“Don’t care. It’ll be interesting to see where Maddox found practice space for us. Since he insists on closed practices.”
“This close to a fight, it’s gotta be a full training facility, right?”
Beck turned around in his seat. “I know where it’ll be. It’s one of two places.”
“Where?”
“House of Kenji has two affiliated dojos in LA. It’s private membership, so no public-access issues.”
“Makes sense.”
“I’ve taught in both places. Top-of-the-line facilities.”
Molly listened to them talk. Her focus wasn’t on Deacon for a change, but on Beck. The man was deceptively good-looking. At first glance he didn’t appear to be anything special—not like the immediate, visceral punch of Deacon—but upon a more thorough examination, the man had it going on. A narrow face that broadened into ruggedly handsome when he smiled with those full lips. Wide green eyes that imparted tranquility. A flat nose—she’d yet to meet a fighter or a martial arts practitioner who hadn’t broken their beak at least once. Like any man whose livelihood depended on the strength and condition of his body, Beck’s physique could inspire female fantasies. But the most striking thing about him was his hair. The most glorious color of red—not orange, but cinnamon colored, with darker strands of mahogany, gold, and auburn. He wore it long—long enough to pull back and create a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
“Molly?” Deacon prompted.
Dammit. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her study of his Shihan. “Sorry. I’ve got a million things on my mind. What did you say?”
“I’ll be at the hotel more than Deacon since he’s training, so if you need anything, call me.”
“Is this a Deacon-approved offer?” she half joked. “Because he tends to get snarly if other men offer to help me. Or look at me.”
“Like I didn’t know that,” Beck said dryly.
“He’s the only one of any guys here besides Ronin and Knox I’ll trust you with,” Deacon said.
“Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence. There goes me banging Sergei in the utility closet.”
“Not even funny, babe.”
Beck turned around.
Molly looked out the window. Sometimes Deacon overwhelmed her.
“Why’d you turn away from me?” He set his hand on her thigh.
“I’m hoping to get a glimpse of the ocean.”
“Really.”
“Really. I’ve never seen the ocean. Seeing it from the plane might be my only chance.”
“Molly, look at me.”
“I don’t want to. So just . . . go back to not talking to me.”
“You’re mad.”
“Mostly confused.”
“About?”
“About why you say stuff like He’s the only one of the guys here besides Ronin and Knox I’d trust you with. You have this crazy idea that all men lust after me, when it’s not even remotely close to true. If I even talk to another man—or heaven forbid a strange man talks to me—you turn into Deacon the Beast.” She paused. “I like Deacon the Beast in bed. I like Deacon the Beast in the ring. But I don’t like Deacon the Beast glaring and throwing down ultimatums at me and at his friends. Do you really think I’m looking at any of them when I could be looking at you? Do you really think when I’m out in mixed company I’m checking out other men as a possible replacement for you? I want you. No one else. The fact that I have you? I wouldn’t fuck that up. This—you mean too much to me.”
Deacon kissed her shoulder. Then he stretched across the seat and kissed the side of her throat. “I fucking love you. I know it makes me a goddamn beast when I think of some guy trying to get to you like I get to you.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Molly dozed off for a while after that, and when she woke up, she saw Deacon staring at her.
“Hey, beautiful. We’re about to land. Look out the window.”
There it was. The ocean. “It looks so calm.”
He chuckled. “Trust me. It’s not.”
She stared until the plane banked and all she could see were buildings and freeways.
Welcome to LA.
• • •
RONIN had sent two vans to bring them to the hotel. And since he’d rented so many rooms, the assistant manager escorted them all up to the twenty-second floor and handed out keys.
The hotel was classy, done up old-glam Hollywood style. Mirrors, crystal chandeliers, marble, tones of gold, cream, and black. So she didn’t know what to expect when Deacon opened the door to their room. She stepped inside a suite. Glass windows overlooked the city. The space had a living room with a fireplace—in Los Angeles? And a wet bar, a dining room, a kitchen, a half bath. She headed down the hallway to the double doors and opened them to find a luxurious bedroom. A four-poster canopy bed on a platform, another sitting area, a full entertainment system. Another set of double doors led to a bathroom with a glass shower, a whirlpool tub, and his and hers vanities.