by Vicki Essex
He cupped her aching breasts through her sundress, his hands big and strong. But she wanted skin-to-skin contact, wanted Dom over her, under her, inside her—
“Wait,” he rasped as he wrenched away.
“Dom…?” Fiona was half sitting on the table, her skirt pushed up to the tops of her thighs. She could hardly shake off the haze she was feeling.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, then his scalp, eyes closed as if he was in pain. “We can’t do this. Sean is right upstairs.”
Sean. Her son’s name popped the bubble, and Fiona hastily hopped off the table and straightened her clothing. Her face was on fire.
Dom was staring off to one side, unable to meet her gaze. Was it in shame? Regret? Revulsion? The taut line of his shoulders betrayed his calm. A vein stood out on his neck, as though he was restraining himself.
“I’m sorry about… I didn’t mean—”
“You should go,” she said stiffly.
The door shut quietly behind him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOM JOGGED HOME from the dojo. The sky was streaked with wide swaths of orange, red, pinks, purples and blues. A mild breeze at his back encouraged him to push forward. He was physically exhausted, but he needed to burn off some of his growing restlessness and inner turmoil.
A week had passed since the picnic and that kiss he’d shared with Fiona. He couldn’t believe his self-control had been so easily breached. He was the model of restraint, and had never before pushed himself on a woman—certainly not one who’d been screaming in his face.
How messed up was it that he wanted her even more now?
Dom had blown it. When she hadn’t shown up for the women’s self-defense class on Monday, he knew he’d irrevocably ruined their friendship.
Even his relationship with Sean seemed a little strained. The boy wouldn’t look his teacher in the eye. He remained sullen and quiet, responding to questions with perfunctory one-word answers. And when Denise brought Rene to his scheduled karate class, Sean retreated to a corner of the dojo and knelt to meditate, staring at the wall. She cast him one look, but said nothing. She didn’t even speak to Dom before she swept out of the dojo. He was surprised she would still bring Rene to class after all he’d been through. Then again, Denise was more easygoing than Fiona about her son’s safety. And Rene was tough. You could probably drop him on his head and he’d shrug it off.
Rene looked none the worse for wear, but like Sean, he, too, seemed to know he’d done wrong. He had the faraway gaze of someone who was preparing to withdraw. Dom thought of how sad Rene actually looked when his defenses were down.
Dom had had to make sure they both understood the gravity of what they’d done. As punishment, they had been made to clean the mats after class, plus reread and memorize the dojo’s guiding principles.
Dom was still thinking about the two boys when he came up to Geneva Street and slowed his pace. A big, black Escalade sat in front of his house. Three burly men lounged on his porch, looking like thugs come to collect on a debt. But Dom knew these guys like brothers.
“Dominator! It’s about time.” Hector Giovese, his Brazilian jujitsu trainer, pushed himself up from the porch stairs and embraced him in a bear hug. “We’ve been here for almost an hour.”
“I told them we should just wait back at the motel,” Kyle Peters, his wrestling coach, complained. He shook Dom’s hand and slapped him on the back. “But no one ever listens to the smart guy.”
“Smart, my ass. You just wanted to check out that chick in the suite above us.” Brett Hawkspear, former kickboxing champion, greeted him with a simple nod. He gave Dom a once-over. “How are you holding up, man?”
“I can’t believe this. What are you guys doing here?” Dom was still shocked by their presence on his doorstep. They were the antithesis of everything that was Salmon River—three big guys from big cities and big leagues.
Brett cocked a dark eyebrow. “Joel gave us a call, said you needed some help.”
“We had some time off, so we met up and drove down together,” Hector explained. That was a big deal—Hector would have flown in from Houston, Kyle from Los Angeles, and Brett from Helena, Montana. Considering their packed schedules, it was like the Second Coming that they’d all made it down together.
“Call it a working vacation.” Kyle glanced around. “Speaking of, where’s the nearest bar in these parts? I could use a beer and a little fine company.”
“I’ve got beer inside. Why don’t you enjoy my company first before you go looking for trouble.” Dom gestured for them to follow. The last thing the women of Salmon River needed was to have their hearts broken by the playboy bachelor, a multi-Olympic-gold-medal wrestler. Dom felt oddly protective of the people here.
With typical macho bravado, the three commented on his “lovely pastel color scheme” and started asking about his home gym routines. Dom explained how most of his time was being spent in the dojo and that lately, he hadn’t had much energy to complete a full home workout. He realized how bad that sounded when the three trainers gave one another sidelong glances.
“Joel mentioned you hadn’t been focusing.” Brett crossed his arms over his chest. “We thought maybe you were just getting lazy and sitting around watching TV or something. He didn’t say anything about you…you know—” he made a vague gesture “—working.”
It wasn’t unusual for fighters to have other jobs, but not this close to a big match, with all that was at stake. “Joel’s just afraid I won’t get my head in the game before the fight in September,” Dom replied.
“Well, will you?” Kyle asked carefully.
He stalled by handing beers around, pouring a glass of water for himself. He didn’t drink while training. “As much as I can. Look, I’ve got to take care of my sensei’s dojo. The man raised me like I was his own son. I owe him that much while he’s away.”
“If he really cared about you, Dom, he’d know what the belt means to you. He would understand if you had to cut back and focus on your own training.”
That may have been true, but now that Dom had gotten into the rhythm of the classes and was starting to understand each of his students’ strengths and weaknesses, he was truly enjoying himself. “I can’t just abandon the dojo. The students need me.”
“I want to see this place,” Brett said.
“What…now?”
“Yeah, now.” The kickboxer’s jaw jutted forward. “If it’s so good, I want to see it. I want to know if we’re going to waste our time here because Dom’s heart is bleeding all over some pretty little yoga studio.”
“Man, there’s no need to get hostile about it,” Kyle interjected.
“It’s fine, Kyle.” Dom didn’t need his friend to protect him. “Let’s go into town, get some food. I’ll show you guys the place.”
AFTER A MEAL AT PETE’S, Dom unlocked the door to Five Elements and flicked the light switch. The fluorescent tubes sputtered on, casting their pallor over the worn-out room. Daylight did a lot to help its aesthetics, apparently. At night, the place just looked sad.
His friends didn’t seem impressed.
“It’s…Spartan,” Hector remarked. “But obviously well used,” he added hastily.
“Maybe too well…or not well enough.” Kyle inspected the crack in the mirror, the water stains in the ceiling tiles, the tears in the mats and pads patched with duct tape. He pointed at the mirror. “This can be really dangerous if someone hits the wall, you know.” He tapped on the glass gingerly, as though afraid it might shatter at his touch.
“What a dump.” Brett scowled. He turned to face Dom. “Are you really going to give up the belt for this?”
“Who said I’m giving up anything?” Dom was starting to get ticked. If there was something Brett was good at, it was pushing his buttons. “I told you guys, I’m only substituting until Sensei Miwa gets back.”
“And in the meantime, your skills are languishing. You need full-time training, Dom. The big fight’s in two months.”
“That’s plenty of time. I’ve been working out every day.”
With a frown that could have carved limestone, Brett kicked off his shoes. “Okay. You and me. Right now.”
“What?”
His friend pulled his shirt off, started stretching his long limbs. “If you’re so good, let’s see you take me on.”
Dom scoffed. “I’m not fighting you now, man.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Well, for one, we both just ate, and I know you don’t fight well on a full stomach.” The corner of Dom’s mouth quirked up, but he really didn’t want to fight Brett.
“I bet I can take you down in three minutes.” The kickboxer started limbering up, shadowboxing. “C’mon, man, c’mon.” He danced close to Dom, his feet barely touching the ground.
Dom looked from Kyle to Hector. “Help me out, guys. I don’t want vomit on the mats.” But they just stood by, watching, not saying anything.
“What? You afraid, Dom?” Quick as lightning, Brett snapped a palm out and slapped him on the cheek—not hard, but the sting shocked Dom into a defensive stance. His arms came up automatically.
“Aha, see? See, man? Show me your fire. Show me the fight in you.” Brett grinned manically.
Dom had almost forgotten that about the kickboxing champ. They used to call him “the Shark,” since that toothy rictus never left his face during a match. The man even had a personalized mouth-guard with an image of shark teeth printed on them.
Brett weaved and bounced like a grinning bobblehead. “C’mon, man! C’mon!”
“Brett, I’m not going to fight you.” He lowered his guard and tried to step away.
Smack!
Dom snarled. That had not been a playful slap.
And now he was pissed off.
He slowly pulled the hem of his T-shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside.
If Brett wanted a fight, he’d get one.
“THAT’S THE THIRD TIME you’ve sighed like that tonight,” Josie griped, studying her friend. “We’re supposed to be having fun. What’s eating you?”
“What?” Fiona looked up from her Long Island iced tea. She’d thought she would enjoy a girls’ night out with her friend, but she’d spent most of the evening staring into her drink, watching the ice melt, and mulling over Dom. That kiss they’d shared had awakened a prowling beast within her, and it could not be placated by alcohol alone.
How could she have gone from “I want nothing to do with him” to “I want to jump his bones” in such a short time?
She didn’t do bad boys, not anymore. But she’d seriously wanted to do this bad boy. Sex hadn’t seemed complicated when she’d been groping for more skin, more contact, more Dom. But then suddenly it was complicated.
Sean was her first priority and always would be. She didn’t need a guy like Dom sweeping in and out of her life and breaking her son’s heart in the process. It was obvious Sean had taken a shining to his karate master. But soon Dom would be gone, leaving Sean and her with…what? Fond memories? Her son deserved more than that. They both did.
But despite her arguments, her desire for the man hadn’t abated.
“Earth to Fiona,” Josie called through cupped hands. “Come in, space cadet, over.”
“Sorry. Heavy thinking.”
“About Dom?” Josie had heard most of the sordid story of their kiss.
“About Sean, actually. I don’t know sometimes, Jos.” Fiona pushed her barely touched drink away. “Dom is a great guy, and Sean really likes him. But there’s no way I can accept what he does for a living. And he could never stick around, with his career on the road. But what if this is all I get for second chances? Where am I supposed to find someone who’s decent and kind and a good role model for my son?”
“Hon, if I knew the answer to that question, I would have moved to that fantasyland years ago. But I don’t. What I do know is that you have to choose love for yourself, not for your son. There are plenty of decent men who would’ve made good fathers in this town, but you didn’t fall for any of them, right?”
Fiona sighed, dropping her forehead to her folded hands on the table. Josie was right.
“Take what happiness Fate delivers you, Fi.” She slung an arm around her and squeezed. “All things are fleeting.”
They settled the bill and left shortly after that, then walked up Main Street, enjoying the mild evening. When they came to the Five Elements dojo, they could see the lights were on.
“A night class?” Josie speculated.
As they got closer, Fiona peered in through the big windows. She nearly yelped at the sight.
Four men were in the dojo. She didn’t know the two standing on the sidelines, but she did recognize the one sprawled facedown on the mats.
It was Dom. And he was getting his ass kicked.
DOM COULD BARELY BREATHE. But he wasn’t tapping out. No way in hell.
“Admit it,” Brett growled out, his long legs tightening around Dom’s chest. “You don’t have any fight left in you. You’re washed up.”
“No…way….” He twisted at the waist and managed to lever himself onto his side, pinning one of Brett’s legs beneath him and giving himself air and room to maneuver. The kickboxer still had the advantage, though, as he slithered around and used his long limbs to wrap a submission hold around Dom’s neck. A little pressure and he’d cut off his oxygen supply entirely; too much pressure and he might snap his neck.
“It’s over, man,” Brett said, squeezing. “You can’t get out of this.”
“You get off him this instant!”
The high-pitched demand pierced through Dom’s muzzy senses. In the split second that Brett hesitated, Dom turned, coiled his leg and lifted his hips up, pushing his opponent off. They scrambled apart. Dom got to his feet unsteadily, the dojo weaving around him. The feminine gasp of shock further cleared his mind.
“Sensei! Are you all right?” That sounded like Josie. But he could’ve sworn he’d heard…
“I can’t believe it!” Fiona’s distressed voice battered his senses. “Grown men fighting like animals!”
Brett grumbled, “Look, lady, this isn’t what you think—”
“It’s okay, Fiona, I’m fine. These are friends of mine.” Dom shook his head clear and raised his fists. “Let’s finish this, Hawkspear.”
“Stop it, both of you!” Blond hair bobbed into view as Fiona stepped between them. He could just make out Brett’s gargoyle scowl over her right shoulder. “Dom, you’re bleeding….”
“It’s all part of the job, lady,” Brett scoffed.
“If you don’t stop right now, you’re the one who’s going to be bleeding!” That distinctly maternal threat actually made Brett balk.
“Challenging Brett the Shark? She’s got moxy.” Kyle snickered from the sidelines. “I like her. Friend of yours, Dom?”
Dom relaxed his stance, touching Fiona on the shoulder. She sized Brett up like a bulldog. “I’m okay, Fiona. Really.” He glanced at Brett, who seemed less than amused, but lowered his hands and stepped back. They bowed shortly to each other, bumping fists and slapping each other on the back in a no-hard-feelings gesture before Brett retreated to the edge of the mat and the ministrations of his two companions.
Fiona looked warily from Dom to his assailant. Dom could imagine her confusion when, only seconds before, they’d seemed to be trying to kill each other. But Brett was like a brother to him. Even if he did piss him off now and again, they respected each other. It was the warrior’s code, in and out of the arena.
“You have a cut.” She reached up, then snatched her hand away to stare at the dark stains on the rubber mats. “There’s blood everywhere.”
“Oh, gross.” Josie made a face. “I have to do rolls on those mats, you know.”
“Who are you people? Dom, what’s going on?” Fiona demanded.
Hector tossed him a damp towel and he gently sponged the sweat and blood from his forehead. He could feel the cut just above his eyebrow, a gas
h barely a quarter of an inch long. Head wounds always bled profusely, but when Kyle pressed an ice pack from the dojo’s minifridge against the welt, the cut stopped bleeding.
“Relax, Fiona, I’m fine,” Dom said, his swollen lip slightly garbling his speech. Brett had made his point with this match—Dom was getting soft.
“You’re not fine. What did you think you were doing?”
“Training.” Hector approached, hand outstretched. He introduced himself and his two cohorts, smiling apologetically. “We arrived this afternoon and asked Dominic to show us around the dojo. Brett decided a casual match was just the thing to start off our sessions.”
Fiona turned on the kickboxer. “You could have hurt him.”
“He could have hurt me.” Hawkspear folded his arms over his chest. “But he didn’t,” he said contemptuously.
Dom winced. Brett was right. He could have hurt him. But Brett was his friend, his coach, one of the most talented athletes he knew. He’d riled Dom enough to make him accept his challenge, but Dom had had no intention of hurting the man.
And that was his problem. He hadn’t made any commitment to the fight. To any of his fights since Bruno DiMartino. He refused to lose, but he hadn’t convinced himself to win, either.
“I can’t believe you’re still doing this,” Fiona said. “I thought you were a good guy, not some…some testosterone-pumped boy still picking fights in the playground.”
“We’re hardly boys,” Kyle drawled.
“Only brutes and cavemen solve their differences with fists,” she said disdainfully, addressing all the men. “Brutes, cavemen and children.”
“And dogs,” Kyle added, ever the peanut gallery. “Don’t forget dogs. Although I don’t suppose they have fists….” He scratched his chin contemplatively.
“If this is what you’re going to go through while you train—” Fiona sent Dom a look of disgust “—then you can forget about Sean coming to the dojo again. He doesn’t need to be exposed to this.”
Dom’s heart plummeted. “Fiona, don’t make this about Sean.”