by Alisha Rai
Doodle sniffed the floor and then paused in front of a door. “What’s that, girl?” Katrina went to the door and opened it, startled to find stairs. She hadn’t realized any houses in California had basements, but she supposed some of the ones built earlier in the century might.
The clang of metal on metal told her Jas was down there. She petted Doodle. “Good girl. You can go lie down.” Doodle huffed as if she understood, and turned away, her tail thwacking Katrina hard on her thigh.
Katrina rubbed her leg and descended to the basement. This was no fancy place. The basement was one large cold concrete room, unfinished, so she caught sight of Jas immediately.
And promptly almost swallowed her tongue.
Welp.
He wore only gym shorts and reclined on the bench press, hefting the heavy weight above his head. His thighs were thick and muscular on either side of the bench, feet on the floor. His bare chest was sprinkled with dark hair, and it was wide and shiny with sweat. The muscles of his abs were clearly delineated, each one perfectly carved.
Save for his nightmare, when she’d been utterly distracted by his pain, she’d never seen him with so much skin exposed. So much . . . beautiful skin.
Katrina pressed a hand to her belly. Oh God, the zings. The zings.
She tried to mentally slap herself. This was Jas, not some piece of meat to ogle. He was like . . . well, she couldn’t view him as some sexual fantasy come to life.
He placed the bar back into its holder thing and crunched to come to a seated position, which did all sorts of amazing things to those stomach muscles. He twisted to grab his water bottle from the floor and lifted it to his lips. It was inexplicably sexy when he tilted his head back and drank large gulps.
He lowered the bottle, and that was when he met her eyes. He jerked back, like he was startled. Well, why wouldn’t he be? She was hovering by the foot of the stairs like a poltergeist. “Katrina. Is anything wrong?”
She licked her dry lips. Yes. Things were wrong. She’d come here for a reason. A very specific reason. “Unf.”
“What?” He swung his leg over the bench and rose to his feet. A trickle of sweat ran down his chest.
Remember that hug?
She’d carefully repressed that memory. But it came back to her in a rush now. His arms hadn’t gone around her, but she’d felt the power in them. Had he hugged her, he could have squeezed her so tight.
Those biceps were gigantic. She was willing to bet he gave good hugs.
“Katrina?” He grabbed his T-shirt from where he’d slung it over another bench and pulled it on.
She snapped out of her hypnotized state. What had he been asking? Something about his pecs? Or the way the white T-shirt clung to his sweaty man chest? “Yes.”
“Yes, what? Something’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then what do you need?”
“Yes.”
“What?” He took a few steps toward her.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
He spoke slowly. “Why are you here? Is something wrong?”
“Oh. No. Um. I woke up, and . . .” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “I was sleeping.”
“I know. I saw you.”
“Right. I fell asleep. I don’t normally fall asleep, but here we are. I think I’m groggy. Yes, that is why talking is hard. Anyway, how was the vet visit?” Yes, good brain. Go to a neutral non-muscle-related topic.
“Good. Doodle is in great health. No chip, no one who’s called looking for her. I ran into Bikram and he says he still has a few neighbors to hear back from, but no leads yet.”
Yes, she would be happy about all of this when she could concentrate on what he was saying with his mouth and not what he was saying with his abs. “Cool.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, then. I’ll go shower—”
No, he needed to stay looking like this. “Hey. Didn’t you say you’d use this time to teach me self-defense?” she blurted out, and immediately nearly kicked herself. Looking for ways to get closer to him? Control yourself.
“Self-defense?” His beautiful thick brows drew together.
She tried to laugh. If she could play it off as a joke, maybe they could let this whole thing go. “A silly idea. Sorry. I was—” Visualizing what it would feel like to have your hands touching me in any way possible. “You know. It was a thought.”
“It’s a good thought. I did say I could show you some stuff,” he said slowly, flustering her more.
She opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. Actually, though it had been born of sexual brain fog, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Yes. Ahem.”
“Do you want to do it right now?”
She stared at him. Why would he say that? Yes, she wanted to do it right now.
“Katrina?”
“Yes.” She gave that yes a little too enthusiastically. “Sure.” She glanced down at her clothes. “Are my leggings okay or do I need to change?”
He cleared his throat. “Leggings are good.”
Chapter Sixteen
KATRINA TOOK A moment to compose herself while Jas chugged another bottle of water. Be cool. Don’t freak out if he brushes up against you or something. You’re here to spar, that’s all.
Spar sounded sexual. How about parry? No. Never mind.
She bounced on her toes and made a right jab. “Okay, now I punch you, right?”
He cracked a smile that made her tummy flutter. “Not quite.” He motioned for her to come closer. The basement was no state-of-the-art gym. The equipment in it was at least a decade old, maybe older. But there was a fairly thick mat on the floor. “Do you know martial arts or something?” she asked.
“No. I know surviving.”
Ahh, that was a sexy answer. “Always good.” She stood a foot away from him. “So where do I hit you?”
“You don’t. First you breathe.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What?”
“Close your eyes.”
Confused, she followed his orders and shut her eyes. His footsteps were loud as he walked around her.
“This is stuff you’re already aware of. When you’re scared or get startled, it’s instinctive to freeze up, hold your breath.” His voice came from right behind her. Every single hair on her neck sat up and paid attention. “Totally normal human response. But you can’t fight someone off if you can’t get oxygen to your brain. I see you meditating, doing breathing exercises. You know how to deal with your panic when it’s coming from inside you.”
She did. Before she’d started going out to different places for exposure therapy, Andy had coached her on running up the stairs or turning in circles. Getting used to the physical sensations she felt during an attack in safe spaces, so she could start to associate them with safety.
“Apply what you already know to that. When someone startles you, you can get scared, but you have to breathe so you can think. If you can think, you can react.” He released his breath in a big rush, and she echoed him.
“Good,” he murmured, now from in front of her. He inhaled, then exhaled, loud, and she followed suit.
She matched his breathing, eyes still shut. She imagined curling up in his lap while they did exactly this.
Breathing exercises were her kink now? Okay.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, but Jas was the one who finally spoke. “That’s good.”
She staggered back a step when she opened her eyes, the mild vertigo from keeping them closed hitting her. His hand hovered over her arm, but she caught her balance and he didn’t touch her.
Touch me.
“So no hitting you?” she joked.
He shook his head. “Fighting basics: run before fighting, but if you have to fight, fighting and landing an injury, any injury, is better than no injury.”
“Where’d you learn this? The Army?”
“Yeah
, but before that, getting into fights as a kid.”
She glanced upward. “You got into fights here?” Granted, she hadn’t seen the rest of the town, but this little corner seemed so peaceful.
“My grandpa’s fairly well-known in the community, my mom was an unmarried teen when she had me, my dad was some outsider, and it’s a small town where all the locals know each other. Yeah, I got into some fights,” he said dryly. She wanted to hear more about all that, but he changed the subject. “Let’s talk about sensitive areas on a person.”
“I’ve watched enough TV. I know the weak spots.”
“Some of those weak spots are overrated. The groin kick? I’ve seen a man get up and still keep going after a hit like that.”
She would not be titillated. He was talking dispassionately about groins, almost scientifically. Besides, groin wasn’t even a sexy word.
Groin.
Groin.
Groin.
See?
“If you can hit the groin, of course go for it.”
Okay, so maybe he was saying it differently than she was, it sounded sexy coming from him. Katrina shook her head. “Got it. Groin if possible.”
“Show me how you make a fist.”
She fisted her hand and he reached out and adjusted her thumb. “Like this. So you don’t break a finger. Now hit me as hard as you can.” He pointed to his stomach.
“Finally,” she joked. Then she hesitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t actually want to hit you,” she confessed.
Jas’s lips twitched. “I promise, you won’t hurt me.”
“Ugh.”
“Try it.”
It was a halfhearted punch at best, like rapping her knuckles against a brick wall.
“Punching can hurt someone, but not if they’re braced for it.” He tapped her fist until she opened it, and arranged her fingers into a claw. “You know what really hurts? These puppies.” He touched her nails. “Scratch, claw. Go for the eyes for maximum impact.” He took a step closer. “Think of the other sharp parts of your body. You want to use them on the vulnerable parts of the attacker’s body.”
“Nothing on me is that sharp.”
He took a second to reply. “Your knee. Your elbow.” He placed his hand on her elbow.
Zings. Zings aplenty. Enough zings to power a nuclear plant.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
It’s your elbow. The unsexiest part of any body.
And yet.
His hand was warm and callused, the snags on his skin catching her softer flesh. She had a brief fantasy of those hands rubbing their way down the rest of her body. Her naked body.
“Katrina?”
His voice came from far away, like it was being filtered through Vaseline. “Got it. Eyes. Sharp parts of my body. Softer parts of theirs. Claws first.”
“Or weapons. You have your pepper spray, right?”
After her kidnapping, when she’d been especially jumpy, Jas had given her a few pepper spray containers to keep around, and then refreshed them with new ones every couple of years.
The spray was the only kind of weapon she felt equipped to carry. Guns and knives scared her. When she’d asked Jas to move to California and be her main security, he’d quietly explained he wasn’t capable of handling firearms, and only carried a Taser.
She hadn’t needed him to elaborate. She wasn’t naïve, and it didn’t take a huge leap of imagination to understand why a wounded vet might shy away from guns. It hadn’t been a deal breaker for her. She trusted him to protect her with every resource at his disposal. “The last ones you gave me just expired.”
Jas frowned. “Why didn’t you say something? I’ll get you new ones.”
She rubbed her nose, mildly embarrassed by imparting new evidence of her nerdiness. “I actually made a batch a couple weeks ago.”
“You made it?”
“Yes. I read—”
“An article,” he finished.
Katrina lifted a shoulder. “I was curious. I still planned on ordering new commercial ones, but it was a fun science experiment. I stuck one in my purse.”
Jas narrowed his eyes. “Can you show me?”
“Um. Sure.”
He followed her upstairs and into the kitchen. Doodle thumped her tail from her position in front of the front door.
Her large tote was on the kitchen counter. She pulled out a small unlabeled red bottle and handed it to him. “The biggest drawback is the pressurization, of course,” she remarked. “The ones sold in stores are obviously more forceful.”
“What’s in it?” He opened the bottle and carefully sniffed it. His nose twitched.
“Peppers, cayenne, all stuff I had in my kitchen.”
“Have you tested it?” He inhaled again. “I should be sneezing, at least.” He shut the bottle.
“I definitely coughed when I took a whiff of it. To test it any more, I’d have to spray— Jesus Christ, what are you doing?”
Jas doubled over, choking and coughing, which made sense, because he’d just pumped a direct spray of the stuff right at his face.
“Oh my God!” Katrina grabbed him by the arm, helping him over to the kitchen table. “What do we do? We can’t wash it, right? Why would you do that?”
“Bowl. Dish soap. Water.” He choked the words out. They were punctuated with racking coughs.
She grabbed the items as quickly as possible, along with clean towels, then came back to the table. He was still gasping.
“I am so sorry, so, so sorry,” she babbled, and dumped the dish soap into the bowl of water, until he indicated for her to stop. She watched, dismayed, as he dunked his whole face in the bowl for a few seconds, then came up and patted it with a towel, then dunked again. He kept repeating that while she stood around wringing her hands.
Unable to watch, she pulled out her phone and googled and found an article. “Take your shirt off, you may have gotten some spray on it,” she instructed. Later, she’d think about what an absurd variation that command was on the good old take your shirt off, it’s all wet.
While he stripped his shirt off, she went to the fridge and grabbed a gallon of milk. When she came back, he had stopped dunking his head, though he was still coughing slightly. He sat with his head tipped back, the towel over his face. “Here,” she said softly, then pulled off the towel and replaced it with the one she’d soaked in milk. “This may help.”
He groaned in appreciation and touched the towel. “Yes,” he said, his voice raspy.
Katrina didn’t know what else to do, so she kept patting his shoulder as his coughing subsided. She didn’t know how long she stood there. He finally pulled the towel off his face.
She flinched at his pink face, at his still-teared-up eyes. His chest was wet from the dish-soap antidote.
She couldn’t stop patting his shoulder. But she had to know. “What.” Pat, pat. “And I cannot stress this enough.” Pat, pat. “The actual fuck?”
He blinked at her, and she couldn’t tell if he was confused, or if he was still blinking out the pepper spray. “I wanted to see how effective it was.”
Her mouth fell open, and her pats became harder. “Are you.” Pat, pat. “Fucking.” Swat, swat. “Kidding me right now?”
He grabbed her hand. “You don’t swear often.”
“Then you should understand how upset I am,” she said, her voice hoarse. Hardeep had once noted that when she got angry, her voice got quiet. A function of her upbringing. She’d been perpetually angry at her dad, and she’d learned at a young age it was easier to push that anger down and deal with him quietly than to blow up.
She wasn’t angry now, but incredulous. And okay, also angry. “You could have hurt yourself.”
“Nah. I didn’t spray it directly into my eyes. Now we know how someone will react to it. It’s not as strong as the commercial ones for sure, by the way, it faded fast. It’s not burning now.”
“That was fast?”
“Rel
atively.” He shrugged. “It was a good experiment.”
“I beg to differ.” So much for quiet. She’d shouted that sentence.
“Hey.” He slid his hand up her arm. “I’m fine now.”
And just like that, she was utterly distracted. His hand went down her forearm, then up again, against the grain of the hairs on her skin, lifting them up. And again.
She found herself matching his breathing again, without his prompting this time. She inched closer. His eyes were so watery she almost teared up herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I did it to myself.”
She bit her lip. “Actually, you know what? You’re right. That was a ridiculous thing to do, and I am not sorry. You need to take better care of yourself.”
He slid his hand down, until they were palm to palm. Their fingers didn’t interlace or anything, but her thumb did curl over the side of his hand.
“I guess I do.” His pinkie curled around the other side of her hand.
Oh no.
Now that the crisis was over, she could appreciate his bare chest once again. Truly, if only there were more less stressful situations where one could deploy the your shirt is compromised, take it off line.
She didn’t know when she had moved closer, but suddenly she could count every hair in his beautiful eyebrows. With him sitting down, she had to look down slightly to make eye contact with him.
His eyes dropped to her lips and she held her breath. She swayed forward and waited.
His face came closer, and his hand tightened on hers, and her brain took a momentary break from functioning.
That was the only way she could explain why and how their lips met.
She’d been kissed before in her life, of course. Two men she’d managed to sneak away with while she lived under her father’s thumb. A chaste kiss from Hardeep when they were wed.
This was like nothing else she’d ever felt. Like nothing else she’d ever feel. No tongue, nothing extravagant, nothing but the press of lips against hers for a minute, maybe more, and it was like a live current hit her body, restarting her heart. Like she’d been doused in the fiery hot spray, not him.