Before long, Lila rapped on the doorframe and popped her head in. “Morning, Nell, how was the site visit? I’m making coffee, if you want some.”
“I’m good with my tea, thanks.” Nell nodded toward her steaming cup, sitting right in Lila’s line of sight on the desk. Brilliant observation skills, there. “The site manager was taken to the hospital for concussion, and then we had to voucher the guests out on a flood warning, and then we got evacuated.”
Lila made dramatic big eyes at that, then leaned closer and asked in what was probably meant to be a hushed tone, “And what about Easy? You had him all to yourself for two whole nights! Did anything happen? Is he as good as they say?”
“Really, Lila? Eamonn Yarrow is my assistant, our co-worker, not some kind of man candy that I could just have for the taking,” Nell said firmly, schooling her face to show nothing.
“Come on — he’s a rocker and apparently a sex god — I bet he’d have been up for it if you’d shown the least sign of interest.” Lila shook her head and rolled her eyes at the same time, her move to convey peak frustration. “I’m trying to be your friend and help you out here. You’d have so much more fun in life if you took that stick out of your butt and enjoyed your opportunities a little.”
“Nell doesn’t have a stick up her butt, princess.” Eamonn’s amused voice broke into their conversation, and Nell looked over in horror to see him lounging against the wall in the hallway. Who knew how long he’d been listening?
Lila spun around with a gasp and giggle. “Oooh, hi, Easy! I was just kidding, right? Do you want coffee? I was just making coffee…” She fluttered away without waiting for an answer.
Eamonn watched her disappear with a cynical look on his face. “She’ll no doubt be back with a cup of weak coffee, too much cream and not enough sugar.” Then he crossed the hall into Nell’s office and shut the door behind him. “Thanks for telling Lila that I’m not just man candy, but for the record, you absolutely can have me for the taking, anytime, anywhere. You have a beautiful ass, you know, and I’d love to put something up—” She remembered him saying slow, fingers first, tons of lube, and flushed.
“Eamonn! We’re at work, and what did I tell you about keeping the door open?” She pushed her desk chair back and stood, feeling a strange tingle of adrenaline, like she was about to step into a sparring ring with an unfamiliar opponent.
He raised his eyebrows. “I know, but which is the worse evil here: a closed door, or having someone listen to us talk about last night?”
“We’re not talking about that here.”
“Where else am I going to talk to you, babe?”
She shrugged, seeing the sense of that, but all too conscious of the closed door. Every minute it stayed closed increased the chance that someone would notice. “All right. What, then?”
“You said you couldn’t do bed buddies at night and co-workers during the day.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking a bit uncertain. “So, do you want to, well, date?”
That made her blink. “You’re asking me out?”
He grinned. “Whatever it takes. I mean, it’s a little awkward, the whole fame thing. I tend to stick to low-profile places like the Frog and Ball, my hair is shorter these days and I dress down and wear shades a lot. Don’t want to be recognized. So, we won’t be fancy. But if you don’t mind…”
“I’m not fancy,” Nell said. Surely he could tell that, just from looking? But maybe rock stars were used to women expecting red carpet affairs. “I don’t want anything like that. I told you before, though — I’ve got rules.”
Eamonn raised his eyebrows. “I thought going out was your rule.”
“Nope. Going out just means we’re not ashamed of each other. I’ve got no issue with one-night stands or casual sex; it’s the idea of us coming to work and pretending to be just colleagues afterward that I couldn’t deal with. I don’t want to be anybody’s under-the-table affair.” She pressed her lips together, feeling that she’d said too much.
He cocked his head to one side, looking oddly sympathetic. “Did someone try to do that to you?”
“Not here. I know better than to get involved at work. Or, I used to know better. But I’ll never be a Barbie doll, and I learned the hard way that some guys think I’m good enough for a cuddle but too—” Too strong, too rigid, too opinionated, too blunt. She won trophies, but she’d never be one.
“Well, shit,” he said. “Anyone who thinks like that about you is a tool.” And he came around her desk and put a hand on her shoulder like he wanted to comfort her, but his hand felt really nice, and she couldn’t help turning a little toward him and then she was in his arms, being hugged and sort of rocked against him. It felt too damn safe and nice. “So, what are your rules, babe?” he asked.
“I’ve just got three.” She pulled away from his all-too-comfortable embrace and perched on the edge of her desk. “First of all, if you’re polyamorous or something, tell me now, all right? I’m not knocking non-monogamy; I just need to know what our deal is.”
He looked a little taken aback at that. “Okay, I won’t deny that I’ve done some pretty kinky shit here and there, and some of it involved more than two people. But do I need that? No. You’ve got my full attention.”
“Good. I don’t want to be worrying about where else you’ve been or if you’re clean. So as long as you’re in my bed, you’re not in anyone else’s. Is that acceptable?”
“Sure. I’d actually kind of assumed that was part of going out. What’s rule number two?”
“My martial arts training is really important to me. I need you to understand that. I’m not going to skip training or put social stuff first. You can come watch me train, you can train with me if you want to, or you can do your own thing while I’m training. That’s up to you. But it’s my thing. My life.”
“Okay, I get that. I can respect it.”
“Thank you.” You’d be surprised how many guys don’t get it.
“What’s the third thing?”
“You have to live with integrity. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t.”
He laughed, and it sounded a little defensive. “What does that even mean? I already said I wouldn’t cheat on you.”
“Integrity. It means doing the right thing even when no one’s looking.” She crossed her arms and gave him her instructor face. “No lies. No illegal drug crap. And you’re going to have to apologize to your guitarist, you know — make things right.”
At her words, he froze, his expression hard. “I, ah, think I already told you that’s not going to happen. That bridge is so fucking burned.” His flat tone didn’t quite mask the layers of hurt and shame underneath.
“He may not be willing to hear it, but you should at least try.” She could tell that he didn’t want to discuss Smidge or what had happened — that she might even push him away — but she still felt compelled to speak up. The idea that he hadn’t even tried to repair his damage ate at her.
“Not really your business, is it?”
“No.” Crap. Her heart sank as he turned to leave. An apology stuck in her mouth, and she couldn’t say it. He’s right — it isn’t my business. But I’m not going to say sorry for caring.
He turned back, hand on the doorknob. “Am I going to regret telling you what happened?”
“I told you, regret is a waste of time.” Nell sighed. “Okay, no lies, no drugs, and we’ll leave this sore spot alone. As you say, it’s not really my business.”
She could see the relief in his posture as he opened the door. “What’re you doing tonight?” he asked, his voice and expression casual, neutral, like they hadn’t nearly argued. Like he wasn’t asking her about potentially… what was it? An official date? Or just an invitation to get horizontal?
It would be so easy to say, I’m busy, tomorrow is better. But… “I’ve got a sparring class after work. You can come watch if you like.” He might as well see all of her. Violent, unfeminine, too muc
h muscle. And if it put him off, at least she’d know.
She could have changed at home, because he’d picked her up at her apartment in his truck, which made a nice change from public transit. But she stuck to her usual routine of putting her uniform on in the changing room at the dojang.
It held a kind of magic for her, the ritual of changing, stepping out of the work world and into her space, seeking the focused mindset she needed — the clean, crisp feeling of heavy white cotton, creases down the arms and legs ironed sharp. The black of her instructor collar and the vivid colors of her patches stood out boldly against the white. And when she tied on her black belt, she felt complete.
She pulled back her hair, secured it with an elastic, and closed her locker. I’m ready.
“Evening, ma’am.”
“Hi, Miss Whelan.”
“Hey, Nell!”
Various people greeted her as she entered — students, classmates, and teachers — each according to their history with her, some formal and some familiar. This was a black belt sparring class, and she’d been training with a few of them for over a decade. My place, my world. She glanced over at Eamonn, sitting alone on the row of chairs set up for spectators.
“Who’s the dude, Miss Whelan?” asked a fifth-degree instructor she’d been training and teaching with for what felt like forever. He smiled encouragingly at her, and she realized that she’d never brought a guy, a date, to a training session like this.
It doesn’t mean anything. Her first impulse was to tell him it was none of his business, but doing so would betray that she even cared. And Riley Kahn had a wicked sense of humor underneath his perfectionist exterior — Nell didn’t want to face the endless teasing she’d get if she gave him an opening. Nor did she want to lie. “Co-worker. But he asked me out, so I figured this would be a good test. If he sees me spar and runs screaming, it wasn’t meant to be. And if he’s cool with this, I’ll take him to an MMA session sometime.”
Mr. Kahn laughed. “Practical as always. You should bring him to a self-defense class. See how he likes getting put on the ground.”
“Oh, I’ve already done that.” She allowed herself to show a bit of satisfaction at the open-mouthed surprise on his face. But bringing Eamonn to a self-defense class did have some appeal.
The chief instructor called them to bow in, which put an end to the chit-chat. As always, they warmed up with kickboxing combinations on targets, partnered by height, which usually meant that Nell was matched with a teenage boy or one of the few other women present. Today, her warm-up partner was a young man preparing for his second-degree rank test — he showed off a bit by doing the drill at warp speed, sacrificing accuracy and technique in favor of finishing ahead of other pairs around them. “Great power, sir, but you should take care not to hook your punches like that or you’ll end up with a broken finger,” she warned him, her instructor instinct coming to the surface despite the fact that she was a student in this class.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the kid mumbled, looking a bit sheepish.
When the chief instructor called out for them to switch holders, Nell bounced on the balls of her feet, thinking light, thinking hard. She enjoyed these warm-up drills, and launched into the kicking and punching combination with full power. Her partner staggered backward a bit, apparently unprepared for her to have that kind of force. “Do you want me to hold the targets for Miss Whelan, Mr. Tibbett?” called out Mr. Kahn, seeing what was happening.
“No, sir, I’ve got this,” the kid said.
“Take a stronger front stance and breathe out as her kicks are coming at you, then. She’s got a lot of power.” Mr. Kahn moved on, circulating through the room, but Nell was aware that another instructor moved into their area — keeping an eye on the young Mr. Tibbett. She eased back her power just a notch, not wanting to embarrass the teenager in front of so many senior belts, but also not wanting to give him an easy ride. You thought a woman couldn’t kick so hard, Mr. Tibbett? It was a common mistake.
When they were released to get a drink from their water bottles after the warm-up, Nell glanced over at Eamonn, wondering if he’d be looking bored or playing with his phone. He watched her, smiling slightly, so she toasted him with her water bottle, mouthing, “Cheers.” He winked at her, definitely flirting.
She felt a tiny, unwelcome flutter of hope. He didn’t seem put off by this world she loved so much. No. It’s just going to be sex, maybe a few drinks somewhere or a movie or two. Casual dating. If feelings got involved, they’d leave a mess.
When they paired up and bowed to their opponents, she bit down on her mouthguard and put everything out of her mind but her partner and the contact she could make, the points she could score. Set. Bow, rotate to a new partner, and repeat. After a few rounds, they’d stop and listen to one of the instructors talk about technique, or something to work on. Breathe, drink water. Then pair off and spar again.
For her last round of the night, she lucked out and got matched up with Mr. Kahn. He was fast, strong, had long legs, could take hard contact, outranked her, and didn’t underestimate her — a challenge. She didn’t have to hold back or worry about accidentally hurting him if she did land a solid kick. As they bowed and shook hands, he winked at her. “Showing off for the dude a bit?”
“Fighting to win, sir, as always,” she told him. Not that there was really winning in class, but she liked to train as though it were a competition or a test. Always doing her best, eye on the prize. Someday I’ll be a Master. Step back, sparring stance. Sijak. She dodged away from his twist kick, faked a kick, tested his guard with a couple of punches and danced back, circling. Butterfly kick. He landed one on her chest pad, but she got him back with an inner crescent kick to the head. Two points for me. By the time the round was over, she was sweating and had worked hard, but felt she’d held her own. “Thank you, sir.”
He gave her a fighter’s hug instead of shaking hands. “Great round, Miss Whelan.”
Praise from a senior belt, especially one she admired, made her glow.
And it didn’t look like Eamonn had been put off at all.
She didn’t want to put her street clothes on, sweaty as she was, so she decided to just gather up her gear and wear her whites home in his truck. She’d shower at home, and if Eamonn came up to her place, he could watch TV for five minutes while she did so.
But he walked her up to her front door, gave her a crooked grin, and said, “Goodnight, Nell. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She blinked. “Uh, what?”
“Oh, lovely, of course I want to come upstairs with you.” He chuckled softly. “Never doubt that.”
“I didn’t say—” She knew as she tried to speak that it was thin bluster and he’d see right through it, but she still wanted to save face. She’d basically admitted that she was assuming he’d come upstairs.
“Listen. We have to work tomorrow. I could blow it off and not care, call in sick or just tell Uncle Tommy that I’m taking the day off, but I don’t think you would; am I right?”
Nell nodded. She couldn’t risk her job, no matter what the temptation.
“And I want more than a quick wham-bam from you. I want to have the whole night, at least the first time, and I want you to walk like you’ve been well fucked the next day. You want to go into the office like that — sleepless, worn out, and walking funny?”
“It’d take a lot to change my walk,” she said, chin in the air.
“I’m up for that challenge,” he shot back.
They stared at each other.
Then she shrugged. “I see your point. Another night.”
“Sunday.” He grinned. “I’ll take you to the Frog and Ball. Buy your peachy drinks for you. Take you home to bed after.”
She nodded. “That’s my time, but just this once, you can come along.”
“Good. Now, am I going to get slapped if I kiss you?”
She crossed her arms and gave him a dirty look. “I don’t sla
p people. I’ll hit your pressure points and put you in a joint lock or choke to defend myself, if I have to, but I don’t slap.”
He looked down at her, shaking his head and chuckling. “Ninja woman, I just want a kiss goodnight.”
“Okay.” But Nell hadn’t made a habit of goodnight kisses — it seemed impractical if it wasn’t going to lead to bed — so she wasn’t sure where to start, and stood waiting.
Glancing around, Eamonn grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner of the building, into the shadow of a large shrub. She let him, feeling giddy, and just as glad that he preferred not to give the neighbors a show. Privacy is good. He gathered her into his arms and backed her up until her shoulders touched the wall of the building. Back against the wall. She stiffened, suddenly tense. No. “What is it?” he asked, relaxing his hold, maybe a bit wary of her reflexes.
“It puts me on edge to have my back against a wall,” she muttered. “Not a good self-defense situation, and all that. Force of habit. But you’re not going to hurt me.”
“No, I’m not. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Let’s do this nice and slow.” He moved in close, hands on her shoulders, pressing her against the wall as he fitted his hips against hers. “Feel me against you. How’s this? Are we good?” His voice dropped into the low sexy register she knew meant he was turned on — borne out by the hard evidence jutting against her belly. “You’re going to have to trust me a little, give up some of that control. The wall at your back’s going to hold you up when your knees give out.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. It wasn’t him, or the wall. He had no training to make him dangerous and they weren’t in an MMA cage. But letting him put her up against a wall carried a submissive undertone that unnerved her as much as it tempted.
Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2) Page 13