He slowly pulled her upright by the shoulders and unbound her wrists. “Tell me when it starts to tingle.”
“Now.”
Fuck. He should’ve paid more attention to—
“Ronin, I’m fine.”
He nuzzled her neck, filling his lungs with the scent of her skin as he rubbed circulation back into her arms. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That was so intense I forgot I even had arms.”
“We were sort of on another plane, weren’t we?”
“You’ve got lots of . . . sex moves that I’ve never heard of, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t that make you want to move in and stay with me forever?”
The way she stiffened beneath him bothered him. He pulled back and looked at her. “What?”
“But I don’t have an encyclopedia of fancy sex tricks to keep you interested in me forever.”
“As long as you’re enjoying what we do together, I don’t care. It’s not a competition. There won’t be a test.” He swept his thumb across her lips. “If we never do anything except make love face-to-face in our bed, baby, I’m good with that. I love you. And you know that’s not just the afterglow of hot sex talking. It’s all me.”
Her big blue eyes softened, but she didn’t respond in kind—either that she loved him or she couldn’t wait to make his bed theirs by moving in. Yet she did wrap herself around him and kiss him with a perfect mix of desire, sweetness, and gratitude.
Since he suspected he had a ways to go in establishing trust between them again, he had to put himself out there first. “So back to our original discussion.”
“Which discussion was that? Because you completely scrambled my brain with your tantric sex moves.”
“About the book cover. I’ll let you use a picture of me, as long as I’m not recognizable.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Amery’s telling smirk ruined her feigned look of surprise. She’d riled him up on purpose, talking about hiring a male model.
His thoughts flashed back to when his ex had pouted and lied to manipulate him. But he couldn’t draw parallels between the two women when they were polar opposites. Amery was a terrible liar—too honest almost to a fault. He couldn’t remember any instance when she’d used manipulation to get her way.
But then, you wouldn’t know until it was too late, would you?
“I promise you won’t regret this.” She leaned forward to hug him and made a sour face. “Ouch. My butt is sticking to the counter.”
“We did make a mess.”
“You made a mess.”
“Good thing the cleaning service comes tomorrow.”
Amery lightly whapped him on the chest. “Ronin Black, we are not leaving this for your housekeeper to clean up! That’s just . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re yanking my chain. You’d never leave a mess for someone else to clean up just because you can. You sure don’t act like I expected a billionaire would.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Not hardly. Grab a rag, moneybags, and start wiping.”
CHAPTER NINE
RONIN understood why Thaddeus Pettigrew preferred to conduct meetings in his private executive dining room at his high-rise office building. The real estate, restaurant, oil, and timber magnate couldn’t go anywhere without being approached by business associates, wannabe business associates, the media, or critics.
Yet Ronin knew agreeing to TP’s parameters put the power in his hands. He suspected from their very first meeting that TP recorded their conversation. Since many of their discussions included what could be considered criminal activity, Ronin had configured a scrambling device he kept in his pocket whenever they held a meeting. If TP was aware of it, he hadn’t mentioned it. Ronin believed his business relationship with TP survived and thrived because Ronin looked after his own best interests first.
He took the elevator to the thirtieth floor and was met by a curvy brunette who proclaimed herself TP’s personal assistant. Funny how fast TP went through assistants; in ten years, Ronin hadn’t seen the same one twice.
And if Amery was impressed with his private elevator, she’d really be blown away by the one that led to TP’s office. A glass elevator on the inside of the building. Given how much she loved his rooftop garden, this three-story glass atrium, which had been designed to mimic a rain forest, would be right up her alley. Even when the snow flew and the temps dipped below freezing, it felt like the Amazon in here.
The assistant led him into the executive room where TP held court. He stood and held out his hand when Ronin approached.
“Ronin, I was glad you called. I’ve heard some interesting tidbits in the past few weeks that no one will confirm, but I know I’ll get the truth from you. Before we delve into that and the favor I need to ask you, care for a cocktail?”
“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
TP beckoned his personal assistant closer. “Bambi, be a dear and fix us a drink. Chivas and water.”
“Right away, Mr. Pettigrew.” She stepped to a well-stocked bar, mixed the drinks, and had them on the table almost before Ronin took a seat.
“Is there anything else, sir?”
TP shook his head and blew a big puff of cigar smoke in her face.
She didn’t even blink or cough before she tottered out of the room.
“Bambi?” Ronin repeated. “Is that her real name?”
“The guy at the strip club who lent her to me for a few weeks swears it is.”
Don’t ask.
“So what’s this I hear about you getting the fuck beat outta you in the cage?”
“Which time are you referring to?”
TP’s shaggy gray eyebrows rose. “Jesus, Black. It happened more than once? What? You getting soft or something?”
“Just old and stupid. I filled in for a fighter, and my brain forgot to remind my body that I’m thirty-eight, not twenty-eight.”
“Don’t you train every goddamn day so you’re ready to fight anytime, anyplace?”
“Yes. But like in the business world, theory and practice aren’t always copacetic.” Ronin shrugged. “Still hurts like a motherfucker to get knocked out. That aspect hasn’t changed. The recovery time is longer too as I’ve aged.”
“So the rumors aren’t true? You weren’t a last-minute add-on as a dare?”
“No. My only pro-level fighter backed out of a scheduled bout. It was a rare foray into official fight promotion for us, and rather than lose more money, I fought.” He grinned. “Ended up getting my ass handed to me—at least during the fight.”
“No one else would be grinning about that, Ronin.”
“Yet you are.”
“Yep.” TP grinned widely. “Like you, I hate bein’ predictable. Pays to keep people guessing.”
“And it always pays well for you.”
He grunted. “Not always. Let’s get the first business discussion out of the way. Why’d you want to know about that property on Baldwin?”
“The lone tenant is a friend of mine.” Ronin explained the incidents, ending with, “I hadn’t heard of those organizations moving into that neighborhood. Figured you’d know something about it.”
“I’d heard a blip or two over the past few months but nothing solid. I’ll be keeping a better eye on it now. I’ll also pass the info to Stanislovsky. I know that won’t sit well with him.”
“How is Max?”
“Headed for divorce court again. This marriage lasted barely three years. He set her up in business, some healthy frozen yogurt chain. She had some success with it, so she figures that entitles her to a bigger piece of all of his business.” TP sighed. “He could’ve saved himself two divorces and ten million bucks if he’d listened to my advice.”
“Which is what?”
“Keep your woman—or women—out of your business.”
Surely he’d misheard that.
“I see by the look on your face you think I’m sexist.”
TP shrugged and puffed on his cigar. “Maybe I am. I’ve been married thirty years. Not once have I ever asked my wife’s opinion on a possible business deal. Not once have I given her the details on how I make the money she’s more than happy to spend.”
“So you don’t share anything with your wife?”
“Businesswise? Nope.”
Maybe that’s why rumors abounded that TP had multiple mistresses. Just like Ronin’s grandfather—but at least he didn’t have a wife literally overlooking his affairs.
“I never fooled myself into believing I was a handsome son of a bitch like you, Black. I’m fat. Obnoxious. Cocky. Crude. I don’t score with the ladies because they’re getting a night with Brad Pitt. I’m rich. That’s my appeal. I knew it when I married my wife. I know it whenever I hire a new assistant. I’m good with that.”
“Does that throwback attitude keep you from doing business with women?”
“No. I know women are highly capable of running their own businesses. I just don’t want them running mine. Men like us? We do what we have to do. We don’t piss and moan about it and wring our hands. We don’t hold a focus group to determine the best course of action. We just do it.”
Ronin wasn’t anything like TP . . . Was he?
“Can’t go back and change the past, Ronin. Only thing you can do is move forward.”
“I fail to see how asking me to do you a favor—given the types of favors I’ve done for you in the past—is allowing me to move forward.”
“So tell me no.”
“Jesus, TP, are you off your meds?”
TP grinned. “You paid your debt to me years ago, Ronin. It’s your sense of loyalty that keeps you doing the occasional favor for me. I’m not above taking advantage of that for no reason other than I trust you. And you can be guaran-damn-teed if I’ve asked for your help it’s because I’ve exhausted other options.”
There was a compliment in there somewhere. “What’s going on?”
He sighed. “My daughter Katie. She’s twenty-three, beautiful, sweet, and dumb as a post. I say that with pure fatherly love and no malevolence.”
“What’s she gotten herself into?”
“Three months ago, she called her mom, claiming her boyfriend was holding her against her will. Prior to that, we hadn’t seen the girl for damn near two months, so we had legitimate reason for concern. Katie has fallen for every dirtbag to come down the pike since she turned sixteen. When these guys figure out who she is, they swear it’s true love.” He snorted. “She even married one of these bastards. It lasted one month. That cost me a chunk of change. Every time she’s been in a situation, I’ve bailed her out.”
“Of jail?”
“Not so far, knock on wood.” He rapped on the table. “Like our other kids, when she turned eighteen, she started receiving monthly dividends from her trust fund. For the past five years, at the beginning of every month, the balance on the account is close to zero because she—or her douche bag boyfriend of the moment—has emptied the account. But during those three months, she hadn’t touched the money. Long story short, my PI found her, and my security team dragged her out of the roach-infested place she’d been held. The wife picked out a rehab place in California that specializes in rebuilding or re-creating self-esteem in poor little rich girls or some such new-age shit. After she completed the program, she returned to Denver, and she’s been driving me batshit crazy ever since.”
“While I’m glad it sounds like everything worked out, why are you telling me this, TP?”
“Come to find out, the guy she’d shacked up with was an MMA fighter.” He blew a smoke ring. “Evidently you refereed one of his amateur underground fights.”
“Still not seeing where you’re going with this.”
“Katie discovered you and I are acquaintances. Somewhere along the way, she’s convinced herself she belongs in the MMA fight-promotion business. Specifically building one with Black Arts.”
Ronin couldn’t stop his look of shock.
TP laughed. “Exactly my reaction when my daughter demanded I set up a meeting between the three of us to discuss options.”
He fought the urge to look over his shoulder to see if TP’s kid was joining them.
“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna foist my ditzy daughter on ya without your permission. I like you too much. But my wife, who is not privy to my business, is riding my ass about this. So I gotta come up with something besides losing a shit ton of money.”
“Jesus. I need another drink.” Ronin walked to the bar in the corner of the room and grabbed the bottle of Chivas, bringing it back to the table. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Like I said, tell me no.” TP refilled both their glasses. “I won’t hold it against you.”
Ronin knocked back the scotch. “Christ, TP. This feels wrong.”
A sheepish look crossed TP’s face. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I adore this kid—she’s sweet and she’s got a damn good heart. It’s the first time I’ve seen her excited about anything besides a man in years. She did manage to finish a two-year community-college degree in administrative business.”
An odd notion occurred to him.
“What? I see the wheels turning. If you’ve got an idea—no matter how damn crazy it sounds—I’d consider it.”
“It is crazy. But do you think she’d buy that being a ring girl for an event is the best way to learn the fight-promotion business from the inside?”
“Possibly. The girl’s got the body and the looks for it.”
Most fathers thought their daughters were beautiful. What if Katie . . . wasn’t? Ronin needed a backup idea. “Would she be willing to enroll in martial arts classes?”
“You could make it a stipulation.” His eyes turned shrewd. “How’d you come up with that?”
“Black Arts is adding on Brazilian jujitsu. I’d like to have a newcomer in the classes as a way to keep an eye on things.”
TP’s eyebrows rose. “Whose idea was that?”
Since TP freely admitted he never took his woman’s advice, Ronin opted to keep Amery’s suggestions out of it. “Makes financial sense to expand. I found an instructor who is qualified and has an established dojo.”
“What’s this guy’s name?”
“Alvares Curacao. He owns the ABC dojo. Oddly enough, your timing is”—suspect, but Ronin soldiered on with—“good because he and I recently decided to combine resources and start a fight-promotion company that focuses on the amateur circuit. Katie could work as a ring girl, and train in the dojo to see firsthand what the MMA fighters do to prepare.”
“Keep going.”
“She’d have to understand she starts on the bottom, doing grunt work like anyone else.” Ronin gave TP a contemplative look. “Will it mean more to her if she thinks she got the job on her own?”
“It’d be a first.” TP poured himself another shot. “I appreciate you doing this, Ronin. And don’t worry; I’m fully prepared to pay her salary.”
Ronin laughed. “Not happening, Daddy Warbucks. She works for me; I pay her. Won’t be much. Nor will it be full-time. I’d put her on probation for the standard six months to see if she’s serious. Because I don’t think you really know how long her interest in this will last.”
“Understood. I’ll tell Katie I talked to you and you have an opening, but she has to apply for the job like everyone else. If she doesn’t follow through, neither of us are out anything.” TP grinned. “Think I oughta tell her to keep it on the down low that she’s my daughter? She kept the last name of the asshole she married. Hiding your family connections has worked well for you.”
“Not always.” Definitely not with Amery.
“Count yourself lucky you were born with the looks that make it an option for you. An ugly guy like me? No choice but to flash money around.” He put out his cigar. “When do you want Katie to interview?”
“Have her send a résumé to Black and Blue Promotions. Same address as the dojo.”