Classy, running a non-profit, she lived trying to better other people's lives. He had nothing in common with her, but her attitude kept him interested. Her reaction to him in bed hooked him.
He needed someone strong enough to put up with him, and yet he needed someone who wouldn't run from his sexual needs. Someone who wasn't interested in his money.
Having lived on the streets until almost nineteen, he kept his private life separate from his business. He expected a woman involved with him to keep what they do behind closed doors. It was bad enough when the reporters came around when he got his first big break. He wasn't interested in sharing any more of his life.
Aubrey—he rubbed his jaw—he had a feeling she could handle the darkness inside of him.
For the first time in thirty-five years, he found a woman strong enough to have a vulnerable side. She would need it all to survive what he hoped would be a mutual relationship.
He pulled up in front of Aubrey's house. Lights were on in half the windows facing the street. He hesitated, pushing down the adrenaline lest he scare her too soon.
Shutting off the car, he walked up the cobblestone pathway to the front door with flowers in hand. In the quiet neighborhood, he pushed the buzzer and rocked back on his heels, feeling his chest tighten. Not even gaining a million-dollar contract filled him with the kind of rush he thrived on.
Several minutes passed, and he rang the bell again. Impatiently, he set the flowers on the porch chair and removed his cell phone from his pocket. From the background check he had done on Aubrey, he had her home number.
He heard the phone ring from outside the door.Come on, Bree. Pick up.
The call clicked on. "I'm unable to answer your call right now. Please—"
He disconnected and stepped over to pound on the door. "Aubrey. Open the door."
When she refused to answer, he paced the length of the porch. Once. Twice.
Disgusted with having to wait when Aubrey was clearly not going to come to the door, he walked away, leaving the flowers behind. Angered at his plans falling apart, he drove away without looking back. His foot grew heavy as he watched the speedometer climb. He squeezed and twisted his grip on the steering wheel. No one ever turned him down.
Every aspect of his life could be bought and paid for. However, he managed his personal life alone.
He punched his fist on the wheel and took the exit. In no mood to go home, he went back to where he was comfortable. He knew the dirty streets better than he knew the downtown business district.
In his old neighborhood, he drove straight to Billy's Gym. From the outside of the rundown building, all appeared dark and deserted, but he knew inside the lights were on and there was someone always willing to take a few rounds in the ring.
Here, he controlled the outcome. He could hurt others, and nobody gave him a second look. Here, he could escape the idea that Aubrey was untouchable to him.
He pushed through the back door, assaulted with the familiar scent of dank sweat, rubber, and piss from the alley. He stood inside, out of breath. Until he'd set foot in the building, he hadn't realized how much he was running. Running away from Aubrey. Running away from disappointment. Running away from the man he'd become.
"Hey, Ghost." Tank separated the ropes and stepped down from his spot in the ring.
Smoke from the cigar hanging from Tank's mouth curled around his head. His potbelly hung over his jeans, below his Gold Gym T-shirt. He grabbed the beefy hand the old boxer offered and let the big guy pull him in for a shoulder bump.
"How's it going?" he said.
"Still alive." Tank removed his cigar. "Long time no see."
He peered around the gym. "Anyone looking for some time in the ring?"
Tank squinted, studying him. He fisted his hands. His reputation was well-known in the gym.
"Don't kill him." Tank stuck his dirty fingers in his mouth and whistled. "Romero, put on gloves."
A twenty-something year old built like a brick met his gaze and lifted his chin. Serge peeled off his coat and tossed it on an empty chair. Then he unbuttoned his shirt. "You still have my gloves?"
Tank's face split into a grin. "Hell, yeah. Still covered with the blood of your last partner. I'll get them."
He removed his shirt and set it on his coat, leaned down, and untied his boots. His muscles bunched along his back. Tense and ready to hit, he shook his arms and bounced in place. The fact that Aubrey refused to open her door disappointed and angered him.
Maybe he was wrong about her. Maybe she wasn't strong enough to handle him. Maybe she had everything she wanted wrapped up in that shelter she struggled to keep open.
He clenched his fists. Not many women aroused him at first sight. Coupled with how she came alive underneath him, he was sure she would accept his dark side.
