TKO (A Bad Boy MMA Romance) by Olivia Lancaster

patients all the time, distracting them from the pain by asking personal questions, shooting the breeze. It helped keep their minds off the stress of the moment.
     
    He sat down on a bench I’d dragged into the middle of the room and we got started. I gave him the stretching equipment and told him to start squeezing. I rolled his wrist open and closed while moving his arm up and down, then rotated his arm in a circular motion. He only winced at first, but then after a few reps he had to close his eyes tightly and clench his jaw to hold back the pain. Pity made my heart ache for him.
     
    “So,” I began, “what made you get into the sport?”
     
    It was an innocuous question I often asked of my patients, just to get them talking. Without even opening his eyes, he growled, “I like fighting. Always have. Used to do it for, uh, fun when I was a kid. Then when I got older I realized it might be better to fight guys who agree to it rather than doing it for survival.”
     
    “So which was it for back then: fun or survival?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
     
    He opened his eyes and gave me a somewhat mournful, warning look.
     
    “Some of both,” he replied darkly.
     
    “Where’d you grow up?” I asked quickly, changing the subject.
     
    “New Mexico.”
     
    “Oh, not from around here, then. I’ve heard it’s beautiful down there.”
     
    He sighed. “Not the part I was from.”
     
    “How… how do your parents feel about your career? I bet your mom worries about you a lot, doesn’t she?” I pressed on, trying to keep the topics a little lighter.
     
    But he only said, “I don’t have parents. Just my grandmother. She raised me.”
     
    “Oh,” I answered weakly. I was failing miserably here at the small talk.
     
    “She was a saint, though. Great lady. Never gave up on me even though god knows she probably should have a million times,” he added. I was shocked to hear him speak so candidly. He never struck me as the talkative type by any means.
     
    “Yeah, my mom died when I was young, so it was just my dad and me and my sister forever,” I said. If he was open to sharing, then it was only fair that I do the same.
     
    “He still around?”
     
    “Uhh, no. He died a few years ago. Just me and Alice now,” I murmured. He winced as I forgot to release his clenched wrist for a moment too long. “Oh, sorry!” I added, letting go.
     
    Marc gently pulled free of my hands and let his left arm rest against his side as he looked up at me. Those gorgeous, expressive amber eyes struck me and I felt a little weak. What was happening to me? Where did the sensible, no-nonsense Gemma go? One look from this bear of a man and suddenly I couldn’t function anymore? This wasn’t me at all.
     
     
     

CHAPTER 9 - MARC
 
                  I had to admit, the last session left me in a pretty good mood. I don’t know whether it was just my trying to reach out and treat Gemma with a little respect or something Gemma felt differently earlier today, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what the next few weeks with her were going to be like.
     
                  It may have been a rocky start, but I figured I could make it work. There was one thing that was nagging at me, though.
     
                  The more I tried to train myself to keep from staring at her body, the harder it was for me to keep from doing just that. When she wasn’t stiff and on the defensive against me, there was something incredibly natural to the way she moved, the way she handled herself around my body. Even with the memory of her prodding me back painfully all those times, I found myself appreciating what I was finally recognizing as her expertise.
     
                  All of that amounted to a fairly good mood for what was coming at me that evening.
     
                  “A nightclub?” I repeated.
     
                  “Yeah, come on, Marc!” Selena urged me,