Healing Love (Love to the Extreme) Read online

  She’s a mystery he can’t resist...

  Doctor Ella Watts wants her old life back. Desperately. But the past has returned for its rematch, and going back home—even telling anyone her real name—isn’t an option until she’s confident in her MMA abilities. Personal trainer Lance Black is the man to help her reach her goals. Not only is he toned, muscular, and gorgeous, he’s patient, a great teacher, and willing to treat her like a worthy opponent. Except his size makes her freeze whenever he gets too close. If Ella can’t learn how to overcome her fear of being attacked, she’ll never be able to move on with her life.

  Underground fighter Lance Black knows there’s more to the mysterious blonde ninja than a beautiful woman determined to improve her fighting skills. She can best anyone close to her size—man or woman—but insists on working out with him, even though he’s got a good 70 pounds and several inches on her. Despite her reticence, he’s determined to get her to open up so he can help her get over her mental block. And if that means he can get to know her outside the gym, all the better.

  As long as she never learns his secrets.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover the Love to the Extreme series…

  Fighting Love

  Winning Love

  Extreme Love

  The Awakening: Aidan

  The Awakening: Liam

  The Awakening: Britton

  Discover more Entangled Select Contemporary titles…

  How to Fall

  Boiling Point

  Playing with Fire

  Color Me Crazy

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Abby Niles. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Select Contemporary is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Liz Pelletier and Robin Haseltine

  Cover design by LJ Anderson

  Cover art from Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-63375-570-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition February 2016

  To Ron

  I’m glad I wasn’t a chicken.

  Chapter One

  Ella Watts fought the urge to snatch her driver’s license back from the bulky man sitting behind the desk. Keeping a low profile meant not drawing attention to herself in any way. Ripping the license from his hand would be doing exactly that.

  As he made a copy on the scanner, she pasted on a pleasant smile and pretended to look around the sparsely decorated gym office as if there were nothing to worry about. And there wasn’t. Except for the small, inconsequential fact that the license she’d given Mac “The Snake” Hannon was as fake as her smile.

  “Okay, Kelsey. Everything’s ready to go,” he said and handed the ID card back to her.

  Ella breathed a sigh of relief. It was the first time she’d used it since having it made four days ago. So far, she’d been able to pay for everything—even the tiny furnished bungalow she’d rented from a sweet, elderly lady—with the cash she’d withdrawn from her bank account. A hefty amount of cash. She left only enough to pay her automatically withdrawn bills for a few months.

  She wasn’t running away from her life. She just needed to hide for a while, and leaving a debit card trail behind her wasn’t exactly smart.

  Mac tapped the paperwork together, placed it in a neat pile on the edge of his desk, then pushed back his chair. As he rose, he leaned over the desk. His menacing height towering over her made every muscle stiffen.

  He offered his hand with a warm, real smile. “Welcome to Coolier Mixed Martial Arts, Kelsey. We’re happy to have you as a member.”

  She silently cursed her automatic reaction. The big guys always did this to her. Even though she had trained around them for years, any sudden movement toward her, no matter how innocent, still freaked her out. That was just one of many reasons she was determined to train with a light-heavyweight. One way to get over a fear was to face it head-on.

  Rising, she took his hand and shook it firmly, not breaking eye contact. Never show weakness. Never allow intimidation. Always exude confidence. The mantra helped center her, and the tension eased from her body. “Thank you. Everything’s set for tomorrow, then?”

  “Yep,” he said, sitting back down and folding his fingers together on top of the desk. “You had an impressive list of requirements for your trainer, but I know the perfect person for the job. I’d introduce you, but”—he glanced at his watch and frowned—“he’s running a little late today.”

  Hmm. Not a great quality in a trainer. She needed dependability. She was on borrowed time. “Is he late a lot?”

  Mac grimaced. Well, there was her answer.

  “And there isn’t anyone here who isn’t late?”

  “With everything you requested, Lance is your best fit. Just hold your judgment until you’ve trained with him. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Fine. But if he sucks in the least, I want a new trainer.”

  Surprise widened the man’s eyes. Yeah, that had come out demanding, but she didn’t care. Training was essential to her getting back home and on with her life, and she refused to allow a slacker to interfere with it.

  “I say that’s a fair deal.”

  Ella nodded. “All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She left the office and made her way to the front of the gym, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake. She’d done her homework, though, before coming here today. Coolier Mixed Martial Arts had nothing but positive reviews. Owned by Ragin Coolier, the establishment hosted some well-known fighters that even she had heard of. However, a Lance had not been mentioned on the website. He must be a new addition, and he must be damned good if they allowed him to come and go as he pleased.

  Either way, she’d give the guy one chance. If he turned out to be a waste of her time, she’d figure something else out. She glanced around. She really hoped it worked out though. This place had everything, including a ring. She needed to focus the most on sparring.

  She opened the glass front door and stepped out into the cool October air. As she made her way down the sidewalk to her car, a pained grunt came from her left. She froze, listening intently for the sound to repeat. Not a second later another grunt sounded. She glanced toward the edge of the building then inched toward the alley.

  As she reached the corner, she poked her head around and her stomach twisted hard. About fifteen feet away, three average-built guys surrounded a beefy blond man. One of the guys lunged at him, but the blond weaved out of the way, only to have another guy wrap his arms around the blond’s torso so his arms were pinned to his sides. The smaller man was no match for the blond. He easily broke out of the hold, then spun
around and punched the guy. He doubled over, holding his face.

  “Fuck. I think he broke my nose.”

  One of the others took advantage of the blond man’s distraction and landed a right jab on his chin. His head whipped to the side and he stumbled backward into a dumpster. With him in a weak position, both men attacked and sent fists into his gut, side, and head. Pained groans filled the air as he sank to his knees on the asphalt.

  Jesus, they were going to kill him.

  She slipped her cell from her pocket and dialed 911 with shaky fingers.

  “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

  “There are three guys jumping another guy in the alley between Handover Street and McDowell,” she whispered. “Get here fast. Please.” She ended the call.

  Panicked, she studied her surroundings. She couldn’t just stand here and let those three thugs continue to beat up on that man until the cops arrived. They might kill him. She’d never be able to forgive herself if that were to happen.

  But she wasn’t stupid either. There were three of them. One of her. She had to think of her own safety, too. Surprising them would be her best plan of action.

  A car was parked about five feet away. The men were all standing near the front end of the car. She assessed each man’s position. One stepped back, breathing heavily, and wiped his arm across his forehead. The other was still occupied with the blond and was taking extreme pleasure in kicking him in the stomach. The guy with the broken nose was on his feet, but still preoccupied trying to stop the blood flow.

  She focused on the one who was panting.

  Swallowing back her fear, she crouch-ran to the bumper of the parked car then crept between the vehicle and the wall of the building until she reached the front. Keeping low, she waited for the breathless man to step closer. The moment he did, she sprang onto his back and slid her arm underneath his chin, then locked the submission hold into place with her other arm. The man froze and then started spinning around, trying to dislodge her from his back. Prepared for the reaction, she wrapped her legs around his waist and brought the choke hold in tighter. The man collapsed to his knees.

  She glared at the guy who’d frozen mid-punch to stare at her with stunned eyes.

  “Back off,” she said with a deadly calm that surprised even her.

  She wasn’t sure if it was shock at someone interfering, or the fact that it was a woman who’d brought down their friend, but one guy stepped back from the blond, while the other with the bloodied nose lowered his hand from his face.

  “Get the hell out of here.” Perhaps telling them to leave wasn’t the best idea, but she didn’t like the odds. She needed to keep the upper hand before their shock wore off.

  The two men hesitated, so she tightened her grip on their buddy’s throat. A strangling gargle wheezed out. He slapped her forearm.

  “Tell them to leave,” she ordered.

  Purple-faced, the guy squeaked out a “go,” and his cronies followed his order.

  As soon as they ran off, she pressed her lips to the man’s ear. “That wasn’t a fair fight, was it? People like you make me sick.”

  She lowered her feet to the ground, and squeezed hard once more before releasing the man with a shove to the ground. His palms slapped the asphalt. He lifted his head and glared at her.

  Straightening to her whole five-foot four-inches, she glared back, wishing more than anything this had been the way that night had ended so long ago, with her towering over him, daring him with just an intense look to make another move.

  The man pushed up, muttering, “Fucking bitch.”

  Meh. She’d been called worse. “Go join your friends.”

  As he straightened, his tall frame overwhelmed her small one. Towered over her. Fear immediately closed her throat, made her palms sweat.

  Never show weakness. Never allow intimidation. Always exude confidence. She silently chanted the mantra for the second time that day, gathering the strength she needed to stand her ground.

  Swallowing, she kept her gaze locked on him, watching for any sign he’d charge her, uncertain what the outcome would be if he did. That was the scariest part of it all—the not knowing. The worry that even with all the years of training, if she was attacked by a man again, she’d freeze, and the past would repeat itself.

  The guy continued to stare at her, then a slow grin spread across his face. “I like you. Just a little feisty kitty-cat, aren’t you?”

  The condescending comment eased her fear, allowing anger to seep in. Another thing she hated about assholes like this. She’d just taken this man to his knees and he smiled like she was some kitten doing a cute trick. Dick.

  He glanced at the blond, who was now standing straight, fury and strength radiating off him. Even in black jogging pants and a white logo T-shirt, the man screamed badass. The inked sleeve of black and gray ink, with slashes of color running down his left arm only increased that quality.

  Ella’s breath caught at the magnificent display of authority. Her reaction startled her. This guy was huge, dominant, and all kinds of pissed off—things that usually sent her anxiety through the roof. Not on him. With him, it was a breathtaking view.

  The dick backed away and pointed a finger at the blond Hercules. “This isn’t over, Black.”

  Wait. They knew each other? Dread curdled her gut. Hell no. This couldn’t be happening. She started backing away.

  “Fuck you,” the stranger said.

  “You’re the one who’s going to be fucked if you don’t watch yourself.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance, and she froze.

  And she’d called the cops to top it off. She closed her eyes. Great. Two days in Kansas, and she’d stepped into some kind of messed up Soprano shit. The dick let out a surprised chuckle and shook his head. “Seriously? The cops?” He pinned the blond with his eyes. “Fix it.”

  Then he ran off.

  “You called the cops?” The guy shoved his fingers through his hair and groaned. “Fuck.”

  Well, that was a fine how-do-you-do to someone who’d put herself at risk to help. It wasn’t her fault he had himself mixed up with the wrong people. “You’re welcome…ass. All I saw was a dude getting ganged up on by three men. Fuck me for wanting to help.”

  “I had it covered. How about minding your own business next time? That was between them and me.”

  Mind your own business. Maybe it was advice she should adhere to; she had before. Would have been one of those people on hidden camera who, with that exact mindset, walked past people fighting, to later have John Quinones from What Would You Do? shove a microphone in her face asking her why she hadn’t helped.

  Now that she’d been on the receiving end of those fists, had prayed for intervention, she couldn’t live with herself if she simply minded her own business.

  The cops screeched to a halt then hurried out of the car, hands ready on their guns.

  The blond immediately put up his hands in surrender—as if he’d done it before. Great, again. “There’s been a misunderstanding, officers. Some guys and I were horsing around back here. She thought I was being attacked.”

  One of the officers studied her. “Is this true, ma’am?”

  Ella might have wanted to help, but if this guy was involved with something bad, she was going to get the target off her back as quickly as possible.

  “It was my bad. I completely misinterpreted the situation. I yelled for them to stop and they immediately did. I forgot I’d called you guys until I heard the sirens. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  Their gazes went between her and the blond before nodding. “All right. You guys have a nice day.”

  As soon as they left, she started to make her way back to the sidewalk.

  “Hey!” the blond man called from behind her. “What’s your name?”

  Yeah. Like she had the word “idiot” stamped on her forehead. He was so not getting her name. To make that point clear, she spun around but continued walking backward, flipping hi
m two middle fingers and an eat-shit scowl.

  The grin that spread his lips caused her heart to stutter for a second. Angry, the man had been amazing, but smiling? He was potent.

  Stunned at her reaction, she did an about face and quickened her steps until she was back out on the sidewalk.

  Her confusing response to that man made her only more certain she didn’t want to know his name, didn’t want to know a damn thing about him or him to know anything about her. Whatever this guy’s deal was, it definitely wasn’t innocent. Last thing she needed was to get caught up in more trouble. She had enough of that already.

  …

  What a fucking day.

  Lance pulled the wrecker into the driveway of his home. The beams from his headlights swept across the sage-sided farmhouse. As he cut the engine, he leaned his forehead against the wheel, trying to gather the energy to open the door and go inside. Man, he was dog-assed tired.

  He’d been going since five this morning, and it was creeping up on three a.m. now. A twenty-two hour day. Thankfully, most of his days weren’t this long. He pushed open the door and stepped onto the gravel. Stretching, he groaned at the wonderful feeling of his muscles releasing. He’d been on three calls tonight: two broken down vehicles needing to be towed to a nearby mechanic, and one car that needed to be jimmied. Each had been an hour drive from the other.

  Wearily, he trudged up the stairs to the wraparound porch, opened the screen, and unlocked the front door. As he entered the house, he tossed his keys in a bowl on the wood table beside the door, then stomped up the stairs, yanking his shirt over his head along the way.

  What he wanted was a nice, long shower and then eight hours of good, solid sleep. Though he knew that was asking too much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept longer than a four-hour stretch. Between taking the job at Coolier, and his wrecker service which he worked twenty-four seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year, he didn’t have time for sleep. Or much else. Including his daughter.

  As he stepped onto the landing of the second floor, he stopped at the first bedroom. At the sight of the darkened room, his chest tightened. Flicking on the light, he stared at the empty twin bed with its dark pink bedspread covered in light pink pigs.