Page 10 of Simon Says

“This is it,” she said to herself. “The last time I’ll ever come here. The last time Barnaby will ever hold me with guilt.” She looked up into the sunny sky and breathed the brisk fall air. “The very last time.”

Once in her car, to distract herself and gain some control so she wouldn’t present a danger on the roadway, Dakota looked at the slip of paper.

Simon Evans.

Her eyes widened. Sickness gave way to fascination. Surely nottheSimon Evans, renowned trainer of SBC fighters, once an amazing, unstoppable champion himself? Sublime, they called him, because of his incredible good looks, his way with the ladies, and his charming manner.

Her heart beat a little faster as she pictured him in her mind. Six-two. Ripped. Dark. He shaved his head, which only made the astounding intensity of his brown eyes that much more compelling.

What a hoot.

Barnaby was sending her to one of her favorite sporting events to fetch a superior icon in the industry. Hell, had she known, she’d have volunteered for the job.

Dakota recognized the address on the slip of paper as his hometown, confirming he was the fighter. But Simon wouldn’t be there now. A few months ago, he’d announced his intent to compete again, and that meant he was at a camp somewhere, getting in shape. Or, she should say, getting in better shape. The man always looked delicious, no matter what position he chose in the SBC—trainer, fighter, or sex symbol.

She’d find him. She’d visit him.

And one way or another, she’d bring him to Barnaby.

If along the way she got to indulge her fandom, no one would hold that against her.

Her day was looking better. All she needed now was some coffee.

CHAPTER 2

SWEATpoured over his shoulders and trickled down his spine to soak the waistband of his shorts. Training other athletes and training himself were two very different things. He’d never pushed anyone as hard as he pushed now. The passion was both exhilarating and exhausting.

Padded in protective gear, Gregor squared off with him again. Simon prepared himself—and a flash of blond hair distracted him just long enough for Gregor to knock him on his ass. His head rang, darkness crowded in, and then he had no more time to mollycoddle himself because Gregor attacked.

Six and a half feet of muscled fighter landed on him.

Shaking off the cobwebs, Simon went on automatic pilot, defending himself by rote, countering all of Gregor’s attempts at submission holds and blocking most of his punches. With a few well-timed moves, Simon managed to reverse their positions and in seconds, he had Gregor in a rear-naked choke.

“Ho, hold up, Simon. He’s tapping.”

Dean’s voice cut through the fog, and Simon immediately loosened his hold. Gregor rolled over to his knees, cursing himself.

Exhaustion pulled Simon flat to the mat. Eyes closed, he sucked air into his straining lungs while Dean took the time to tell Gregor what he’d done wrong, and what he’d done right.

Then he started on Simon.

“What the hell were you thinking? You dropped your hands and you looked away from him. That’s your number one rule—to always keep your eyes on your opponent.”

Simon didn’t open his eyes yet. Gregor’s slug had nearly knocked him out. Little stars danced behind his closed eyelids. “I know.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me,” Dean said. “If you’d been looking at Gregor, you’d have seen a wild haymaker like that coming a mile away.”

Damn harpie. “I know.”

“Maybe Gregor is too damn big for you—”

“No.”

“Then you’re not putting enough into it. You know if you can’t handle him here, you sure as hell won’t be able to handle someone in a competition.”

“Stop bitching.” Simon opened his eyes to see the bright lights on the ceiling of Dean’s gym. What had distracted him?

Oh, yeah.

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