Breaking The Rules: The Breaking Series, #1

By Ember Leigh

His best friend's little sister is his only weakness...

For Travis, there's only ever been one rule: stay away from his best friend's sister. But Amara Valenzuela has transformed from meek and sweet to a woman that Travis can't keep his eyes—or hands—off of.

Before long, however, Travis learns that being with Amara isn't just breaking the rules. She's a dangerous distraction.

In a room full of hot, hard, sweaty bodies, these two have more than fitness on their minds. Will the undefeated MMA fighter be strong enough to resist the charms of his best friend's sexy and sweet little sister…or will trying to win her heart be the showdown of his life?

Fans of Kennedy Ryan and Penelope Ward will love this emotional and steamy sports romance series starter.  

 

Click now to start this forbidden MMA romance today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ember Leigh
• Release date: Sep 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386676737

Book preview

Chapter 1

You done kicking my ass for the day?

Eddie’s playful question was one that Travis Holt had received thousands of times over the past few years. His sweaty, breathless friend squinted up at him from the bench press, waiting to be dismissed from their near-daily workout.

That’s up to you, Travis ribbed, shoving his friend’s shoulders. You know I’m training now. So we can take it up to the pro notch if you want.

Training, for the first time in three years. The past few weeks had felt like both a welcome return to home and a terrible punishment. Training for headlining fights--this was what he’d always done. It was what he’d been used to.

But now that he owned a gym and had officially crossed over into entrepreneur territory?

Most days he doubted that he still had the mojo.

I’m going for a run later too, Eddie promised, grabbing for a white towel to wipe over his face. Just so you don’t think I’m slackin’.

A bad breakup about six months before had left Eddie struggling and overweight. Holt Body Fitness was the sacred space for all people looking to improve their self-esteem or get back into shape.

Even Travis himself.

For the past three weeks his results erupted practically before his eyes, sharpening the ridges of his abs, sculpting the squareness of his shoulders into a hulking silhouette. His MMA injury had sidelined him for almost three years. Now he was showing up to prove he still had it. No ACL tear could keep him away from the title.

I’ll take it. Travis entered his friend’s stats into the gym app they’d started using. Just don’t forget to upload your times.

It really just depends if Amara needs the car. He groaned as he came to his feet. Common post-workout protests.

Amara? Travis didn’t look up as he finished entering Eddie’s details into the app. Eddie’s little sister had moved out east years ago for school. She barely ever came home, and he had almost no memories with her. She’s visiting?

Or something, because Mama’s been sick. She got in a couple of days ago, says she wants to find a job.

Eddie and Amara had always been extra attentive to their mother, even since high school. Growing up, the Valenzuelas had been tighter than a regular family. Something that Travis had always envied.

The two sauntered toward the glass doors leading to the main hallway of the gym. The attendant at the door nodded at Travis as they walked by.

Well, damn, Travis said. That’s a big deal, right?

Eddie shrugged. Mama keeps telling her to go back to DC. But Amara won’t have it because of Mama’s diagnosis.

She should be able to find a job out here, Travis said. LA was the City of Angels…and miracles, if one looked hard enough. Though he didn’t know what Amara did, she had to have a shot out here alongside anybody else. And hell, if she doesn’t, she can work front desk here until she does.

Eddie laughed, offering his fist. Thanks, bro. Not sure how she’d take that after her hotshot DC career, but I’ll tell her.

They bumped fists, and Eddie disappeared into the locker room. Travis stayed behind in the weight room. A couple of newbies in there had postures he wanted to correct; with the daily demands of scaling his business and preparing for his first televised match-up in three years, he didn’t have as much time to work with his gym-goers as he’d like.

The grunts and clanking of weights were a familiar cadence that normally set him at ease. But today, it just amped up his anxiety.

Three years out of the public eye was a long time. And sure, he could train his heart out and wow people with his calves.

But did he still have the power to hold his own in the ring? Could he make his old fans care again?

Anxiety churned inside him as he helped two of the newer guys with their squats, waiting to make sure they got their form down. Once he saw that all else was fine, he selected two fifty-pound dumbbells, raising them over his head and lowering slowly as he watched his form in the wall-to-wall mirror.

This upcoming fight was everything. The true chance to re-establish himself as not just a capable fighter, but maybe even a legend. His own silhouettes dotting the upper rim of the walls were a potent reminder to stay focused and fit.

The unexpected injury had provided the time and space away from the rigorous training to be able to shift his focus toward a long-term goal: opening a gym. Because he couldn’t kick the shit out of people forever, there had to be an end date.

But that time hadn’t arrived quite yet. Both running the gym and winning fights provided the type of attention he thrived on; he lapped it up and transmuted it into something new altogether, a type of high that only pride, money, and success could breed.

Occasionally, his gaze flitted over to new arrivals in the weight room: a lot of regulars streaming in, a few new faces, lots of beach babes getting into shape in the past few weeks as fall descended on LA. The eye candy—and the celebrities—were a constant at his gym. One of the many perks of his job, which was all about growing business, making a name for himself, and raking in that profit.

The door swung open on the far end, and a new girl walked in. Tight leggings hugging a curvy body, an hourglass on legs, with ass cheeks like melons that begged for a squeeze.

Travis perked up, all his attention sliding to the newcomer while he finished his set. She wandered the room a bit, squinting around like she was looking for someone. Something about her seemed familiar, but that happened all the time here. In LA, everyone looked like somebody else.

But this newcomer needed a personal Holt welcome. He let the dumbbells down, exhaling loudly. The girl walked the perimeter of the gym, looking at the machines, graceful neck arcing as she peered up at the ceiling.

Damn.

He came up behind her. Dark-brown, nearly black hair swept back into a loose braid that reached all the way down her back. So shiny that it looked like it might be made from black silk.

Prowling the sexy clientele was a strict no-no for him, but two minutes in his gym and this girl had him wanting to bend his rules…maybe even break them. He cleared his throat as he neared.

Goddamn, there you are! Eddie burst through the doors at the far end, looking his way. Travis creased a brow, unsure who he was yelling at.

I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes, the sexy new girl said, throwing her hands up. You said 2:30, asshole.

Travis’s thoughts screeched to a halt. Jesus Christ. He’d been stalking his prey: Eddie’s little sister. His jaw tightened as he fought to wipe the lascivious thoughts, like smudging fingerprints for evidence.

Because Eddie would disown him if he found out Travis had even entertained a thought about his sister like that.

I was busy. Eddie pointed beyond her, toward Travis. Blame him! He’s beefing me up; muscles take time.

Amara spun on her heels to follow her brother’s finger. She seemed startled when she locked gazes with Travis.

What’s up, Amara? He nodded at her, smiling slyly. Maybe she didn’t recognize him anymore either. God knows he hadn’t recognized her from across the room.

The corners of her pretty mouth turned up. Her chocolate, almond-shaped eyes made a slow trek up and down his body.

Long time no see, Trav. She raised her hand, and they high-fived. You sure look different.

Do I?

Of course he did. The last time they had been in the same room happened at her going-away party; he’d attended simply because he’d been picking up Eddie on their way to the strip club. Back then, she’d been a feisty loudmouth, always yapping in the background whenever Travis called Eddie’s house—which already he could see hadn’t changed. But that body? He never remembered her looking like this.

"You could be in GQ. She nodded toward the oversized portraits lining the back wall. Or maybe you already were."

"Nah, GQ is too classy for this guy, Eddie cracked. Tell her the truth. You were in Playgirl."

Travis sent his friend a stern look but didn’t say anything else. It was true. He’d been in the magazine last spring; part PR stunt, part unexpected opportunity on the heels of a well-connected gym-goer. His numbers had been consistently growing since.

Does that help or hurt your street cred? Amara’s eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. Or maybe that answer depends on whether there was full frontal nudity.

None of that, Travis said. They did a feature on me because of the gym. Some of those pictures came from the shoot.

"It sounds like things have been going very well for you."

Are you moving back to LA?

For now, at least. We’ll see how it works out. She sighed, gaze drifting across the room.

He tried to focus on her face, but his eyes wandered over the caramel skin of her chest and shoulders. She looked soft but solid, and those breasts looked all real, a hard commodity to come by in the City of Angels.

Well, it was good to see you,  he said. She was hotter than hell, but he could never tell her. Not unless he wanted Eddie to pull a knife on him. Stop by sometime and work out with us. It’s always on the house for your family.

Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. She smiled at him, those eyes snagging him again like a fishing line.

Fuck. How had he missed this about Amara? Growing up, she’d been the shapeless, bookish younger sister, studying in the background or doing whatever with her friends. He never imagined she’d be this fully blossomed woman who could knock him over at first glance with those sultry eyes of hers.

Come on, let’s get out of here. Eddie pushed at her, glaring across the room at somebody. These guys are vultures, Trav. You know that?

Travis spun around. A group of guys lifting weights in the corner glanced suspiciously at them.

Oh, come on. Amara sighed exasperatedly as her brother led her by the arm. You never change, do you?

Who else is gonna look out for you if I don’t? Eddie nudged her toward the door. He’d been saying that about his little sister since he was a teen. They don’t need to be looking at you like that.

Travis couldn’t totally sympathize; he’d look at her like that all day if he could. Damn. He ripped his eyes away from her butt—harder than setting down a half-eaten ice-cream cone. Every fiber in his being begged to return to that view.

Amara shook her head and looked back at Travis over her shoulder. "My father and I will see you later."

Eddie nodded at him as they pushed through the double doors, flashing him a sideways peace sign. Through the glass walls of the weight room, Travis watched them walk past the front desk and out into the foyer.

When they were gone, he surveyed the handful of meatheads. Every single one avoided his gaze. They were part of the group that dosed on a regular basis; Travis had to break them up from infights on more than one occasion, and whenever he got complaints, they usually circled right back to one of these guys.

Those beefheads pushed a lot of buttons, especially because they reminded him too much of his younger self. A hothead constantly in trouble with the cops, the whirlwind cycle of dosing and fighting, creating new wounds as soon as the old ones scabbed over.

He didn’t tolerate harassment or fighting in his gym. That was the surest route to getting labeled as trashy or unsafe. And with his goals, he didn’t have time for unsavory brutes to drag him down.

You know the rules. Travis looked at each of them as he headed for the door. Keep your head down, or get the fuck out.

The door shut softly behind him, and he jogged to the staff room. Keeping tabs on all the potential shenanigans at the gym was a full-time job. That’s why he hired security and made his pass checkers at the doors keep a strict eye on the goings-on.

Lex, one of the newer trainers and gym assistants, raised his hand for a high five when Travis came into the staff room. What’s up, boss?

Travis had met Lex on streets, back when Lex dosed and was a helluva lot angrier.  Travis had been looking for guys to launch into the MMA circuit, and Lex had soared higher than any of them.

You guys are right on time. Travis grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge in the corner and leaned against the center employee table where most lunches and dinners were consumed.

Before we start, anything interesting since the last meeting?

Twenty new clients signed up today alone, an employee piped up.

Two celebrity sightings today, another employee said. Lisa Kudrow and Jude Law.

Not bad, Travis said, rifling through a folder on the table. Anything else?

People talk constantly about the model on the wall, said one of the second-shift pass checkers. I think it’s one of the main reasons some women keep coming back.

Travis lifted the corner of his mouth. Great. That’s client retention.

I’d say roughly five girls asked this morning whether you were single, a front-desk girl added.

That’s down from most days.

You’re slackin’, boss, Lex said.

Travis cracked a grin, shutting the folder. That’s all I need to hear, then. Let’s get down to business.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the people in front of him, all he could see was the delectable curve of Amara's ass behind his eyelids. That sexy body had been burnt into his memory.

Which was the last thing he could ever admit to his best friend Eddie.

Chapter 2

Eddie nudged Amara while the car crept through the late-afternoon traffic. Hey, you okay or what?

Amara turned to look at him but didn’t even see him. Her gaze wandered to the window and out beyond the lanes of traffic. Yeah, I’m fine.

She’d been practically braindead since running into Travis Holt at the gym. Talk about an unexpected welcome-home present. Not only did the guy have his own gym, but he was hot enough to melt steel. Money, success, and good looks… He was certainly different than the young Holt she’d known when she’d moved east eight years ago.

You seem distracted. Did I piss you off that bad?

She clucked her tongue. No, Eddie. I told you. I’m fine.

It’s just that now that you’re home, I worry. He shrugged, staring blankly at the car in front of them. Some of those guys can be real creeps.

She sighed, resting her head against two fingertips. Their exit sat a half mile away, but it felt like they’d never get there. And she needed quiet time. A chance to decompress from the hectic hospital rounds she’d made with Mama for her initial chemo appointment that morning. Not only that, but she had to prepare for her upcoming interview. Then on top of her anxiety cake, like the ripest, most stressful cherry ever picked…she needed to figure out what these feelings about Eddie’s best friend were.

Eddie’s parental henpecking didn’t help matters. Moving home was hard enough; being ensnared in his overprotectiveness annoyed her in a new way now that she was in her mid twenties.

Out in DC, the three time zones of separation made it easier to handle. But in LA, it might as well be high school all over again. Except worse because now she had her own life and her own needs, which on occasion included flings with sexy guys who’d never call her back. In all the hustle and bustle of packing up her room in the shared townhouse back East and saying good-bye to her job and friends, she hadn’t gotten laid in too long.

And she needed it, in a bad way.

Travis seemed to fit the bill perfectly. God-status hot and already within reach.

Would he  be into a fling? Probably—he was a man, after all. Just a little dip and then done. Besides, Travis looked like the type of dude who never called anyone but Hollywood celebrities back.

What am I supposed to do if I ever want to date anybody? She turned on the blinker, easing into the exit lane. Dating was the farthest thing from her mind; she wanted a hot body and sexy moans. Those guys weren’t even leering at me.

"They were, hijita!"

She rolled her eyes. Eddie was only three years older than her, but he’d made it his job to be the father of the house since their dad skipped out on them when she was ten years old.

"Besides, you can date. Eddie softened. But bring them home so Ma and I can meet them."

Good thing you didn’t meet my last boyfriend.

The tension in the car spiked. Who? You didn’t tell me about any boyfriend out there.

He didn’t need to know she and that boyfriend had only hooked up for a couple months until he started talking about ‘more’. He was my last boyfriend, and he was perfectly fine. I can choose men without your intervention, you know.

Eddie shook his head, glaring out the window. Whatever.

She eased onto the exit ramp, finally. Traffic moved a bit more smoothly, and soon she pulled into the squat, brown apartment complex they’d lived in since the nineties. It was one of the few areas that didn’t suffer from frequent and absurd rent hikes. Her only hope was that within a few more years, she and Eddie could buy their family the condo they’d deserved all along, in a nicer area, with a big balcony so their mom could drink tea outside in the afternoons while she read her gossip magazines.

Amara parked the SUV, and they walked to the dingy front doors in silence, nearly tripping over the cracked cement steps. Shouting from a nearby apartment reached them, but she couldn’t tell which neighbor. It was a stark contrast from her cool and calculated neighborhood in DC, where almost everyone was a young professional willing to pay over a thousand a month for a tiny closet in a shared apartment just to be closer to the political whispers.

But now, being back, she recalled why she and Eddie had never brought friends home when they were in school. Why, especially, she couldn’t recall many encounters with Travis throughout their adolescence, even though he and Eddie had been best friends since age fourteen. Only stolen glimpses in the halls of their high school for the one year they both shared it.

She blinked hard, struggling to fit the key in the front door. When she did, it unlocked with a groan.

Amara? Eduardo? Their mother craned her neck over the top of the recliner, her head wrapped in a bright-pink bandanna.  She hadn’t lost her hair yet—just wanted to start getting the hang of the style. Oh, thank God it’s you.

I love you, Mama. I have to get ready for the interview. She kissed her mother’s forehead as she walked by, heading for her small bedroom at the back.

Eddie dropped his gym bag near the front door and plopped on the couch as she rounded the corner.

"Bring some leche home with you," Mama called as Amara shut the bedroom door.

Silence settled in her childhood bedroom, the bed and walls exactly the same as the day she flew east at age eighteen. Now, eight years later, returning to this space felt foreign but comforting, like slipping on a favorite sweater in the middle of a new country.

LA was a new place to her despite being home. On her own in DC, she’d been working at a justice center that provided legal aid to immigrant women facing domestic abuse issues. Stressful but rewarding, it was a post she hoped to return to, but only if her mama’s health improved enough to allow it.

Amara never hesitated about moving home once her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. There was no other option. The woman had raised her and Eddie alone after their father stepped out on them to move in with a secret family he’d kept for years on the East Coast. The deception had been crippling, affecting them in ways they didn’t even know how to talk about.

But planning for her life after the illness felt somehow deceitful. Like if mama didn’t have the luxury of imagining a future, then Amara shouldn’t either.

Tears pricked her eyes. It had been an emotional couple of days since flying home. Even more emotional than normal. Ever since the diagnosis, it felt like something heavy and bulky coated her. Like a weighted blanket, but she couldn’t see the edges to tear it off.

Visiting LA for holidays was way different than living here again. Being in the emotional embrace of her mama and brother was comforting at the same time it was suffocating.

Sometimes it was easier to flit about in a big city, content in the knowledge that your history lay two thousand miles away. She missed the neat lines of DC, the way everyone seemed to have purpose, the productive conversations about toxic masculinity and progressive feminism. When her mother’s illness was a distant concept, something to be theorized.

Back home the truth crashed into her, fist against front teeth.

Between doctor’s visits, the traffic, and the job hunt, she needed an outlet.

Travis flashed through her mind as she readied her interview outfit. He’s the outlet I want.

A grin crossed her face as she shimmied out of her leggings and tank top. He seemed to like what he saw, or maybe she was being hopeful. The man was a literal Playgirl model—surrounded by throngs of busty models and LA celebrities all day long. He might be Eddie’s best childhood friend, but he was in a different league now.

Just like her. Because DC activists didn’t mix with LA bodybuilders. Not that she was looking for anyone anyway, but if she were… Well, Travis wasn’t her type, not anywhere near it. The guy had to be vain as hell if he had his own pictures supersized and hung like dedications in a temple. Besides, he made his fortune beating other people to a pulp. For fun. It was the antithesis of what she stood for.

But that body of his…warranted a fling.

Shivers ran up and down her spine. As she buttoned her crisp white shirt, she imagined Travis’s fingers doing it. There were a lot of things that were different about him—that body, infinitely more sculpted than the last time she’d seen him. His eyes were like molten chocolate, deep and swimming and difficult to sustain eye contact with for too long. He made her knees go weak, and that was saying something after so many years working alongside well-groomed capital hotties.

Travis was different. He looked reserved but fierce, full of fire, the type of blaze he tried to keep under wraps.

But maybe she was just starved for sex, fawning over the first truly sexy man she’d seen back home.

Once she’d smoothed