She swung, again turning into the move and aiming with her first two knuckles. Constance tapped Rhett’s jaw and he acted like he was going to fall sideways. He caught himself on his knees and smiled up at her. “Simple stuff, right?” He took her wrist and brushed her knuckles over his jaw. “Here,” he said, “or here.” He tapped her hand to the side of his face near his eye, then his throat. “Anywhere below the forehead, which is likely just to hurt your hand.”
Constance’s increased pulse warmed her back up, but she still felt shivery. Like the flu, but also absolutely nothing like the flu.
“Hey.” Rhett snapped his fingers. “Where’d you go?”
Constance blinked rapidly. Rhett was in front of her, still on his knees. His eyes sparkled in the dim light, his brow creased with concern. His scents, heightened up close, filled her. His laundry soap mixed with his shampoo—a hint of lavender and something woodsy. A few heartbeats passed, which thrummed in Constance’s ears and burned around the back of her neck. She didn’t even realize she’d uncurled her fist, which he still held, until Rhett’s thumb grazed her palm.
“This is bad fighting form.” His voice dropped an octave as he waggled her hand.
Constance stood only a few inches away, her hand loosely inside of his, her fingertips against his throat. She studied his eyes, sparkling in the dim light. His pupils were large, the heartbeat in his neck strong.
The tension in his body changed, loosening in some places and tightening in others. “Well?” There was no longer humor in his voice. “What now, Stanzi?”
Constance couldn’t move. Rhett Santos didn’t start where his body began; the beginnings of him were well outside his physical presence, that deep, dark energy throbbing all around her, an unseen shadow that held her captive.
His thumb stroked the center of her palm again.
Constance slid the fingers of her open hand behind his neck. The hair at his nape, which curled a little bit, was cool and silky. The feel of it sent a shiver through her body that raised goose bumps over her skin.
Rhett’s free hand went behind the small of her back and rested there.
She leaned in close, pausing near his cheek.
Rhett’s entire body stilled.
Constance gave him a gentle kiss on the mouth. She lingered long enough to feel where the tenderness ceded to the rough stubble on his upper lip. The only part of Rhett that moved was his hand. His warm fingers, rough with calluses at the base of his fingers, slid down to her forearm.
Oh, hell. Constance drew back slowly.
Rhett’s eyelids fluttered open. “And,” he said, his voice low, “she goes for the kill.”
They studied each other in silence for a moment, the complete quiet of the gym so unusual it heightened the significance of what Constance had just done. Rhett released her and rose to his feet. Constance drew a deep breath to steady herself. She wasn’t sure what to say or even how to feel. She still couldn’t move.
Rhett ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “C’mon,” he said. He nodded toward the doorway. “I think we’d better not do any more tonight.”
“Right,” Constance agreed, the word mostly a whisper. She thought about apologizing, but she wasn’t sorry.
They said nothing as they stepped out into the cold and Rhett locked up the gym. He walked her to her car and opened the door for her. Constance climbed in and waited. Rhett’s hand was still on the top of the door so she couldn’t slam it shut.
“Drive safe,” he said.
“Yeah.”
He let go and she pulled the door shut.
Just before she went to pull away, he knocked on her window. She lowered it. “I have this feeling,” he said, “that you’re going to be really good at combat.”
The tightness in her throat eased up. She smiled and laughed under her breath.
Rhett smiled back and waited until she’d backed out before he headed off toward his Jeep. He had the tiniest limp to his step.
* * *
Constance took a shower, then faced herself in the steamy mirror, scissors in hand. She slid them back into the drawer, leaving her hair untouched, then ran her fingertips over her lips. Eyes closed, the scent of Rhett’s skin hit her, even though she’d showered.
She put on her pajamas, snapped off the light, slid under the covers and thought about that kiss. In hindsight, she couldn’t believe her nerve. It was as though she’d had no control over her body whatsoever. Or, maybe more rightly, for the first time in a long time, she’d had complete control over her body.
Constance didn’t know if Rhett had expected, wanted or enjoyed that kiss at all. But it made no difference. She’d given it to him, and she wasn’t taking it back.
* * *
Rhett lay awake in bed, reliving those last moments with Stanzi for as long as his sleepy mind would allow. He wanted to tell himself that he’d seen it coming, because Rhett didn’t like being caught off guard. He also wanted to tell himself that she’d taken him completely by surprise, because then he’d be excused from letting the kiss happen.
Neither one was true.
There were many places along the way Rhett could have prevented that kiss. He should’ve let her walk out the door, right after class. Her demeanor was stiff, if not cold, and she wanted to go. Yet, he persisted she stay. During their Combat session, he should’ve stood up as soon as she’d made her last strike. Rather than take her hand and draw her in closer, he should’ve said, “This is the part where you keep hitting soft targets, or you turn and run like hell.” That’s what he would’ve said to a class, or to any other woman training with him.
Instead of running like hell, she’d let him draw her closer.
Now he was left to lie alone in his bed, thinking about the strawberry scent of her hair, the feel of her soft lips against his own and her breath on his cheek.
Shit happens, and Rhett was no teenager. But gentle seduction hadn’t been on the menu for a long time. Even in his on-again, off-again with Katrina—an ex who was sort of an ex and sort of not?—their sex had become more like mutual masturbation than a connection of any kind between the two of them.
Despite the fact that Stanzi’s lips had done little more than brush gently over his, Rhett couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed like that.
Had he ever been kissed like that?
Stanzi’s kiss, in and of itself, was a delicious thing. It was delicate, sweet and promising. Genuine, like her personality. But what was even more dangerous was why she’d kissed him.
Rhett didn’t actually know why.
But he’d felt why.
The power behind that kiss had paralyzed him like dart venom. In that moment, Stanzi could have done anything—kiss him more passionately, slip her hand into his pants or even slit his throat—and he would’ve let her. That’s how good it felt.
And that wasn’t a place he was comfortable with.
His phone buzzed. Normally, once he was in bed, he didn’t touch his cell. He grappled for it on the nightstand and ended up knocking it to the floor. He cursed as he felt around for it, then clicked it open to reveal a text message.
It was from Angie. Letting him know they’d made it to the airport—her, the boys and Devon’s mom—and would be catching the red-eye home. Rhett blew out a sigh of disappointment. He didn’t realize just how much he’d been hoping the text was from Stanzi until it wasn’t. He typed back, told Angie to be safe and, as always, to let him know if she needed anything.
He clicked off the volume and slid the phone back to the nightstand. If the phone buzzed again, he didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to close his eyes, drift into hopefully dreamless sleep and make it to the morning.
As soon as his heavy lids shut, the kiss popped into his head. Rather than push it away, he embraced it. There were worse ways to fall asleep. Whether what came of th
at moment would be good or not, he couldn’t say. But that moment itself had been amazing.
Fuck it. Nothing else had to come of it, but he wasn’t going to insult the power of that kiss with wussy feelings like regret. Tonight, a beautiful woman had given him a beautiful thing.
No matter what happened, he was keeping it.
sixteen
“You slept with Detective Callahan?”
Constance’s eyes were so big they looked like the prized bright blue marbles she and Sunny used to carry around in the bags Mom had made before she died. Because their parents were older, a lot of their toys were old-fashioned. None of their friends understood the fun of shooting marbles, or carrying them around in homemade drawstring bags made by your dead mother. Sunny used to pretend she remembered Mom stitching them on her sewing machine, because Constance remembered it, and Sunny hated that Constance had way more memories of Mom than she did.
“You kissed your coach,” Sunny shot back.
“That’s way, way—” Constance made big circles with her arms “—different. What you’re doing is pushing the envelope on bribery, Little Miss Restraining Order. What I did was just a classic caught-up-in-the-moment mistake. And, unlike you, mine won’t happen again.”
“And why not?” Sunny was happy to deflect the conversation back to Cici.
“It’s complicated.” Constance hovered her hands over the rescued beagle’s shoulders, who sat up tall and rigid on his dog bed. He flinched, squeezing his one good eye shut. Constance massaged the air above him, not touching his body, moving slow and rhythmic, until he relaxed. “Humphrey’s a mess,” she cooed. “Even after a week with Dr. Winters.”
“You’ve named him already?”
Her hands finally lit, just barely, on his black-and-tan fur. “It came to me immediately.” Cici sat there, without moving, her hands on his shoulders. Her face broke into a delicate smile when he didn’t move away.
Chevy, jealous of the attention, sat at Constance’s feet and offered a sympathetic whine. “Hey, girl.” Constance gave her a nod, but didn’t move her hands from Humphrey. “Where are your babies?”
“I still keep them in the back room.” Sunny was glad for a topic change. “Chevy roams around as she likes. She’s starting to wean them.” Often, if they suckled too long, the mama would stand up and walk away, irritated. It was funny to watch the pups cling to her nipples. They’d run after her, tripping over their own paws as they tried to hang on.
After a long wait, Constance ran her hands down the beagle’s back, skimming his fur with her palms. A moment later, he sank to the dog bed. “That’s it.”
Sunny plopped down in the armchair across from her. “And what’s so complicated, then?”
Constance sighed and flashed Sunny a look. “Well, let’s just start with the easiest reason. You and the detective want me to help him. If I end up being Rhett’s massage therapist, I can’t go around kissing him. It’s unethical.”
Sunny rolled her eyes. “You haven’t massaged him yet. Not really. So you kissed him first. Does that count? And it was barely a kiss, from what you told me. It’s not like you kissed him during a massage. That’s way different.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Constance continued her therapy with the beagle. Humphrey’s breathing, always shallow with fear, had deepened. His ribs, still prominent through his coat, spread, rose and fell at a steady pace.
“You think too much.” Sunny watched her sister work her magic and, as usual, was slightly jealous of her power. “But I’m not going to get into an argument.”
“That reminds me, I need a favor.”
Sunny’s brows rose.
“Are all your cabins rented out for the Christmas Eve event?”
“Of course.”
“You had a cancellation recently.” Constance had reached Humphrey’s back feet. She ran just her fingertips over the left one. He didn’t move. He might’ve even been asleep. “Rhett’s mother had rented one out for him, and he canceled it. I need you to give it back.”
“Seriously?” Sunny thought back, and remembered that just after Thanksgiving a man had called and canceled a reservation that had been booked by his mother, even though the cost was nonrefundable. “He had a deep voice,” she mused.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Constance lifted Humphrey’s foot and began massaging the pads underneath. The dog took a deep breath and huffed it out in a satisfied sigh.
“It doesn’t,” Sunny said, marveling that the dog was letting her sister touch his feet. “But I can’t give him the cabin. It’s booked.”
“But the massage comes with it,” Constance pointed out. “This is the perfect way for me to help you and Callahan. Or do you not need my help anymore, now that you’re sleeping with him?”
Sunny snapped her gaze up into her sister’s glaring eyes. “So you’re assuming I’m using him.”
“Aren’t you?”
Sunny shrugged. “I’m playing his game. That’s all men do. Play games. He’s the one using me. Or he thinks he is.”
Constance shook her head. “This is why I have to be very careful helping Rhett. This kind of work—” she glanced at Humphrey “—is serious and can’t be messed up with complications. At my end, this is no game.”
“Okay, okay.” Sunny didn’t see as much of a problem with her own situation. She had no idea what was going on with her and Callahan and she really didn’t want to categorize it, one way or the other. They were consenting adults. They had a great time. What was wrong with that? “Rhett can use your room,” Sunny said. “You’ll just have to go home to sleep Christmas Eve. Unless you want to be on the couch. Everything else is rented out.”
Constance finished up Humphrey’s other paw, then rose carefully to her feet. Humphrey didn’t move a muscle. They were all jelly and he was nothing but a happy puddle. “Perfect. Thank you. In the meantime, I’ll try to work Rhett’s leg again. Before I spring a whole-body massage on him on Christmas Eve.”
“Good plan. And yes, I still need your help. Sean and I had a deal that didn’t involve sex and I’m assuming that’s still a go.”
Constance shook her head. Her face had gotten slimmer over the weeks at Semper Fit and she seemed sterner now when she gave Sunny that classic, disapproving look. “Be careful, baby sister. You’re playing with fire.”
* * *
Stanzi stood outside the office, holding up a small jar.
Despite the fact she’d pretty much avoided him for a week, Rhett smiled. She wore a pair of black leggings, a T-shirt only one size too big rather than three and had her hair up in that little ponytail. Her bangs had grown past her eyes and were pulled back with a small barrette. Up close, Rhett could see that the barrette was metal, with a small, plastic cat on it, like a little girl might wear.
He laughed to himself. Who dresses you?
“Your limp has gotten worse all week.” She nodded toward his leg.
Rhett raised his eyebrows at her. “Hi. How are you?”
“Oh, I mean. Hey.” Stanzi smiled, then bit down on her lower lip. “I’ve been a little busy this week. But I made it for Combat class tonight.”
“You’ve been to the gym,” Rhett said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just not to my class.”
Stanzi rolled the jar she’d brought around and around in her palms. She looked up toward the ceiling, then parted her lips to speak.
“What you got there?” Rhett let her off the hook and nodded to the jar. Watching her squirm was fun, but no need to push it. He didn’t want her mad at him before Combat.
“I want to try this on your leg. It’s great for pain relief. Before I try it on clients, I want you to be my guinea pig.”
Rhett took the jar, which had a graphic of a leafy plant on the label. He read the ingredients. “Cannabidiol extract?” He smiled. “You trying to get me high, Stanzi?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. It’s nonpsychoactive. There’s no THC in this. The compounds in here disrupt pain signaling in the body. It works really well. Sit down.” She motioned to his desk chair. “It’s perfectly legal.”
Rhett narrowed his eyes, leery of tricks. But logically, that made no sense. She was asking for his help. He’d be a jerk not to accept some free work in exchange for being a guinea pig, right? “Go ahead.” He sank into his office chair. “I don’t care what you use on this damn leg.” He motioned to the door and she pushed it closed.
Stanzi unscrewed the cap and dipped her pinky into the cream. “I should have an applicator, but this is my own personal jar. I don’t use it on other clients.”
“Will you quit going out of your way to be professional and just help my stupid leg?” He waited for that suppressed smile to play around her lips before he leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the full power of her magical cream and magical hands and whatever magical thing she had going on to work its will. It didn’t matter whether she had cannabidiol or Love Potion No. 9 in that jar, if Stanzi was going to rub it on him, he was going to feel good. He still remembered the last massage she’d given him. Dreamed about it sometimes.
“You’ve got a lot of scar tissue here.” Her hands were right over the leg wound. She rested there a moment, then told him to take a deep breath. On the exhale, she sank in with her fingertips. Slowly, she worked around the scar, moving in short strokes forward and back, and side to side. “Feels okay?”
Rhett opened his eyes and saw she watched his hands and face for signs of pain, rather than watching his leg. Just like when she tested Duke’s firing sequence, she took sight out of the equation. “Hurts, but in a good way.”
“That’s what we want.” She worked her fingers awhile longer, and the pain slowly eased. “When you’re hurt,” she explained, “your body rushes to fix the damage. It doesn’t care how the new fibers get laid down to patch the wound. It throws them down any which way, which is why scar tissue is so lumpy. It’s kind of like, if you’re putting out a fire, you don’t care if you get water all over the walls. You’ll throw buckets around if it puts out the flames, and you don’t care what kind of mess it makes.”
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