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Prologue
Rose - France
“Goodjobonbeatingthe frog,” a British man called to me as I walked out of the octagon to the ladies locker room. He was using “frog” as a derogatory term for a Frenchman.
I was weightless from the high of my victory, and his comment amused me. When I paused to look at him, I smiled.
Hello, gorgeous.
I had won my first underground championship fight against the Frenchman nicknamed “The Grenade” in his own gym. He was a tough fight. My face was swollen, my lip was cut, and I was exhausted, a little battered and bruised. But none of that mattered, because I hadwon.
Not bad for a computer science drop out from the provinces.
He was in an expensive suit, or maybe a tux? It’s not like I’d know the difference. He was a casual devil with icy blue eyes, blond hair, and the smattering of a five o’clock shadow. The navy blue of his blazer enhanced the gray flecks in his eyes and he tucked a hand into his pants pocket. He was handsome. Downright sexy, actually. In a sophisticated way.
“Yeah?” I asked. “You didn’t come here hoping to watch a woman get beat?”
“Not at all.” His voice was low, with a resonant quality, as though he was humming a low note. “I came to see ifyoucould beathim.”
His eyes roamed up and down my body, but it wasn’t out of cheap sexual appreciation. At least not completely. There was something in his face—was it pride? Intrigue?
Gray eyes were always a thing of fascination for me. They seemed less expressive than the darker ones. Maybe because I always associated them with cold and snow. That placidness and calm seemed to extend to the rest of his face, and the casualness of his demeanor. He was at ease, but even that seemed like it was designed to keep secrets.
“I’m pleased to see that you have,” he said with a tilt of his head.
I checked him out, examining him from head to toe. Iwaslooking at him with cheap appreciation. It had been a while since I’d been with a man. My girlfriend and I weren’t exclusive, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins needed more of an outlet. I needed more of a rush.
I stepped up to him, slowly. My bare feet whisper soft on the ground. One of his eyebrows went up.
I took off my right glove and wrapped my hand around his blue, striped, silk tie.
“I’ve pleased you?” I asked with a coy smile.
His grin widened.
“Why don’t I take you out for a drink? I have…”
Before he could finish his asinine sentence, I fisted his lapel and dragged him into the women’s locker room.
I pushed the door open, and it swung closed behind us. It was the only sound apart from the squeak of his loafers on the tiled ground, and a small chuckle coming from somewhere in his chest.
I shoved him against a row of lockers, and the sound of the metal giving in to his weight echoed in the empty room.
The place was humid from the showers and lingering water. It smelled… well… like every locker room in every gym that ever existed.
The man’s eyebrow was still raised as he looked at me.
“Aren’t we being a little forward?” He asked, with a grin.
“Sex and violence go hand-in-hand,” I told him, giving him a piece of my truth. “A good fight makes me want to fuck.”
My voice sounded low and husky to my own ears. I pressed my body against his, and felt his cock come to life.
“Nothing like proximity to death to make you want to live.” He nodded in agreement, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Sex and violence.”
He bit his lip.
“Pick a safe word, Miss.” He instructed.
