Hard Justice

She said it like she spoke to an idiot. Amused by the show of temper, Justice grinned. “Tell you what, if you have enough free time tonight, how about I take you to Rowdy’s? I’m already familiar with it and I’m betting the guys I know will be around. If you want to dance with them, no sweat.”

She looked tempted, and still riled. “I don’t want you coercing anyone to do you a favor. I’m not a charity case.”

“Far from it.” Hell, he’d probably still have to read the riot act to any man—friend or not—who got too close. “So what do you say?” To help convince her, he added, “You can try another beer, but this time just one.”

She stewed a minute more before finally nodding. “Well...all right. But, Justice, you have to trust me to do my own fending off, okay?”

Now that he had a destination, he started the car and pulled away. “That’s a no-go. It’s my job to—”

“You are only to protect me if things get out of hand!”

Yeah, she had a point. But with a woman like Fallon, that could happen in the blink of an eye.

* * *

THEY WEREN’T ON the road long when Justice cleared his throat. Over the next twenty minutes he did it several more times, repeatedly glancing her way, and Fallon assumed he was uneasy about her scolding.

Because he wore his mirrored sunglasses, she couldn’t see his eyes. Not that she needed to. The tension in his big body, in his broad shoulders and the set of his jaw, told her he was on edge.

She remained a little irked at his high-handed attitude, but clearly that mood wasn’t conducive to a nice evening so she decided to break the ice. With a slight huff, she faced him. “Something on your mind, Justice?”

A long exhale left his posture more relaxed. “Whew.” He flashed her a relieved grin. “That silent treatment was getting to me.”

Fallon hid her smile. For such a big, bulky guy, he’d really let one little disagreement bother him. “Then why don’t we chat?”

As if he’d been waiting for that invitation, Justice said, “Good idea. Who’s Marcus?”

Well, shoot. She’d walked right into that one. “Nobody important.” Not anymore.

“Nah, don’t give me that. He’s somebody, or at least he was. You cut ties on him?”

“Yes.” Or more like Marcus had cut ties—with his reaction.

He frowned. “Hung up on him still?”

Emphatic, she said, “Noooo.”

“No?” he clarified.

“Not even a little.” Marcus had bruised her pride, wounded her spirit and dashed her hopes, but she knew she’d never really loved him. “He was...convenient.” She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Very mercenary. The thing is, he works for my dad and my parents liked him. He was familiar with the family.” And all her secrets. “It seemed easy to fall into a pattern with him.” Easy, and oh, so stupid.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Justice said, “I don’t like him.”

He sounded so sincere, she couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “You don’t even know him.”

“Sure I do. See, fighters learn how to size people up real quick. You get in the cage with a guy and you have to know if he’s quiet because he’s afraid, or because he’s that confident. Does he talk smack to counter insecurities, or because he knows he can back it up? I can read body language and Marcus is a putz.”

Fallon laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but he really isn’t. He’s successful and engaging and people love him.”

“Not me.” Justice squeezed the steering wheel. “Not you.”

Good point. “We’re the exceptions, then.”

“Nope. Your dad wasn’t too keen on him either, let me tell you.” Justice glanced in the rearview mirror, frowned, and then took an exit. “So what happened? What’d he do?”

She couldn’t believe his audacity. “That’s private, Justice.”

He chewed his upper lip, rolled one shoulder, and said with complete seriousness, “I have to know these things. I mean, what if he shows up and tries to start trouble?”

Fallon laughed. “He won’t. In all ways, Marcus is proper.”

“Asshole wasn’t all that proper today. Proper is letting a lady go when she asks.”

“Justice!” It took all her control not to laugh. He did have a way of saying things.

Jaw working, Justice grumbled, “I wanted to cream him.”

It was ridiculous, but his vehemence warmed Fallon’s heart. She touched his rigid shoulder and said, “I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

“Okay, so help me out here—what’s his crime? If I know, then maybe, maybe, I won’t feel the need to stomp on him.”

For the first time since the breakup, Fallon felt like talking about it. Oh, she wouldn’t give him every detail. She’d learned her lesson on sharing too much. But given Justice’s defense, and the fact he didn’t know all her secrets, he might be the perfect person to listen.

“I’m on the edge of my seat here,” he said. “Imagining all kinds of crazy stuff.”

Belatedly, she withdrew her hand, but her palm continued to tingle. She curled her fingers into a fist, holding on to the sensation.

Justice’s shoulder was boulder hard and so warm that she couldn’t help but think about touching him again, wrong as she knew it would be.

“Honestly, it wasn’t all that much.” The hazy setting sun glared through the windshield, giving her a good excuse to hide behind her own sunglasses. Now where to begin? “Marcus and I started out as just friends. I...haven’t done much dating.”

What an understatement.

Not wanting him to ask about that, she quickly continued. “There are some occasions where you’d really like a date. Weddings, company parties, things like that,” she explained. “I knew Marcus through the company, he was nice, others admired him...”

“And you bought into that shit?”

She bit back a smile. “My dad was really pleased when Marcus asked me to a company gathering.”

“So what? Your dad didn’t have to date him.”

That time the laugh broke free. “For some reason you’re biased.”

“I told you, I’m a good judge of character.”

Curiosity got the best of her. “So what do you think of me?”

Becoming uneasy again, Justice said, “Finish your story first.”

Fallon thought about it, then decided he was right. Better to get it over with. “We did the whole friend thing for a while until finally, maybe a month later, Marcus wanted more than that, but my parents have been really overprotective.”

“Noticed.”

Of course he had. Not like he could have missed that. “I didn’t have much experience with guys, and Marcus was...patient.”

Interest sharpening, Justice growled, “You’re talking about sex?”

She wished she could be as plainspoken as him. But his question alone made her face hot. Lifting a hand in a lame gesture, she said, “Stuff that comes before that.”

“What stuff?”

Fallon shifted. “You know what I’m saying.”

He chewed his lip again. “Okay, so we’re talking foreplay, right? Making out, groping a little, testing the water so to speak.”

“Yes, exactly.” And all that had gone well enough as long as she left on her clothes. “We seemed to suit...until it came time for the deed.”

He snorted a laugh. “The deed?” he mimicked. With a teasing glance, he asked, “We’re still talking sex, right?”

“Yes,” she growled, her eyes narrowed as Justice made her feel foolish.

“Let me tell you, if Marcus screwed that up, then good riddance.”

Yes, he’d definitely screwed it up. The same strangling humiliation swamped her. “We found we didn’t suit and that there could be no future between us. Not in any intimate way.”

“Holy shit,” Justice breathed. “He did screw it up. Jesus, what a putz.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

He snorted another laugh. “If you say so. But now I just feel sorry for him.” This time Justice reached out and patted her knee. “The idiot will be regretting that the rest of his life.”

It blew her away that Justice seemed to consider her such a prize. “Why would he regret it? Because he works for my father? I don’t think Dad would—”

“Yeah, your dad definitely would. But what I meant was that he’d lost out with you.” Justice got back on the expressway before saying, “You know you’re a catch, right?”

He didn’t know her well enough to make that judgment, but she enjoyed hearing it anyway. “You think so?”

“Know so. I mean, what’s not to like, right?”

She half turned to face him. “So tell me, what do you consider my sterling qualities?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror again. “Would that be crossing a line? I mean, I don’t look forward to your dad unloading on me again.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He grinned wide enough to put dimples in his whiskery cheeks. “Alrighty, then. For one thing, you’re cute as hell. Big bedroom eyes, soft sexy mouth, and you have such a sweet little body.”

Fallon ducked her head as guilt swamped her. “I don’t.”

“See, this is why I should pound on Marcus. Did that prick say or do something to make you—”

“No.” Caught between wanting to laugh and dying of embarrassment, Fallon said, “And your language is deteriorating by the second.”

“Let’s blame Marcus,” Justice grumbled. “He brings out the worst in me.”

Shaking her head, Fallon said, “You’re incorrigible.”

“Just speaking the truth.” He grew more serious. “You’re also really nice. And smart. You have a good sense of humor. You’re daring. And... I dunno. You’re genuine.” With a fast shrug, he added, “I didn’t expect that. I thought with you being rich and all, you’d maybe be snooty or bitchy, but you’re not. You’re real down-to-earth.”

Never in her life had she been so flattered. “Thank you, Justice.” For obvious reasons, compliments to her character were far nicer than commenting on her physical appearance.

He gave a nod, then said, “You also look really great dancing. Too good, maybe.”

Having no idea what he meant by that, Fallon said again, “Thank you. I haven’t had much practice dancing either, but I enjoy it.”

“I could tell that you did,” he murmured. “Hell, every guy there could tell.” Then he asked, “Marcus never took you dancing?”

“A few times. Not often.” She didn’t want to detail everything she hadn’t done, so she switched gears. “While we’re discussing Marcus, I should probably explain that none of this was his fault.”

Justice snorted. “I saw him, remember? He was all butt-hurt and bossy, probably because he knew he’d screwed up.”

Fallon choked. “Butt-hurt?”

He grinned again. “Yeah, you know. All pouty and belligerent.”

“I’ve, ah, never heard the term.”

He dismissed that with a shrug. “Take my word for it—men don’t act that way unless they’re butt-hurt. Not real men, anyway.”

With Justice having been a fighter, his ideas of how real men should behave might differ from many others. “Could I ask you something now?”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you give up fighting when you’re so obviously good?”

“Ouch.” He gave a theatrical wince. “Tough question. See, I’m not that good. Not good enough to win a title and that’s what it’s all about.”

“But you’re fast, and strong and—”

He grinned at her. “Keep going.”

“Admittedly, I don’t know that much about fighting, but I was certainly impressed.”

“Because,” he repeated, “you don’t know that much about fighting. The dudes you’ll meet tonight at Rowdy’s? Some of them are top-notch. Championship quality. Without sounding too cocky, I am good, but only against untrained idiots. You could throw street thugs at me all day long and I wouldn’t break a sweat. But in the cage...” He gave a small shake of his head. “Whole different ballgame.”

Fascinated, Fallon thought about the men she’d meet, even while wanting to know more about Justice. “How so?”

He lifted one hand from the wheel and curled it into a tight fist. Muscles bulged all along his forearm, his biceps, shoulder and into his neck. “I have bricks for fists. Real knock-out power. Problem is, trained fighters aren’t still long enough to let me hit them. MMA is a mixed fighting style, so it’s not just boxing. It’s grappling, too.”

“Grappling?”

“Sort of a mix between wrestling, submission and strikes. My takedowns are too slow and once I’m on the ground the best fighters have an advantage over me with speed. If I get hold of a guy, or if I can land a punch or kick, I can put him down. That’s my strength.”

She agreed—he looked very strong.

“But any scenario other than that and I’d get in trouble. The losses I had were all submissions.”

“How many losses did you have?”

“Twenty wins, six losses.”

“Pfft. And for that you gave up?”

He scowled at her. “There wasn’t a path to the belt. The heavyweight title holder is a beast. He beat me twice. If I lost weight and dropped down to light heavyweight, my buddy Cannon was in the way.”

“You didn’t want to fight a buddy?”

“Hell, I don’t mind that. Guys compete with their friends all the time. It’s a sport, not a grudge match.”

He sounded disgruntled, making her smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“I trained at Cannon’s camp. I’d seen him fight plenty of times, but even in training he was slicker than most. I knew I’d only beat him with a lucky punch, and so far, no one’s gotten a lucky punch in on him. You’ll like him.”

“You don’t sound resentful.”

“Of Cannon?” He snorted. “No, ’course not. He’s a great guy. Not just at fighting either. That camp? It’s his gym, a way for fighters to learn new techniques from each other, but he also runs classes for the neighborhood kids. Everyone in Warfield idolizes him because that’s the type of man he is.”

She held silent for a bit, noticing that he again checked the rearview mirror, then the side mirror. Just cautious, or was there a problem? She checked her side mirror but saw nothing amiss, just other cars on the road.

As the light faded from the horizon, streetlamps flickered on. They each removed their sunglasses. The headlights automatically flicked on as Justice took another exit and turned down a busy street.

“Do you miss fighting?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

She heard the longing in his tone and it bothered her. “Why switch to being a bodyguard then? I’d think if you enjoyed it and you were good—even if not the best—it’d be worth it to continue.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m no good at being second best. Too competitive. My last fight was a good win. I was the underdog. Everyone expected me to get my ass handed to me. Instead, I nailed a quick, clean knockout in under thirty seconds. So I figured I’d go out on a high note, you know?”

“Wow.” But because she didn’t know, she asked, “That’s fast, right?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Usually we go three five-minute rounds. Championship fights are five five-minute rounds.” He shifted, popped his neck, then admitted, “Nine times out of ten, he’d have beaten me. But he shot in, I threw a punch and pow, he went down for the count.”

“I’d say there’s luck, and then there’s being ready. Clearly you took advantage of an opportunity. You were prepared and you did what you needed to do, when you needed to do it.”

Grinning, he patted her knee again. “Yeah, that’s how I tell it, too.”

“Do you still train?”

“Sure. Once a gym rat, always a gym rat. But now I can eat burgers when I want.” He patted his flat abdomen. “And drink an occasional beer.”

Absurd for him to pretend he had any fat on his body. From what Fallon could tell, he was muscle layered on muscle. But given it was probably a somewhat new occurrence, she was ridiculously pleased that he’d drunk a beer with her.

“On top of being competitive, I like a challenge. Let me tell you, this gig is real challenging. Hell, every day I learn something new. Another fighter friend, Leese Phelps, was the first to cut out for personal security. He sort of paved the way.” With another cocky grin, Justice added, “I still get to be a badass and have some interesting assignments. As a bonus, I get to carry a gun.”

Startled, she asked, “You’re carrying a gun?”

He gave her a “duh” look. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

“I never thought about it either way.” She looked him over, but didn’t see—

“Want to see for yourself, huh?” He leaned forward a little, lifted his T-shirt and showed her a black automatic in a holster connected to his belt, situated at the small of his back.

It took her a second to find her voice. Justice had just flashed a swath of firm skin and muscle, and the waistband of black boxers riding low on his hips. Temperature rising, Fallon asked in a whisper, “Have you ever shot anyone?”

“Not so far, no.” As he pulled up to a stoplight, he turned to look at her. “But I would if necessary.”

She believed him.

Then he flashed another grin, flexed his arms to make massive muscles pop in his biceps. “But with guns like these, it’s usually not necessary.”

Fallon felt like fanning her face. Good Lord, he looked fine. Needing another switch, she said, “I’m sorry I’m not a more interesting assignment.”

“You fit that ‘challenge’ part, and that keeps it interesting.”

Before she could ask him what he meant, the light changed and he moved his foot off the brake.

“Before you,” he said, “I worked with Mark Stricker.”

Her jaw loosened. “The movie star?”

“Yeah. Let me tell you—that was interesting. Did you know he’s, like, five-two?”

“Really? I thought he was taller.”

“Me, too.”

“In movies, he looks to be at least six feet tall.”

“Yeah, but it’s a trick. They put him on a platform when he’s next to the taller female actors. Crazy, huh?”

“Fascinating.” Curious why he’d been assigned to Stricker, she asked, “Was he in danger?”

“Nah. Mostly I helped him train for a new role as a fighter. But there were also times I had to keep the rabid fans away. I can’t talk about it much. The deets on the film are still hush-hush.”

“Okay, sorry.” When he again checked his mirrors, Fallon huffed a breath. “Is there a problem, Justice?”

“What do you mean?”

“You keep checking behind us like you’re expecting trouble.”

“It’s my job to expect trouble.”

She started to relax...

Until he added, “Especially when we’re being followed.”

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