Against the Ropes Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  About

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Against the Ropes

  Copyright © 2013 Carly Fall

  ISBN (ePub/PDF): 978-0-9874870-4-9

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and for all other inquiries, contact Bottom Drawer Publications by email: [email protected]

  These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  About

  AGAINST THE ROPES

  Winning the next fight will mean nothing . . . if he can’t win back the heart of the woman he loves.

  Five years ago Dylan Gomez had it all. He was an up-and-coming boxer with a loving girlfriend, and his sights were set on the big league. Then he let the hype of the fans inflate his ego—he thought he was invincible. That all changed when an alcohol-fuelled decision altered the course of his life. He lost his girlfriend and then bit-by-bit his life crumbled around him.

  Physical therapist, Regan Holloway, has coasted through life for the last five years. She’s been in the same place all that time and most of her things are still in boxes. Agreeing to a “friendly” date with a co-worker, she ends up ringside and face-to-face with the man she’d fled to forget—Dylan.

  Dylan’s turning his life around and working his way back up the ranks; he’s got a big fight lined up in thirty days that will be his ticket back into the pros—if he can win. The only thing holding him back is an old shoulder injury and Regan not being by his side.

  When Max, Dylan’s manager, convinces Regan to come with them and work on his shoulder for the fight, she knows she needs to keep things professional so that she won’t be hurt again.

  In the thirty-day countdown to the big fight, secrets are revealed, their passion is reignited, and the past threatens to haunt their future. On fight day, Dylan and Regan are truly against the ropes.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Why, exactly, had she decided to go on this date again?

  Regan Holloway took another sip of her Merlot and tried to focus on what Brett was saying from across the table. He was thin and stood about six feet tall, with a mess of blond curls framing his average-looking face. Except for his eyes—they were a gorgeous green.

  Maybe that was why she had said yes when he asked her out. She really had a thing for nice eyes.

  Pushing her glass aside, Regan sat back in her chair. At the rate she’d been slugging down wine, she would be passed out on the floor in a couple of hours.

  Focus, Regan. Pay attention.

  “So when I graduated from school, I wanted to come back and live close to my parents. They’re getting older and I wanted to be around to help.”

  “That’s really nice,” she said, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. And it was nice. Brett was everything that an almost thirty-year-old woman should want: he was good to his parents, had a stable job working at the same physical therapy office she did, he was very sweet and always had a smile for everyone, and he had great eyes.

  Unfortunately, she knew ten minutes into this date that he wasn’t for her. Hell, she knew it when he’d asked her, but the thought of spending another Saturday night alone didn’t appeal to her at all, and on a whim, she had said yes.

  She looked around the casino bar. Slot machines rang and whistled in the background, along with the hum of people talking and the eighties music trickling out through the speakers above. People were standing two deep at the large, oak bar, and excitement crackled in the air for the night’s festivities. A month ago, she’d been talking to Brett about sports over lunch when he asked her if she enjoyed boxing. Regan had cringed at the question. She used to love the sport, but that had changed. She had nodded and smiled absently and a week later, Brett asked her to this boxing match.

  Currently, they were waiting to be called for their dinner reservations. Afterward, they would go to the match. There was a time in her past—a time she didn’t like to think about—when she’d spent many days and nights in the boxing community. Now the closest she got to the ring was her kickboxing class at the local gym.

  “I’m looking forward to tonight. There’s a couple of really good fights on the card,” Brett said, leaning forward with a smile. “I’m glad you came with me, Regan.”

  She returned the smile. “It was nice of you to ask.”

  He prattled on about some office gossip and Regan became antsy. Honestly, Brett was everything a woman should want in a man, but he was boring her to tears. Finally, after twenty more minutes, she stood. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she said. At the same time she heard the maître-de call Brett’s name. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, standing, and Regan could feel his stare on her back as she walked away.

  Once in the restroom, she used the toilet, and then put the seat down and sat. Why had she agreed to come to a boxing match?

  Her head swam with memories of Dylan, her former lover and the one that no other man could compete with, even though he had hurt her worse than anyone ever had in her life. Being of Mexican descent, his skin was sienna brown, his eyes almost black. They were warm, and she swore that they sparkled when he laughed. Dark hair framed high cheekbones, full lips, and a nose that bent slightly at the bridge. He had considered his body his temple and worked out religiously, weightlifting and hitting the heavy bags. With his good looks and rock-hard body, he was truly the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Regan had been certain Dylan was going to make it big in his boxing career, but she hadn’t seen or heard anything about him in years. It was as if he had just . . . disappeared.

  She shook her head as if doing so would get him out of her mind. Most days she was able to keep thoughts of him at bay, but deciding to attend a boxing match had brought up hurt, anger, and memories of their time together. Really, she just wanted to leave, but she knew she couldn’t.

  Brett had made reservations at the most expensive steakhouse in the hotel, and she had caught a glimpse of the boxing tickets lying on the table when they were having drinks. He’d paid seventy bucks per ticket for ringside seats. The amount of money he was spending on this night, combined with his excitement for the fights, made her feel like she couldn’t let him down.

  Sighing, she stood up, left the stall and washed her hands. She studied herself in the mirror and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. Her eyes were sad, but memories of Dylan always did that to her. She opened her purse and put just a touch of pink blush on her fair skin and a little balm
on her lips. Tucking her chocolate brown shirt, which was the exact same shade as her eyes, into her jeans, she decided she would get through this night, let Brett down gently, and that would be the end of it. Or, who knew—maybe Brett would grow on her.

  Feeling a little lightheaded from the wine, she opened the bathroom door and looked around for a moment to get her bearings. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a red duffle bag, and a shiver traveled down her spine as goose bumps crawled across her skin. Slowly, she turned.

  Dylan strode toward her, his big body gliding through the crowd. At his side was his trainer, Max, carrying the red bag. She looked Dylan up and down. He wore loose, black sweatpants and a black T-shirt that hugged the ridges of his chest. Sweat glistened on his face and wet tendrils of black hair were plastered to his neck. His dark eyes were focused straight ahead.

  Was he fighting tonight?

  Oh, no. Why hadn’t she looked at the fight card?

  Because she never thought in a million years that he would fight in a casino located in Indio, California. His fights had always been held in larger cities, like Los Angeles or Las Vegas. Never had he fought in a place like the small Dreaming Casino in the middle of the desert.

  He hadn’t seen her yet, and she tried to head back into the bathroom, but it seemed her feet wouldn’t move. She felt panic well within her as he approached, now about fifteen feet away. His gaze fell on her, and she detected a hitch in his smooth gait. Their eyes locked as he approached, and she felt as though she were about to be swallowed up by the massive man coming toward her.

  “So tonight you give it your best, Dylan,” Max said as they passed, his eyes on the ground, as usual. The man lived in his head, always planning to stay one step in front of Dylan’s opponents. “You just need to remember his right hook.”

  Dylan’s gaze held hers, and she felt a long-forgotten sexual heat rip through her. As he passed, she caught the faint scent of sweat mixed with sandalwood, and she cringed when she recognized the scent of the soap he used. When Dylan had finally moved by her so that he couldn’t look at her any longer, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering how she was going to get through the night. The man who had shattered her heart would be in fighting in the ring.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed Dylan again. As if he knew she was looking at him, he looked back, his dark eyes smoldering. He turned again, his focus in front of him. She watched the ripples of muscle beneath his T-shirt.

  God, he looked good. Better than she had ever seen him.

  Taking a deep breath, she resolved that she would simply have to get through this night because of Brett, and also to prove to herself that she could. So what if he made her body melt with one look? She was an independent woman. Maybe she and Dylan had once been a happy couple, but he was the one who’d screwed it all up, and she had ended the relationship and walked away. She wasn’t about to let her past ruin this night for her.

  Regan marched toward the restaurant, her resolve to have a good time strong.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dylan wasn’t really listening to Max; his thoughts were on Regan. He couldn’t believe she was at the casino. To say he was surprised was an understatement—he thought he would never lay eyes on her again.

  He had wanted to stop and say hello, but he couldn’t. First, he had to get ready for the fight, and second, what would he say? Hello wouldn’t cut it. He didn’t have time to tell Regan that he was sorry for sleeping with not one but two other women five years ago when they were together or that he hadn’t been the same since she walked out on him.

  Max finished taping his hands, and he made a fist. Tonight was an important fight. If Dylan won, his career had a chance of getting back on track. If he lost, he would most likely be finished.

  When Regan left him, he’d been on the fast track to the professionals—young, cocky, strong, and invincible, or so he’d thought. He hadn’t yet met another fighter who could totally take him down, but the slim and beautiful Regan—who he outweighed by a good sixty pounds—had laid him flat.

  The fight world had loved him, promoters wanted him in their ring, and he was deeply in love with Regan. He’d come from nothing and having people wanting to give him everything inflated his ego. It made him feel like a celebrity and, in some circles, he was. His cockiness and misplaced sense of entitlement was what had gotten him in trouble the first time he cheated on Regan. The scene replayed in his mind as fresh as if it had just happened a minute ago.

  It was rare that he drank alcohol due to his fitness regime, but that night he’d hit up a couple of bars with some friends and had not said no when drinks had been placed in front of him. Women latched on to him when they found out who he was and what he did. This had become the standard, and he couldn’t say he minded. Yes, he was dating Regan, and yes, he loved her. However, he certainly appreciated the attention he received from other women, which only bloated his ego further. On that fateful night, Dylan found himself particularly attracted to a brunette with large breasts, a slim waist, and never-ending legs. He couldn’t remember her name now to save his life.

  The night’s events were fuzzy, but he remembered stumbling into his apartment, the girl on him like a second skin. Regan was away at a weekend class for physical therapy training, so there was no way she would ever find out. In his drunken haze, he reasoned to himself that he was young—too young to be tied down. He needed to live a little, and Regan would be none the wiser. So why not?

  There had been nothing romantic about the encounter—there wasn’t any tenderness or slow, gentle lovemaking like he and Regan shared. It had been nothing but plain, raw, fucking. He had the girl naked within seconds, and she straddled him on the couch, grinding her hips into him, sending him deeper and deeper into her hot, slick center. Her breasts swung in his face, and he grabbed them roughly, licking and sucking at her nipples until they were hard peaks. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he picked her up and then slammed her back onto his rigid length. He continued the motion until both of them reached their completion minutes later, the cries of pleasure ripping through the apartment, and she collapsed against him. He remembered it had been one of the most unsatisfying orgasms of his life.

  After a moment, he opened his eyes and lifted her off him, only to see Regan standing at the door, tears streaming down her face.

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “Regan,” he whispered.

  “My name’s not Regan,” the brunette said.

  Dylan stood up unsteadily, his cock still jutting out from his hips.

  Regan looked him over, said nothing, then turned and walked out.

  Dylan sat down on the couch, putting his head in his hands and suddenly felt very, very sober.

  What had he done?

  “What’s wrong, baby?” the brunette had asked.

  Turning to her, he saw his future with Regan shatter, and anger ripped through him. He knew it wasn’t the girl’s fault but his own. In his drunken state he’d let bad judgment rule and decided that it would be okay to bring her back to his apartment, yet he took his anger and directed it at her.

  “Get out,” he said, standing up and collecting her clothes. He tossed them to her, not caring that she was hurt or confused. “You need to leave. Now.”

  She stared at him a moment, and then hissed, “You bastard!”

  Dylan went into his room and grabbed a pair of sweats. When he returned to the living room, she was dressed.

  “Please leave,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

  “Fuck you, Dylan!” she screamed and slammed the door.

  “Have you heard one word I’ve said?” Max asked, bringing him back to the present.

  Dylan focused on the man. At sixty-five years old, he still looked good with his salt and pepper hair, a nose that had been broken a few times, and smart, grey eyes. Yet, Dylan had noticed that Max had slowed down considerably.

  When Dylan was thirteen, his mom enrolled him in
boxing classes in Max’s gym after school to keep him away from the East L.A. gangs while she worked cleaning houses. Dylan had never known his father. Dylan had loved the classes, and spent a good deal of time at the gym. Max not only acted as a coach, but also as a father figure, one who tolerated nothing. Dylan had watched more than one kid get thrown out of the gym for any number of indiscretions: bullying, street fighting, drugs, and weapons. If the offending kid wanted to come back, he got another tongue lashing from Max, but he usually gave them a second chance. There weren’t any third chances though.

  Max had recognized the core talent that Dylan had and encouraged it. He’d been Dylan’s trainer since those days so many years ago.

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  “Then tell me what I just said.”

  Dylan tried to recall anything, but nothing came to him. He shrugged his shoulders and gave Max a little smile. “Sorry, man. I guess I’m in my own head.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “Tonight is important for you, boy. You better get focused.”

  Dylan nodded. “I know.”

  “How’s the shoulder?”

  His shoulder had been giving him trouble for a few months now, the same shoulder that Regan had been able to fix five years ago. He’d been to another physical therapist, but the guy couldn’t seem to work the magic that Regan had, and the shoulder was sore.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

  Max stood and, in a fatherly gesture, put his hand on Dylan’s head and tousled his hair. The guy had been there for Dylan through thick and thin, and Dylan loved, respected, and appreciated Max. “Get yourself warmed up, Dylan. Someone from the commission will be in soon to inspect your hands and gloves, and it’ll be go-time.”

  Dylan nodded, trying to push thoughts of Regan out of his mind. He couldn’t let her be a distraction. Tonight, it needed to be about him because no matter what he felt about her, five years ago she had disappeared and made it clear to him that she wouldn’t be a part of his future.