Below the Belt. Sarah Mayberry

inner-west Sydney suburb of Newtown the next morning, Cooper realized he’d bought himself a whole world of trouble when he signed her on.

      For starters, every single male in the gym stopped what he was doing the moment he noticed her long legs clad in tight black Lycra, her bodacious ass and her generous breasts. It didn’t matter that she was wearing a loose white T-shirt over her leggings. Or that she was sporting a bruised cheekbone, didn’t have a scrap of makeup on and her hair was pulled back into a tight, high ponytail. She was sexy, hot, gorgeous, and every man in the place knew it and wanted to do something about it.

      And that wasn’t even the most disturbing part of it all. No, that honor belonged to the fierce, fundamental surge of jealousy and territorialism he felt when all those male eyes checked her out.

      Mine, his body and his animal instincts screamed. Get your freakin’ eyes and minds off her.

      He was about to embark on an intimate, intense relationship with her that was supposed to be based on mutual trust. He was about to become her mentor, for Pete’s sake. And all he could think about was how it would feel to have her body against his, skin to skin, and how wet and tight and hot she’d feel as he slid inside her…

      Shit.

       Take a cold shower and get over it, Fitzgerald.

      It wasn’t as if he was hard up for booty action. Hell, he could pick up his phone and have a woman just as sexy and hot in his bed within the hour.

      The thought didn’t provide the release valve he needed and he was frowning by the time she’d crossed the gym floor and stopped in front of him, her expression open and sunny.

      “You’re late,” he said. “Lesson number one, I expect my fighters to be punctual.”

      The smile froze on her lips.

      “We couldn’t find a parking spot. My grandfather’s still looking,” she said.

      He eyed her coolly. “Warm up, then we’ll talk,” he said.

      She frowned, opened her mouth, then shut it again without saying a word. Slinging her bag to one side near the wall, she pulled out a skipping rope and began to jump.

      He went over to the counter near the front door and started checking some paperwork his lawyer had sent through, keeping a discreet eye on her all the while.

      Slowly, the guys around him stopped gawking and started working out again.

      Pathetic. Men really did think with their dicks—and he was as bad as the rest of them.

      Arthur Holloway entered a few minutes later, stopping alongside the counter to greet Cooper.

      “Hiya,” he said, his gaze sharp as he checked out first Cooper then the gym. “Nice place you got here.”

      Cooper glanced around at the raw brick walls, the exposed ceiling beams, the scarred wooden floors and the single regulation boxing ring that occupied the very center of the space. A long time ago the building had originally been a grain store, but it had been a gym for many years now and the smell of leather and sweat had soaked into the mortar. When he’d bought the place he’d repainted, fixed broken windows, installed new bathrooms and equipment and updated the offices, but the place retained its old-school feel.

      That and the fact that he was around the place a lot more now that he was retired had helped build membership numbers and business was booming. It didn’t hurt to have pros like Ray training here. Guys who sat behind desks for a living liked to sweat alongside real fighters. Made them feel as if they were playing with the big boys.

      “Thanks. You always come to Jamie’s training sessions?” Cooper asked. He hoped he wasn’t going to have problems with the old guy countermanding orders or sticking his oar in.

      “Nope. Just wanted to check this place out, make sure it’s everything Jimmy seems to think it is,” Arthur said.

      By which the old guy meant check Cooper out.

      Cooper was about to respond when he registered that Jamie had moved onto the long bag and was pounding it with a series of powerful kicks.

      “Excuse me,” he said. He strode across the floorboards and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of her.

      She stopped. Her eyebrows rose toward her hairline as she registered his annoyance.

      “What now?”

      “From now on, I don’t ever want to see you using your legs to fight again. You got that?” he said. “You’re a boxer. Boxers fight with their fists, not their feet.”

      “What?” Her silver eyes flashed defiance. “It’s a good workout, a good warm-up.”

      “You lost that first fight and you nearly lost last night because you’re used to relying on your legs too much. Every time you want to fire off a roundhouse or a back kick, you lose precious seconds reminding yourself that you’re in a boxing ring and only your fists are legal,” he said.

      She shook her head. “No way. I lost that fight because she was faster than me.”

      Why was he surprised that she was disagreeing with him at the very first hurdle? Had he honestly expected anything less from a woman with so much attitude?

      He was tempted to yell at her the way his first trainer used to yell at him back when he was young and hot-tempered and lacking in discipline. But Jamie was a smart fighter. She learned quickly when she wanted to—she’d shown him that in spades last night when she took his advice and knocked her opponent out. He wanted to harness those smarts straight off the bat. Going head-to-head with her wasn’t going to achieve that.

      “You warm enough to go a few rounds?” he asked.

      She looked surprised that he wasn’t pressing the issue.

      “Sure.”

      Cooper scanned the gym, honing in on Mick. At around a hundred and sixty pounds, Mick was a middleweight like Jamie and only had an inch on her in height.

      “Mickey, suit up. I want you to go a few rounds with Jamie,” Cooper called out.

      Mick looked as though all his Christmases had come at once. Cooper rolled his eyes. The sooner the rest of the team started to see Jamie as one of the boys, the better.

      One of the gym assistants helped Jamie tape and glove up and fitted her with a padded head-guard while Cooper did the same with Mick.

      “I don’t want you to go easy on her,” he instructed as he worked.

      Mick kept throwing glances Jamie’s way, especially when she pulled off her T-shirt to reveal a tight-fitting sports crop top. Cooper grabbed the other man’s chin and brought his gaze back to meet his own.

      “Listen to me. I want you to press her—not too hard, she’s probably still feeling last night’s fight. But I want you to make her sweat, okay?”

      Mick nodded. Checking the laces on Mick’s gloves, Cooper gave him the all clear and held the ropes for him to climb into the ring. Then he signaled for Jason, one of his gym assistants.

      “Yeah, boss?” Jason asked, his attention glued to Jamie.

      “Grab the video camera. I want you to get everything she does,” he instructed.

      It was a common enough tool—football players used tape all the time to review plays and understand their own strengths and weaknesses. Jamie was so stubborn and strong-willed that he knew the only way she’d understand his no-kick rule would be if she saw her faulty footwork herself.

      Cooper glanced across to see Arthur had joined him, arms crossed over his chest.

      “This’ll be interesting.”

      “At the very least,” Cooper said.

      They grinned at each other. Arthur had a tooth missing, a common hazard for boxers despite the protection