*   *   *

Parker watched Tyson leave the bar, her heart echoing loudly in her ears. His back as he walked away from her was a familiar view—one she was starting to hate. She knew she’d had him for the briefest of seconds. The look in his eyes and his grip on her wrist had created a flurry of excitement in the pit of her stomach, caused a shiver of desire to run through her, and her common sense to abandon her. And she knew he felt it all too.

But, once again, he’d put on ice the heated tension simmering between them.

It frustrated her that she couldn’t figure him out. Sure she’d just talked a big game about having him pegged, but in truth, she knew nothing about him. And she wished she knew what was holding him back from acting on the attraction he couldn’t hide very well. The feel of his heart pounding beneath her hand and the bulge in the front of his jeans were quite obvious.

Accepting her drink from the bartender, she made her way toward the group.

Dane smiled when he saw her and let out a low whistle of appreciation.

At least someone appreciated her efforts that evening, she thought wryly.

“Hi, everyone,” she said, noticing a young woman next to Walker she’d seen around the gym a few times. “I’m Parker Hamilton,” she said, extending a hand toward the tall, pretty brunette.

“Grace Andrews. It’s so great to meet you,” she said sincerely. “I’ve seen you at the gym a few times, but you looked like you were in the zone so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Parker laughed. “In the zone? More like trying not to pass out and asking myself what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Grace smiled. “I hear you’re learning to fight for a part in a movie, that’s exciting.”

Parker nodded, unsure how much to reveal. The official announcement that she had gotten the role hadn’t been made yet, and she wasn’t sure how much press and publicity this movie would actually get, so she said simply, “It’s a wonderful indie film.”

“My best friend and Walker’s sister, Kylie, is a casting director in Hollywood. She was so jealous when I told her you were coming out with us tonight. She’s a big fan.”

“Well, tell her I said thank you and that she can cast me in a movie anytime,” Parker said, only half joking, her irritation over Tyson’s easy dismissal disappearing in the warm welcome she experienced with the rest of the group.

Who needed Tyson anyway? she thought, sipping her wine. But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t erase their exchange moments before from her mind. He thought she couldn’t handle him . . . but she suspected the real reason he exercised such control around her was he wasn’t sure he could handle her.

“Where did Tyson go anyway?” Walker asked, as though reading her mind, glancing around the bar.

She sighed. “I scared him away,” she said with a small laugh.

Walker grinned. “He must have finally met his match. He’s not one to be scared off easily.”

“What’s his deal anyway? I know his dad was a champion boxer and fighting is his entire life, but he’s so wound up all the time.” She’d like to help him relax . . .

“That’s what makes him so great,” Dane said, climbing into the booth next to her. “He doesn’t allow any room for failure, never opens himself up to the possibility of getting hurt inside the octagon. He’s intense because he has to be.”

Walker nodded. “Tyson’s training camp is like a family. When a fighter is preparing for a fight, everyone bands around that fighter to offer support, encouragement, help with training . . . whatever the fighter needs. But Tyson’s different. He doesn’t need anything from anyone. It all comes from within himself and he needs to always maintain a certain level of control to stay on top.”

Wow, sounded like these guys knew their coach well. She nodded. “I guess I understand that . . .” Except the not needing anyone part. Tyson needed something, even if he didn’t know what that something was yet.

Grace patted her hand. “I wouldn’t sweat it. I’ve known Tyson for years and he’s always been this way—grumpy but loveable,” she said with grin.

She’d seen the grumpy part. When was the loveable side due to make an appearance?

*   *   *

The moment Tyson walked into his dark, silent apartment, something felt off. The hair lifted on his arms and his shoulders tightened. Keeping his back close to the wall, he reached for the baseball bat he kept near the door, but it wasn’t there.

Shit.

Flicking on the light, his feet froze and the muscles in his stomach and legs tightened, as though his fight-or-flight instincts were at odds. His coffee table and end tables lay on their sides, the glass top broken on one. His brass pole lamp lay resting against a wall, the shade torn, and several pictures in frames were smashed on the floor. He moved faurther inside and immediately felt the tip of a knife at his back.

Unarmed and caught completely off guard, he raised his hands to show they were empty, fighting the urge to grab the knife and turn this attack around. He had no idea how many others there were in his apartment or where Connor was. “What do you want?” he asked slowly.

The guy grabbed his shoulder and led him toward the bathroom, where another guy—big and bald, with a prison tattoo under his left eye, had Connor’s head in a bathtub full of water. His brother splashed his hands against the water and his legs jimmied on the floor.

“Hey! Let him up,” Tyson growled.

Tattoo face snarled and the guy at his back released him, but kept the knife pointed close to his body. He angled himself between the two men to keep an eye on both. Luckily the one with the knife was shorter, smaller, not as intimidating. But still, he still held the knife.

“Your brother owes us money,” the guy with the knife said.

Tyson’s eyes narrowed as he studied the men. They weren’t the same ones who’d come by the gym to pick up money the week before, and his gut clenched. “I thought we paid you,” he said through gritted teeth.

Tattoo face pulled Connor’s head out of the water. “You lied to your own brother?”

Connor shook his head, blinking the water out of his eyes, sputtering and trying to catch his breath as he said, “I owed money to more than one person.” He looked desperately, pleadingly at Tyson.

Fuck! “How much does he owe you?”

The man with the knife moved forward. “Five grand.” He traced the knife along Tyson’s stomach and Tyson tightened his muscles. “You know, it might be kind of fun to beat the crap out of the world champ anyway . . .”

His fighter instinct kicked in and his hands rose, but the edge of the knife pushing against his skin reminded him it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

“Leave Tyson out of this. I’ll get the money . . .” Connor said.

“Shut up, Connor. You have no money,” the guy at the bathtub said, hitting Connor’s head against the edge of the tub. A deep gash appeared immediately and blood dripped onto the floor.

Damn it! “Let him go and we can talk about getting you the money,” he said.

“If we let this loser go, we’ll never get our money. So here’s what’s going to happen,” the man with the knife said, grabbing Tyson’s shoulder again. “We’re going to go downstairs to the safe—the one in the gym Connor told us about—and you’re going to get five grand . . . or your brother will drown.”

“Look, I don’t have that kind of money in the safe.” He’d yet to cash Parker’s check for the next seven weeks of training. She’d insisted on paying the full amount, sticking with the high rate. No doubt so he wouldn’t change his mind about helping her at any point. The check was in his wallet still as he hadn’t felt right accepting that much money from her. But now, he had little choice. “I’ll need to go to a bank.”

Tattoo Face scoffed. “Do we look like reasonable people?”

“You look like people who want to get paid. That’s not possible until I get to a bank, There’s a check in my wallet I’ll need to deposit first,” Tyson said, his jaw clenched.