LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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