Seducing Cinderella
Fighting for Love series, Book One
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| My beautiful cover created by Heather Howland at Entangled |
Entangled Publishing
Brazen imprint
Category Romance
E-book only
65,000 words
ISBN: 978-1-62266-949-3
Available July 20, 2012
Mixed martial arts fighter Reid Andrews’s chance to reclaim his title as
light heavyweight champ is shattered when he’s injured only months
before the rematch. To make sure he’s healed in time, his trainer sends
him to recuperate under a professional’s care—Reid’s best friend’s
little sister, all grown up.
Disorganized and bookish Lucie
Miller needs some professional help of her own. She’d do anything to
catch the eye of a doctor she’s crushed on for years, so when Reid
offers seduction lessons in exchange for 24/7 conditioning for the
biggest fight of his career, Lucie jumps at the chance.
Soon Reid finds himself in the fight of his life...winning Lucie's heart before she gives it to someone else.
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Enjoy the first two chapters now!
© 2012 Gina L. Maxwell
Chapter One
Lucie Miller didn’t bother looking up when she heard the knock on her
office door. Her next physical therapy patient was early, which irked
her since she hadn’t even completed the paperwork from the previous
appointment. She pushed her glasses back in the proper place. He could
just cool his heels in the hallway for the next ten minutes while she
fini—
The knock came again, a little more insistently this time, and her
resolve to not cater to someone else’s wishes crumbled, as usual.
Dropping her pen to the sheaf of papers in front of her, she called out,
“Come in.”
A head of perfectly styled dark hair popped around the edge of the door. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Before she could order her heart to behave, it skipped a beat at the
mellowy-smooth voice of Dr. Stephen Mann, Director of Sports Medicine
and major hottie at Northern Nevada Medical Center. At warp speed, her
brain performed an unsolicited catalog of her appearance, spitting out
the usual diagnosis of “plain and disheveled.” Holding back a
disappointing sigh and the urge to smooth a hand over the strands of
hair that escaped her ponytail, she gave him her best smile. “Not at
all. I didn’t forget another meeting, did I?”
Twin dimples winked at her. “No, not today.”
He turned to close the door, and her pulse raced. As an orthopedic
surgeon, he’d visited her less-than-impressive office in the Rehab and
Sports Med Center plenty of times to discuss mutual patients. But not
once had he ever closed the door.
Trying hard not to race to conclusions, she gestured in front of her. “Please, have a seat.”
“Uh…”
Lucie glanced to the single visitor chair piled high with file
folders, old newspapers, and research articles. She swore she felt her
cheeks actually change color as she bolted around her desk. “Oh my gosh,
I’m so sorry. Here, let me just—”
“That’s all right, you don’t have to—”
“No, I insist.” She gathered the haphazard paper mountain in her
arms. Not for the first time, or even the hundredth time, she wished she
weren’t so disorganized. Spinning in a quick circle, she searched for a
place to stash the mess. Stacks just like the one she held lined the
walls of her office on the floor and over every square inch of desk and
file cabinet space. Finally she gave up and just plopped the pile into
her chair before turning her attention to her guest. God, why couldn’t
she be smooth and put-together like other women? Like the kind Stephen
dated. “So, what brings you down into the bowels of the hospital this
afternoon?”
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Normally, the gorgeous
doctor was the picture of confidence. It was the reason women literally
sighed in his wake. Well, that and his easy charm and Ken-doll good
looks complete with killer smile.
“The hospital’s annual charity dinner and dance is only two months
away, and whereas a guy only has to rent a tux and show up, I’m aware
that a woman needs ample time to shop for a dress and schedule all sorts
of hair and nail appointments and whatever else it is that you women do
to make yourselves beautiful.”
Lucie’s throat closed, and her fingers flew to fidget with her
necklace. This was it. They’d worked together for years, sometimes even
staying hours past their shifts to work on mutual cases, ordering bad
Chinese when their brains refused to quit but their stomachs could no
longer be ignored. They’d always been intellectually compatible, and
their mutual obsession to help patients recover quicker and better
bonded them as nothing else could. She’d loved him for years, but he’d
never asked her out. Never made a move, instead preferring to date
classy businesswomen he met during happy hour at the posh Club Caliente
down the street.
But now he was here. In her office. Talking about the hospital ball.
Dear God, please don’t let her faint. Taking a slow, deep breath, Lucie
tried for casual. “Are you trying to ask me something, Stephen?” And
failed miserably.
Damn.
A strong hand rubbed at the back of his neck, and he gave her the
cutest look of embarrassment. “Ah, yeah. I’m not doing a very good job
of it, am I?”
“No, you’re doing fine!”
Too much enthusiasm. Double damn!
“I know I should’ve brought this up before. And I really did want to
ask that night I saw you at Club Caliente last month, but I hesitated
and then you left. I was hoping I’d see you there again because it
doesn’t quite seem appropriate to inquire about a date here at the
office, you know?”
Her mind flashed back to the one night she’d ever stepped foot in the
overcrowded, overpriced club. Her best friend, Vanessa MacGregor, had
just won a really difficult case and wanted to celebrate with a few
drinks and some dancing. Instead of going to their usual hangout,
Fritz’s, Vanessa convinced Lucie to meet her at the much closer meat
market of a club. They’d only been there for an hour tops before
leaving. The club was like a frat house on steroids with a country club
clientele. The rest of their night had been spent downing tap beer and
hustling guys at darts in a proper celebration.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured him. “I mean, not down here. The only
person that could possibly hear us right now is Mr. Kramer on the
treadmill out there, but the door is shut and even if it wasn’t, I don’t
think he remembers to turn his hearing aid up very often, so the
chances of him hearing us over the noise of the mach—”
“Lucie.”
“Sorry.”
Oh my God, would you shut up already? You’re babbling like an idiot! “You were saying?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled like he was preparing to BASE jump
from the roof of the hospital instead of asking her on a date. “I was
trying to get your friend’s number.”
“My…
what?”
“The girl you were with that night. Is she seeing anyone?”
“Vanessa?” Lucie’s mind scrambled as it tried to follow the sharp
turn off the path the conversation had previously been headed. Or where
she’d
thought it had been headed. She was such an idiot. “Um, no, she’s not seeing anyone…”
Every muscle in his body visibly relaxed as he stood, his easy smile
returning to hit her with both dimples right between the eyes. “That’s
great! Can I get her number? I don’t want to take the chance of waiting
till the last minute to ask her. I’d like to take her on a few dates
before the big event, too. You know, get to know each other better. Lord
knows you can never have a decent conversation at that charity dinner
without someone interrupting with shoptalk. Lucie? Are you listening?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, I’m listening. Yes, you’re right. It’s
definitely not conducive to first-date discussions.” Lucie dropped her
gaze to the organized disaster on her desk. Vanessa would have a panic
attack if she saw it. Her friend was hyperorganized, always put together
on the inside and out, never a hair out of place or an emotion uncalled
for. Add in the perfect Barbie-doll looks and you had the kind of woman
Stephen Mann was drawn to. The kind of woman she was most definitely
not.
“Soooo… Can I have her number? Or maybe you’re playing the role of
protective friend and would prefer to grill me about my intentions
first,” he teased. “Maybe ask me why I think I’m good enough for her,
something like that?”
She couldn’t help the small lift at the corner of her mouth. “As if
you couldn’t be good enough for someone. You’re charming, smart,
handsome, and successful. How could that amount to ‘not good enough’ by
anyone’s standards?”
He winked. “I am quite the catch, aren’t I? Be sure to tell Vanessa
that when she tells you I called her. That is, if you ever give me her
number.”
“Oh! Right, sorry. Uh…” She looked around for a Post-it note or
scratch piece of paper. She knew she had some, and if she could stop and
think for a minute, she’d know right where they were, but somewhere in
the last five minutes she’d been given a full frontal lobotomy and now
she couldn’t function.
Giving up, she grabbed her pen and his hand and scribbled Vanessa’s
cell number onto his palm. She had to force herself to release him
before she did something stupid like add an exclamation mark and
“accidentally” use too much force for the dot, puncturing his smooth
skin with the tip of her ballpoint. “There you go. All set. Now you’ll
have to excuse me. I, um, have a new patient who should be here any
minute.”
“I won’t take up any more of your time then. Thanks, Lucie.” Using
his ink-free hand he grabbed the knob and opened the door before looking
back and adding, “I owe you one.”
She pasted what she hoped was at least a facsimile of a smile on her face as best she could. “I’ll keep that in mind, doctor.”
As soon as he was gone she sank into her chair, not even bothering to
move the stack of papers before she did so. This wasn’t anything new.
In fact, being overlooked for someone else was typical. By now, she
should be immune to the hurt that came with it. What was that phrase?
Old hat. Yes, that’s it. By now, this should be old hat, and it wasn’t
even the first time a guy she liked was interested in her friend. But it
still hurt. A lot.
There was no fooling herself any longer. She would never be the
object of the doctor’s desire. And though the realist in her said it
didn’t matter—that all she needed was compatibility and companionship
with someone else—as her future came into sharp focus, the dreamer in
her allowed herself to shed the tears that blurred the world in front of
her.
Chapter Two
“Can you point me in the direction of the physical therapy department?”
Where some arrogant ass will give me exercises fit for a toddler, essentially castrating me in the process…
To say Reid Andrews was in a foul mood was a total understatement,
but that didn’t mean the hospital receptionist deserved his wrath. He
listened as she gave him directions and thanked her as he set off.
The closer he got to his destination, the more his muscles bunched in
irritation. He shouldn’t be here. He should be back in Vegas, working
his injury out with his coach and team doc. Not Sparks, Nevada—which was
practically Reno and way too close for comfort to his hometown of Sun
Valley to the north. Now he would be working with someone who had no
concept of his sport or how important it was for him to get back in the
cage as soon as possible to prep for his rematch.
For as long as he could remember, he’d been fighting. Fighting in the
sport he loved above all else—Mixed Martial Arts, or MMA—to get to the
top, and then fighting his ass off to stay there. Fifteen years later,
he was one of the richest light-heavyweight fighters in the UFC, with a
record of 34-3 and a fanbase of millions. Of course none of that
mattered now because if he couldn’t get healthy in time for the rematch,
his career was over.
A doctor talking on his cell and checking his pager crowded Reid
around a corner and bumped into him. The guy didn’t even look back to
apologize as he continued to clip down the hallway. Reid clenched his
jaw and held his right shoulder as he waited for the pain to subside.
Even from an impact so small it hurt like a bitch.
He had one of the most aggravating injuries a fighter could have: a
torn rotator cuff. To literally add insult to injury, it hadn’t even
happened in a fight. He’d gotten the damn thing while training for his
title fight. Thirty-four was almost ancient for a fighter, especially
one who’d been at it for as long as he had, and his body was starting to
reflect that, injury by godforsaken injury.
Sidestepping an old lady traveling at the speed of a land snail, Reid cursed his trainer, Butch, for sending him here.
Shortly after Reid had had the surgery to repair his right shoulder,
the camp’s sports medicine doc needed to return home to take care of his
ailing father. Scotty wasn’t expected to be back for a couple of
months, and since Reid was the only injured one in the camp, Butch set
him up with a local PT for the interim. But if Reid kept working with
that guy he wouldn’t be ready to fight until he was fifty, so he’d taken
his therapy into his own hands.
Unfortunately, Butch got hip to what he was doing and balled him out
for not listening to Scotty’s replacement and taking it easy. But Reid
didn’t know the meaning of taking it easy. His mottos were more than
just your average motivational fodder. He lived by things like “give
more than your everything or you’ll amount to nothing” and “if you
didn’t come to win, you should’ve stayed the fuck home.” Shit like that
had been drilled into him since he was old enough to throw a punch at
his old man’s command.
He refused to accept the possibility of not completely healing in the
next two months, thereby losing his shot at ever reclaiming his title.
Every year the sport produced younger and better fighters, and it was
becoming increasingly difficult for the older fighters to compete.
That’s why Reid trained as hard as he did. There would always be some
guy who wanted his belt and was working his ass off for a chance to take
it, so he had to train and prepare that much harder to keep it. He was
pissed as hell Butch had given him an ultimatum: leave camp and do PT
the right way or he was pulling the fight.
Fuck. That.
Fine, whatever. He’d make his coach happy and go to this lame PT
shit. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to treat it any differently
than he did his regular training. He didn’t have time to dick around. He
needed to get back to Vegas a.s.a.p. so he could reclaim what was
rightfully his.
Reid pushed open the double doors and walked through a large room
resembling the inside of a YMCA. Treadmills, ellipticals, weight sets,
and exercise balls. No sparring cage. No floor mats. No punching bags.
However there was an old man of about eighty-plus years walking so slow
on a treadmill that he was practically immobile.
“This blows,” he mumbled as he approached the small office with his
PT’s name, Lucinda Miller, on the partially closed door. He raised his
hand to give a quick rap before announcing himself, but paused when he
heard soft sniffles coming from the bowed head of a brunette sitting
behind the desk. At least he assumed it was a desk. It was hard to tell
what was under the stacks of files and papers. Instead of knocking, he
cleared his throat. “Sorry, this a bad time?”
The woman spun her chair around to face the back wall, hitting her
knee on a file cabinet in the process and muttering an expletive he’d
bet she didn’t use publicly very often. Though he hadn’t seen her face
yet, he couldn’t help but find her clumsiness sort of cute. When she
grabbed a Kleenex from somewhere on her floor and blew her nose he was
reminded that she was in a vulnerable moment. “I can come back.”
“No, no.” She blew her nose and then gestured behind her without
turning around. “If you could just go have a seat in the next room, I’ll
be right with you.”
Sounded good. As much as he hated to see a woman upset, it was bad
enough having to console someone he knew, much less a woman he didn’t.
Finding the room, Reid leaned his hips on the padded table,
absentmindedly cracking his knuckles as he waited. It was only another
minute before she breezed in, eyes on his file, while making a beeline
to the small desk along the wall.
“I’m terribly sorry about that,” she said. “Let me just take a brief moment to look this over and we’ll get down to business.”
“Take your time.” Something about her voice poked at his brain. Almost like he’d heard it before.
“Okay, Mr. Johnson, let’s take a look at—”
They froze as recognition took hold.
“Luce?”
“Reid?”
It had been several years—shit, six, maybe even seven or more, he
couldn’t remember—since the last time he’d seen his best friend’s little
sister. Her face was blotchy with her eyes rimmed in red from crying so
he almost hadn’t realized it was her, but the freckle at the outer
corner of her left eye vaguely shaped like a heart gave her away. It was
just barely visible under the dark-rimmed, rectangular glasses she
wore.
“Oh my gosh,” she said, giving his waist a hard squeeze. It’d been so
long since he’d seen anyone from their hometown, and besides her
brother, she’d be the only person he’d care to see. He returned her hug,
tucking his head down to hers. Her hair smelled like a mix of flowers
and summer, so different from the heavy perfume concoctions he was used
to women wearing.
She released him, taking a seat on the swivel stool in front of the
desk while tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I can’t
believe it’s you. Wait, why does my chart say Randy Johnson?”
Reid chuckled at the ridiculous name he used for anonymity. “It’s an
alias.” Wanting to erase the pained look from whatever had happened
before he arrived, he gave her a wicked smile and added, “And sometimes a
state of being.”
Her brows gathered together for the few seconds it took to sink in,
then her cheeks flushed with color and her eyes grew wide. “Reid!”
He couldn’t have stopped his laugh if he wanted to. The shocked look
on her face was totally worth it. “Come on, Lu-Lu, you can’t still be
that innocent after all these years.”
“My innocence or lack thereof is none of your business, Andrews. And
be forewarned: if anyone hears you call me one of those ridiculous
nicknames, I’ll stab you in the jugular with my pen.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough, Lubert.” She
rolled her eyes, but he interrupted her before she could get a good mad
on. “Speaking of names, what’s up with Lucinda Miller? I don’t see a
ring. You in the witness protection plan or something?”
She averted her eyes, suddenly finding that her name tag needed repinning. “No. I
was
married briefly in college. Jackson probably didn’t tell you about it
because we eloped and it didn’t last very long.” She cleared her throat
and smiled at him, but it barely reached her cheeks, much less her eyes.
“You know how it is. Capricious youth and all that. I just never
bothered to change my name back. But at least I still have the same
initials, right?”
Her attempt at disguising her true feelings reminded him of what he’d
walked in on. Something or someone had hurt her, and it instantly
called on his protective instincts. After all, Lucie wasn’t just any
woman. He’d grown up with her trailing after him and her brother,
Jackson Maris. And since Jax, also a UFC fighter, was in Hawaii with his
training camp and couldn’t help make things right for his little
sister, Reid would gladly step in.
“Why were you crying, Lu?”
“Oh, that?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing. I have terrible
seasonal allergies and sometimes they get so bad I sound like a
blubbering, sniveling mess, that’s all.”
He scoffed. “This is why Jax and I never let you tag along on our
more devious ‘misadventures.’ You’re a terrible liar and wouldn’t have
lasted five seconds under parental interrogation.”
She stood, placing her hands on her hips. “Well according to your
trainer, you’re a terrible patient, so I guess we both have our faults.
Now, unless you want to waste your entire session on pointless chatter, I
suggest you let me assess your injury.”
Reid recognized a brick wall when he ran into one. She wasn’t going
to talk about it…yet. One way or another he’d get it out of her. “Fine.
Assess away, Luey.” Reaching between his shoulder blades with his left
arm, he pulled his T-shirt off over his head, taking care not to jostle
his right arm too much. He tossed the shirt onto the chair in the
corner.
“How much PT have you had since the operation?”
“I don’t know, the usual amount, I guess. A session a day or so. But
it wasn’t enough so I was doing some extra training on the side.”
She paused and arched a brow at him. “In other words, you were overdoing it, which is counterproductive to your recovery.”
“‘Overdoing it’ is such a subjective term.”
“No, it’s not, Reid. Anything more than what your doctor or therapist
instructs is overdoing it. If I’m going to help you, you need to do
exactly as I say. If you can manage that, I’ll have you as good as new in about four months.”
“What? Didn’t Butch tell you about my rematch in two months? I need
to fight on that card, Luce. Diaz has my belt, and I’m taking it back.”
Lucie shook her head. “Reid that’s insane. Even if I devoted the
majority of my time to you, I can’t guarantee you’ll be ready to fight
that soon.”
“Bullshit. You have to say that as a professional, but take into
account who your patient is. I’m not like the other people you work on.
I’m not your Average Joe trying to eventually get back to normal. I’m a
highly trained athlete who’s had to recover from more injuries in the
last fifteen years than a hundred Average Joes put together.”
She sighed. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here, first, okay, hotshot? Sit.”
Reid hopped onto the table and tried not to tense up at the idea of
having his arm manipulated. He had a high tolerance for pain, but that
didn’t mean her exam wouldn’t be enough to set his teeth on edge.
“Extend your arm to the side and try to keep it there as I push it
down.” He lasted only a few seconds before he released the pose with a
muttered curse. She pretended not to notice and put him through a couple
more strength tests where he managed to keep his swearing rants inside
his head. Yay him.
“Okay, last one, Reid. Place your hand in front of your stomach and try to hold it there as I pull it away from your body.”
Clenching his jaw and his left fist he tried thinking of something
other than the sickening pain shooting from his shoulder. But as bad as
the pain was, the fact that he was so weak and couldn’t hide it was much
worse.
“All right, you can relax now.” She made some notes in his file, then
turned back and asked, “On a pain scale of one to ten, with ten being
the worst pain you can imagine, how are you feeling at the moment?”
“A four. Maybe even a three.”
She arched her brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Spare me
the macho shit, Andrews. I’m not here to challenge your virility. If you
want me to do my job, then you have to be one hundred percent honest
with me.”
He pinned her with a glare that made men twice her size reconsider
stepping into the octagon with him. Lucie didn’t even flinch. He
would’ve commended her for it had he not been so aggravated with the
whole situation. “Fine. A six,” he grumbled. “But some days are better
than others.”
“Don’t worry, that’s normal. Now lay facedown on the table. I want to do a couple more things.”
“You got awfully bossy in your old age, you know that?” He was a tad
disappointed she didn’t rise to the bait, but offered a sarcastic
Mm-hmm
instead as he arranged his body on the table. With his left arm up to
cradle the side of his face, he let his eyes close as she began to work
on him.
Her delicate fingertips probed the muscles around his shoulder. He
had no idea what she was looking for, but he hoped she searched for a
while. Her touch felt so much better than how he was usually handled. Of
course Scotty’s hands weren’t as soft, but it was more than that. It
was the technique she used; like he wasn’t just a fighter made of
hardened muscle that could handle rough, prodding fingers, but rather a
man who’d asked for a gentle massage after a long day.
He heard a soft sniffle, and it set his mind to wondering what had
upset her so much. Growing up he’d practically been Lucie’s second older
brother, and it bothered him to know something was wrong.
Whatever it was, she was doing her best to avoid—“Ah, shit!”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, right,” he said wryly. “That was probably payback for using your floppy bunny as a lawn-dart target.”
He couldn’t see her face, but he heard the smile when she spoke. “I
forgot all about that. Jackson got grounded for three days and my mom
had to sew all the little holes together. She told me he was a war hero
who was going through surgery to get patched up before receiving a medal
from the president.”
“Your mom was always good for a story. Jax and I counted on her to
give us all our background information for our pretend missions as
kids.”
“Mom was something special all right. I still miss her bedtime stories.”
Lucie’s parents had died in a car accident the summer after he and
Jackson graduated high school and she was just thirteen. Jackson chose
to raise Lucie instead of pawning her off on another relative, which is
why he wasn’t as far in his MMA career as Reid. It was an honorable
thing, and it was obvious he’d done a damn fine job, too.
Just then it hit him. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
Her hands stilled for only a moment, but it was long enough to give
him the answer he was looking for. “Is it tender when I press here?”
Like bad heartburn, an unfamiliar lividity rose up for the general
male population until he could aim it at the one who deserved it.
Pushing up with his left arm he swung his body around to face her.
“What are you doing? I’m not done.”
“You are until you tell me who he is and what the hell he did,” he growled.
“Reid—”
“Quid pro quo, Lu. You tell me who made you cry and why, and I
promise to not find out on my own, hunt him down, and kick his teeth
down his throat for putting that look on your face.”
He almost regretted throwing down the harsh threat when her face
blanched, but if that was the only way he could get her to open up, then
so be it. “Here, hop up on the table. We’ll switch places,” he said as
he stood. When she opened her mouth to brook an argument he narrowed his
gaze to show her he wasn’t kidding. With a resigned sigh she did as he
wanted, albeit not happily.
“There, now you’re the patient.” Despite the pain it caused in his
shoulder, he braced his hands on either side of her hips, preventing an
escape should she decide it was the better alternative. “So, Miss
Miller,” he said looking into her soft gray eyes, “tell me where it
hurts.”
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