by Vicki Essex
“I just wanted to drop off some books and a DVD for Sean,” he said. “But I wanted to talk to you about something, too.”
“I should get going.” Josie lifted her purse and jacket off the back of the chair, waving aside their protests that she stay.
Fiona headed back to the kitchen after seeing her friend out. Sean was in the living room, watching the DVD, about the history of karate. He sat on the carpet the way he did at the dojo—on his knees, his bottom resting in the bowl of his feet, back straight and hands palm-up on his thighs. She wondered if sitting like that would be bad for his posture or joints.
“Sensei Miwa seems to think a women’s self-defense course is a good idea,” Dom said when she returned to the kitchen. “Those two women talked him into starting one. I’m going to be assisting.”
“Well, good for Denise.”
“I wanted to ask you…” Dom trailed off. “Is what Denise said about your ex-husband true?”
“Excuse me?”
“She mentioned he was a convict.” Dom rubbed his jaw.
“My past isn’t any of your business.” She didn’t like that concern in his soft blue eyes, didn’t like that this man who devoted his life to violence was criticizing her ex-husband’s behavior, inexcusable though it was. It was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black.
“I’m asking because…sometimes the scars people leave aren’t physical ones. I want to understand…Sean better.”
“Mitch never hit Sean,” she told him frankly. “And he never hit me.” Though he’d come damn close. “But he was not a nice man. I imagine you’ve come across a few of those in your lifetime.”
“You have no idea.” Dom’s voice was low and brittle. “Which is why I think you should join the women’s class.”
“What?”
“It’s going to be once a week, on Monday nights. It would be good for Sean to see his mother practicing martial arts, too. You could practice together, learn about karate and self-defense. It’d be a bonding experience.”
Fiona balked. “I really don’t think—”
He clasped her hand, his touch silencing her. “You’re a strong, beautiful woman.” He massaged her palm, as though kneading his soft words into her flesh. Fiona bristled, sensations flickering in bright, hot pulses over her skin. “But your strength is buried beneath fear. I want you to find your strength. To stop being afraid for your son and for yourself.”
She swallowed tightly, unable to reply.
He’d called her beautiful. When was the last time anyone had said that to her with the sincerity Dom seemed so good at? Breathless, she didn’t know what to say.
His eyes strayed to her lips, and a bolt of desire jagged through her. She inhaled sharply.
“Hey, Dom.” Sean bounded in. The moment dissipated like mist. “Do you have anything about Samurai?”
Dom let go of her hand, which she dropped in her lap.
“I might have some books, but I’ll have to dig for them,” Dom said. He sounded at ease, whereas Fiona’s nerves were still vibrating. It was irritating how calm he was. Did nothing shake the man?
“Cool.” Sean looked from him to his mother. “Whatcha guys doing?”
“I was just talking to your mom about self-defense lessons.”
“Really? That’s so awesome!”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she said quickly.
“But you will, won’t you? It’d be so neat, and we could practice together.”
Dom cut her a sidelong glance, grinning.
“Please, Mom? It’s fun, it really is.”
“I’d be happy to tutor you, too,” Dom offered mildly. His keen gaze made her squirm with self-awareness.
Maybe self-defense would be a good class to take. Maybe she’d learn how to protect herself from men like Dom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“THIS IS GOING TO BE so much fun!” Josie squealed, dragging Fiona into the dojo the following Monday. The baker had been gung ho about signing up for the women’s self-defense class as soon as she had heard about it. “Don’t be such a spoilsport!”
“I’m doing this for Sean,” Fiona said. “We have so little in common these days, it’s the least I can do to reach out to him.” She refused to believe she was doing this for anyone other than her son.
Josie smirked. “If that’s what it takes to convince you.”
“Hi, Mom!” Sean greeted her from across the room. He’d gone straight to the dojo after school. Mako had okayed his presence as long as he stayed quiet and out of the way during the lesson.
The class was nearly full. Eleven women had signed up out of the twelve available spots. Selma Van Nussen was there, wearing cropped jogging pants and a big T-shirt with Pete’s logo on it, stretching as if this was a yoga class, but Denise was conspicuously absent. Fiona recognized a few people, but she’d never spoken with any of them.
Mako and Dom came out from the back office just as Fiona and Josie were stowing their gear in the cubbies and removing their shoes. The older man clapped his hands.
“Ladies, welcome.” Sensei Miwa bowed stiffly. Since Sean had been drilling her about dojo etiquette over the past couple of days, and she knew he was watching, she bowed back. When she straightened, she noticed Dom watching her, too, approval stamped on his face.
Mako had everyone sit and went through the preliminaries, outlining dojo etiquette and what he would be teaching.
“Because this is a self-defense course, I have asked Dominic to play your opponent for many of the exercises, as well as help guide you. I will be instructing him to seize you, attack you or otherwise block you for a number of the moves I will be teaching. Self-defense requires hands-on contact. If you are not comfortable with this arrangement, please speak up now.”
Fiona’s gut clenched at the thought of Dom’s muscular arms wrapped around her. Me! Me! Me! I have a problem!
Silence engulfed the room.
Sensei Miwa turned the class over to Dom, who began to explain protocol at the dojo. Decorum was extremely important, he said, and just because they were women, it didn’t mean he’d be any less strict. Sean had given her an almost identical lecture last night. Only two classes and he already sounded like a pro.
At that moment Denise Kirkpatrick strolled in, carrying a latte in one hand. She wore a red tank top, black knee-length tights and running shoes. With no hesitation, she stepped onto the mats.
“Shoes!” Mako barked, startling the whole class. “And no food in the dojo!”
“This is hardly food,” Denise mumbled, but took a long, bracing gulp before tossing it into the garbage can and slipping off her runners.
“As I was saying,” Dom went on, unperturbed, “it’s important to arrive on time. We recommend you have a snack before class starts, though we will break halfway through for fifteen minutes. Wear appropriate attire, tie your hair back and out of the way—and trim your nails short for the safety of the instructors and your fellow students.” He looked around the room. “Today we’ll be doing some basic noncontact exercises, but next time, I don’t want to see any nails. Got it?”
“Yes, Sensei,” they replied obediently, and Dom grinned.
“All right, then. Let’s begin.”
THEY BEGAN WITH STRETCHING and core-strengthening exercises. The warm-ups involved a lot of jumping and running and squatting and—ugh—push-ups. Fiona wasn’t the only one groaning after the first fifteen minutes.
“I guarantee, in four weeks you’ll be doing twice as many push-ups without breaking a sweat.” When Dom smiled like that, the women didn’t complain quite so much.
Afterward, Mako drilled them in stances, with Dom walking between the rows to help correct positioning.
“Hips forward, shoulders back,” he murmured in Fiona’s ear, his warm breath feathering her cheek. She did as told, trying hard to concentrate on what he said rather than how near he was. His hand curved around her hip and nudged her pelvis. “Like this. Like you’re sitting on a h
orse.”
“I’ve never ridden a horse,” she mumbled as ribbons of heat spiraled through her.
Dom made his way along the row, checking each woman, praising Josie for her perfect stance and carefully readjusting Selma’s back with a light tap to her spine. When he got to Denise, he stopped to give her more attention than he’d given anyone else so far.
Not that Fiona was jealous. She couldn’t fault a woman for bouncing back so well after bearing a monster child like Rene. Just because Denise had a perfectly toned stomach and no stretch marks…
Okay, so she was jealous. Extremely jealous. And now Dom was touching Denise.
Fiona focused on Mako, who was giving new instructions, but she was still aware of Denise’s giggle, Dom’s low voice and the fact that the two were just beyond her peripheral vision. Fiona fumbled through Sensei Miwa’s lesson, hearing only half of what he said.
“Sean, could you come here a minute?” Dom asked.
Her son joined them on the mat. “Show Ms. Kirkpatrick how it’s done, Sean.”
Her ten-year-old obediently faced the mother of his tormentor, spread his feet and took up the first position everyone else had mastered minutes ago. Dom instructed Denise to mirror him.
This is a good lesson, Fiona thought with a smile. And then came the icing on the cake.
“Bow and thank Sean, Ms. Kirkpatrick. We always thank those who share their knowledge.”
Denise grudgingly executed a short, sharp bow that belied her earlier ineptitude. Fiona grinned and let her full attention go back to Sensei Miwa.
ON SUNDAY AFTER his morning jog, Dom spent a few hours unpacking some of his belongings. He didn’t relish living out of boxes and suitcases, but unlike most pro MMA fighters, who had a home base at an established gym, Dom had teachers all over the country. Being on the move meant he could work with men and women who were at the top of their specialty. Sometimes they would come to him, wherever he was stationed for the duration of his immediate training. Sometimes he would spend a few weeks at their gyms.
In his early years of fighting, it had been exciting to be able to pick up and leave whenever he needed. He’d probably logged more hours in an airplane in the past five years than most people would in their lifetime. But now, as he shelved his meager collection of books, he realized it was no longer the lifestyle he craved.
He didn’t know what had made him take all his possessions out of storage and bring them to tiny Salmon River for the four months he’d be here. Knowing he was going to be working with Sensei Miwa had brought on some strange sense of nostalgia, he supposed. A desire to have a home, as he’d once had above Mako’s old dojo in New Orleans. Coming to Salmon River had elicited a similar feeling of blessed escape, from the storm of his victory against DiMartino to the relatively safe harbor of small-town Virginia.
His cell phone rang, and he answered.
“Dominator, what’s the word? How’re things going?”
“All right, Joel. I’ve been meeting with Sensei Miwa.”
“What’s he got you doing?”
Dom knew his manager wasn’t going to like his answer. “Teaching, actually.”
“Teaching?” Joel laughed a little nervously. “Buddy, you’re not there to give lessons. You’re supposed to be screwing your head on right.”
“Hey, I don’t question Sensei’s methods.” The old man could probably still pin Dom to the ground before he knew what hit him, and he didn’t want to test that theory by arguing with him. “Actually, he has me mentoring this great kid. He’s ten years old and he just started, but—”
“Um, hello? Dom? Do I need to remind you that the welterweight championship is just three months away? And that Silverstreak is still nervous when it comes to your performance as of late?”
He sighed. “No, you don’t. But I will be ready. I am going to win that belt.”
“Tell me that again in three months. In the meantime, I’m going to rustle up some of your guys. Maybe I can entice them to visit you in that town, eh? Hey, any hot chicks in the area?”
Dom’s mind zoomed to Fiona. “No. None.”
“You just don’t like competition.” Joel chuckled. “Keep your head above water, kiddo. I’ll check in on you again soon.”
Dom hung up with a strange sense of foreboding. Joel was right, of course. He had come to Salmon River for one reason—to get his fighting spirit back. He hadn’t questioned Sensei Miwa’s directive to take on a student of his own, hadn’t really thought further than helping Sean MacAvery with his bully problem. Heck, he hadn’t even thought about the championship match. He’d gone through the motions of training over the past three weeks, but his mind had been engaged by Mako’s lessons and his own bewildering thoughts about a very pretty blonde mother with a boy who was smart as a whip. A boy he would have been proud to call his own…
Dom frowned. What was he thinking? His life was mixed martial arts. He had a long career ahead of him, and would always be on the move in his quest to become the perfect fighter. He didn’t have room in his life for a wife, family…love.
He wasn’t that guy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JUNE CAME IN on a blast of scorching weather that made the children restless and the influx of weekenders swell. Fiona dutifully went to work, while Sean unenthusiastically attended the last few weeks of school before the summer break. He hadn’t been beaten up again since that last fight at the fun camp, but Fiona wasn’t holding her breath.
Although there was no denying the karate classes were taking. Sean was up before dawn on Saturdays, insisting he had to do warm-ups, since she wouldn’t let him jog to town with Dom. Instead, he pounded through the house, up and down the stairs, and performed jarring jumping jacks in his room. Fiona quickly banished him to the backyard and begged him to let her sleep in so she’d be fresh for her workday.
Mondays were Sean’s second favorite days. While the women’s self-defense class had a different curriculum than the beginners’ karate lessons, he proved himself to be helpful, always eager to assist his teachers. Fiona and Sean started a tradition of going out for dinner after class and discussing what they’d learned. Those moments when they almost talked like friends were precious.
On the second Saturday of June, however, Fiona went to pick Sean up after work. Her son was usually bubbling over with enthusiasm after a day with Sensei Miwa, but today he was quiet, withdrawn.
Only when they were well on their way home did she ask how his day was.
“Okay,” he mumbled.
“Is something the matter? Did you get hurt?”
It was a long time before he responded. “Rene Kirkpatrick joined the beginners’ class.”
Her fingers curled around the steering wheel and she clenched her teeth. “You mean Mrs. Kirkpatrick enrolled him?”
“There are other new kids, too,” Sean said hastily. “They opened a second beginners’ class so that new kids can start learning from the beginning. It’s in the afternoon. Sensei Miwa put me in that class to help.”
Fiona supposed she couldn’t fault Sensei Miwa for adding the new class, especially since the interest in martial arts had blossomed after Dom’s arrival. And the new students would go a long way to helping fund the dojo’s repairs. But she could just imagine how the kids would be trying new moves on one another outside the place, on the smaller kids like Sean….
A red haze burned in her vision as she thought of Rene. If he hurt Sean again, even she might be tempted to use a few of her new self-defense moves on the boy.
Well, she wasn’t about to let a deadly skill fall into Rene’s grubby hands.
After dinner, Fiona went across the street. It took Dom a while to answer the doorbell.
“Fiona.” He smiled in surprise, revealing straight, even teeth. In the warm breeze, she caught his sweet, intoxicating smell. It took her a moment to clear her fogging brain.
He dabbed at his face with the towel slung around his shoulders. “Sorry I didn’t hear you. I was in my gym.”
“Still working out? Don’t you ever stop?”
“I like to get in a few exercises before I settle down for the night. Please, come in.”
She decided it wouldn’t hurt to enter his abode for the time being.
Since she’d been here last, the place looked a lot more lived-in. Many of the boxes had been unpacked and the bookshelves were filled with books, mementos, framed photos and trophies. Walking through the living room and dining room, she saw everything was immaculate.
“Come into the den,” Dom invited. “If you have a moment, I could use a sparring partner.”
Fiona flinched. “I don’t think I—”
“I’m not actually going to fight you.” He chuckled. “I just need you to hold the pads for me.”
She supposed she could talk to him while he trained. She owed him for all that personal time he’d given up, working with Sean.
Black and blue rubber training mats like those in Five Elements covered the hardwood floor. A pedestal punching bag sat in the corner. What looked like a strange wooden hat rack—similar to one in Sensei Miwa’s dojo—stood in another corner. She knew now it was a “wooden man” used in some forms of martial arts to train people in blocking and punching. Numerous pads, free weights, gloves and other apparatuses neatly lined one wall. The place smelled cleaner and newer than the dojo, but it was definitely a gym. Hip-hop music sputtered from the stereo, turned down low.
Dom picked up two mitts with huge, curved foam pads on them. “Here, put these on.”
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Fiona said, even as Dom tugged the things onto her hands, which seemed tiny in comparison. The pads were heavier than she thought they’d be.
“Don’t worry, I’m a professional.” He grasped her wrists and raised her arms. “Just hold them there, and keep your feet planted apart, your elbows slightly bent.” He took up a stance, arms up at the ready, but when he jabbed out with a fist, Fiona danced back. His knuckles grazed the pads.