?" He grinned. "Naw. I'm solid."
"Any skin infections?"
"Nope."
"Been ill recently?"
"Touch of the clap, but penicillin took care of that."
She tapped the clipboard with a pen. "You want me to write that down?"
"Hey, take a joke, babe."
She met his glare with one of her own. "Push me and I'll document everything you say. Communicable diseases, real or suspected, are cause to pull fighters from the bout."
"You pull me and that would be the last thing on Earth that you ever did, babe."
A weird sensation, like a flutter of a gauze curtain, formed between her and Linc. Then, with a stab of a headache into her temple, the feeling was gone. Stress reaction, maybe?
"Everything okay?" the inspector spoke up. He looked at Mariah.
"Hey, just two old friends joking, man." Linc snorted. "Carry on, Doc."
She held out her hands. Damned things were trembling. "Show me your hands."
He offered his giant paws and she flipped them over, checking each side for tender spots or broken bones.
Extending two fingers from both her hands, she said, "Squeeze." Most normal fighters gave a gentle pressure. Not this jerk. Damned if he didn't crank down on her like a sadistic vice grip. She bit back a cry. "Okay."
After signing the bottom of the page, she set down the clipboard. "You're cleared."
"Good." He turned back. "Hey, what's the deal with you and that pansy-ass, Vaughn Taggart?"
Stifling the urge to roll her eyes, she said, "There's no deal."
"Good, because you should know that Wyatt is here tonight."
"The same jerk who pointed a gun at me when I tried to care for his sick mother?"
"He was only showing affection and concern for your safety. He really has the hots for you." Linc grinned. "It's mutual, right?"
"In what alternate universe is that affection?"
"Oh." Linc's thinking face almost made her laugh. "He said you two have a thing going."
"Uh, no. Maybe in his dreams." The thought of being in the same space as Wyatt turned her stomach almost as much as hanging around Linc. Worse yet, the thought of Wyatt coming here as a ploy to see her again made her grind molars.
He rubbed his thick jaw. "Funny, when he found out you were working this event, he begged to be my corner guy." Dusting off his hands, he smirked. "Well, this evening is going to be awkward for everyone, isn't it?" Linc grinned, and a weird red flare in his irises came and went. Then another flash of a headache shot across her forehead. Before she could examine a connection between the two things, he snipped, "See you in the ring, babe."
Hopefully not. Thank goodness there was another doctor working with her tonight.
"Next," she managed to say, rubbing her temples.
The air shifted as the door opened and closed, and the spicy scent of shaving cream wafted past her. She suppressed the flutter beneath her ribs. No way could she show Vaughn how much his presence affected her.
But for the love of God, could he put a shirt on already? One glance at his smooth, tattooed chest made her face tingle. Not to mention how she quivered as the ridges of muscle rippled when he walked toward her. His right bicep had spirals of tattooed thorns done so well, it looked like the barbs pierced his skin.
"Have a seat, please."
He froze a few feet into the room. "What are you doing here?"
With a grin, she said, "I sometimes work as a fight physician for local events. Surprised?"
A corner of his serious mouth rose. "Not surprised that you can do the job. More surprised that you're here in this, uh, rough environment. It's just... out of context."
As in, his last memory of her involved a freak-out, fully clothed therapy session where she was a delicate flower? Understandable.
"I got into ringside doctor gigs in Salt Lake City when Kevin started fighting. It was a nice way to pick up a few extra bucks in residency. Now? It's something he and I have in common: love of MMA. Maybe I don't fight, but we're both participating."
"We're lucky to have you." Why did that sound like a promise? Wishful thinking, probably.
He eased into the chair, knees apart, and the band of his blue fight shorts peeked out from beneath the baggier shorts he wore over them. The cords in his thick legs tightened under the hair-dusted skin, and her mouth went dry.
A brain short circuit ruined her for a solid five seconds as she imagined him wrapping those legs around her while he held her tight to that chest and rolled her under him with a sexy judo move.
No. Don't go there.
She rubbed her neck. Why hadn't she pulled the blazer on over her gray button-down shirt?
As Vaughn followed her every move with his dark eyes, she shivered but for a very different reason than with Linc. Vaughn didn't look like a killer stalking small prey. Oh, no. He looked like a starving man watching steak sizzle on the grill.
Dinner analogies aside, did he have any idea how badly Linc could hurt him?
Oh, man.
His thick brows drew together as she smoothed the Velcro of the blood pressure cuff on his arm. "Are you okay?" he asked.
She paused. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Nothing. Just a... feeling I had a few minutes ago waiting in the hall while Linc was in here with you."
Linc intimidated the hell out of her, but that wasn't Vaughn's problem. "It was fine."
"Did he do anything mean?"
"Nothing," she snapped. Cutting her eyes to the inspector and back, she said, too brightly, "Now, let's get your exam finished up, okay?" She removed the blood pressure cuff and pulse ox device.
He jammed his mouth into a tight line.
"Deep breath." She listened to his heart and lungs. Wow, ink on his back, too. Latin and more thorns. Very nice. "Good. Hands, please."
His were sturdy as two rocks. When he squeezed her fingers, warmth flowed through the solid but not painful grip. His touch seeped like melted caramel up her arms and into her chest and belly. What would that firm grip feel like on her arms? Her breasts? Oh, God, what about on her...
Stopping herself before she licked her lips, she stepped back. Anything to get hold of her overreacting libido. "Any injuries lately?"
He paused. The corners of his sensual mouth crept upward, triggering a wash of warmth over her neck. "Nothing physical."
Good one. "All right, you're cleared. Good luck."
"Maybe we can talk after the fight?"
"Sure thing."
As in no.
No way would she stick around and wait for him. No matter how much their chemistry intrigued her, she had made her feelings clear.
She would leave as soon as her fight duties were completed and stay far away from the temptation that was Vaughn Taggart. The guy possessed everything her body wanted and nothing her heart could handle.