Below the Belt

“Thanks. You always come to Jamie’s training sessions?” Cooper asked. He hoped he wasn’t going to have problems with the old guy countermanding orders or sticking his oar in.

“Nope. Just wanted to check this place out, make sure it’s everything Jimmy seems to think it is,” Arthur said.

By which the old guy meant check Cooper out.

Cooper was about to respond when he registered that Jamie had moved onto the long bag and was pounding it with a series of powerful kicks.

“Excuse me,” he said. He strode across the floorboards and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of her.

She stopped. Her eyebrows rose toward her hairline as she registered his annoyance.

“What now?”

“From now on, I don’t ever want to see you using your legs to fight again. You got that?” he said. “You’re a boxer. Boxers fight with their fists, not their feet.”

“What?” Her silver eyes flashed defiance. “It’s a good workout, a good warm-up.”

“You lost that first fight and you nearly lost last night because you’re used to relying on your legs too much. Every time you want to fire off a roundhouse or a back kick, you lose precious seconds reminding yourself that you’re in a boxing ring and only your fists are legal,” he said.

She shook her head. “No way. I lost that fight because she was faster than me.”

Why was he surprised that she was disagreeing with him at the very first hurdle? Had he honestly expected anything less from a woman with so much attitude?

He was tempted to yell at her the way his first trainer used to yell at him back when he was young and hot-tempered and lacking in discipline. But Jamie was a smart fighter. She learned quickly when she wanted to—she’d shown him that in spades last night when she took his advice and knocked her opponent out. He wanted to harness those smarts straight off the bat. Going head-to-head with her wasn’t going to achieve that.

“You warm enough to go a few rounds?” he asked.

She looked surprised that he wasn’t pressing the issue.

“Sure.”

Cooper scanned the gym, honing in on Mick. At around a hundred and sixty pounds, Mick was a middleweight like Jamie and only had an inch on her in height.

“Mickey, suit up. I want you to go a few rounds with Jamie,” Cooper called out.

Mick looked as though all his Christmases had come at once. Cooper rolled his eyes. The sooner the rest of the team started to see Jamie as one of the boys, the better.

One of the gym assistants helped Jamie tape and glove up and fitted her with a padded head-guard while Cooper did the same with Mick.

“I don’t want you to go easy on her,” he instructed as he worked.

Mick kept throwing glances Jamie’s way, especially when she pulled off her T-shirt to reveal a tight-fitting sports crop top. Cooper grabbed the other man’s chin and brought his gaze back to meet his own.

“Listen to me. I want you to press her—not too hard, she’s probably still feeling last night’s fight. But I want you to make her sweat, okay?”

Mick nodded. Checking the laces on Mick’s gloves, Cooper gave him the all clear and held the ropes for him to climb into the ring. Then he signaled for Jason, one of his gym assistants.

“Yeah, boss?” Jason asked, his attention glued to Jamie.

“Grab the video camera. I want you to get everything she does,” he instructed.

It was a common enough tool—football players used tape all the time to review plays and understand their own strengths and weaknesses. Jamie was so stubborn and strong-willed that he knew the only way she’d understand his no-kick rule would be if she saw her faulty footwork herself.

Cooper glanced across to see Arthur had joined him, arms crossed over his chest.

“This’ll be interesting.”

“At the very least,” Cooper said.

They grinned at each other. Arthur had a tooth missing, a common hazard for boxers despite the protection of mouth guards. Curious, Cooper studied the other marks that boxing had left on the old guy’s face.

“You used to fight, Ray said?” Cooper asked.

“Did he? Yeah, I’ve seen a few rounds,” Arthur said with a shrug. He kept his focus on the two fighters warming up in the ring and didn’t offer up anything more.

Taciturn old bugger.

Cooper switched his attention back to the ring.

“Okay, let’s get into it,” he ordered.

Jamie and Mick met in the center and tapped gloves before falling into orthodox stances and starting to circle one another. True to form, Jamie was the first to move in, feinting with her right before hitting Mick’s torso with a left cross. Mick let her get a few shots in before he began to work her over. None of the hits were hard or intended to hurt, but both fighters had worked up a sweat within minutes and it didn’t take long for Jamie’s footwork to become compromised as she began to feel the pressure.

Cooper let them fight for a few more minutes before calling a halt.

“Thanks, Mick. Nice work. Jamie, my office,” he said.

Grabbing the video camera from Jason, he led the way to his domain.

By the time Jamie followed a minute later, towel in hand and without her gloves and head gear, he had the camera hooked up to the TV and the tape ready to play.

Jamie’s expression was wary as he gestured her toward a chair opposite his own.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to film us,” she said.

“Didn’t I?”

She was still breathing heavily. In the enclosed space of his office he was very aware of her scent—something fresh and bright that he guessed was her deodorant.

Instead of taking a chair, she leaned against his desk, her butt propped on the edge. He had to force his gaze away from her long legs as she crossed her ankles and leaned back on her arms.

For a fleeting second, he allowed himself to wonder what those thighs would feel like clenched around him as he pounded into her.

“Well, go on,” she said.

He hit the play button and they both watched the opening few skirmishes. As Mick picked up the pace, the first of Jamie’s hesitations appeared.