The Dragon's Revenge

by Courtney Henke

  Her resolve firmed as she fluffed her damp hair. No, absolutely not. She would never be jerked around and turned into a baby factory by some male who would dump her at the first bad stretch of road. Or because of his stupid job. She would never allow herself to care for someone so deeply that his disappearance would make her walk around like a wraith for years, working herself into the ground just to support herself, smiling when she'd rather be crying because the children missed him as much as she did. Never. Not in a million, million years. She was smarter and stronger than that.

  She pulled on her jeans with an impatient tug. J.D. was as loathesome as all others of his species. If he came back, she would spit on his Italian shoes and tell him to get another teacher. She had just retired.

  Nodding, she marched downstairs, averting her eyes from the spotless living room on the way out the door and to school. The routine of setting up for the first day of classes would soothe her, calm her, like fingers rubbing her knotted neck. . . .

  With an angry growl she rushed down the sidewalk, swept around the corner of her garage, and nearly collided with J.D.

  "Charly!" He reached out to steady her by the shoulders, grinning. "Can't have another accident, can we?"

  "You!" Her eyes narrowed. "You—you—man!" She spat the word.

  Both of his dark brows shot up. "What did I do?"

  "Where have you been?" Shoot, she thought, that wasn't what she'd meant to say at all.

  "I went home to make some ... arrangements."

  She tossed her head. "I didn't care anyway." Remembering her earlier vow, she glanced at his feet, deflating somewhat as she saw his running shoes. But the second part of her plan she could still do, and do with a vengeance. Her fiery gaze returned to his. "I quit!"

  "Teaching?"

  "Yes!" She huffed. "No, not teaching school, just teaching you!"

  "Good."

  Poised for an argument, she found herself groping for words. "Huh?"

  "I said good. I'm tired of being a student."

  "Oh." A great emptiness opened up inside her, and she fought it frantically. "Then I guess this is good-bye, right?"

  His smile softened. "Hardly." He turned to bend into his Mercedes, glancing back over his shoulder. "Who trimmed your toast, anyway?"

  "My—" She giggled nervously as a rush of heat raged in her body at the sight of his firm backside in tight jeans. "My what?"

  "Your toast." He returned to his rummaging. "My mother used to trim the crust off my father's toast in the morning, just to see if it would make him angry. He hated trimmed toast."

  "Did he?" She blinked. "Get mad, I mean."

  "No. But she didn't stop trying." J.D. stood and turned to her, clutching two long, sharp objects in one hand and two wire-meshed things in the other. His green eyes warmed as he gazed at her. "I missed you.’

  "I—" She forced away all those spaghetti-bellied emotions he roused in her. "What do you have?"

  These?" He grinned wickedly. "Just a little challenge, Charly."

  He tossed one of the long ones toward her, and she reflexively caught it, staring in astonishment. "A sword?"

  "A foil to be exact. It's my turn. I'm going to teach you to fence."

  As he strode past her she gaped first at him then at the foil, then back at his retreating form. "Wait a minute!" He didn't pause, so she hurried after him to the rear of her house. He was eyeing the redwood deck with a meditative frown on his face.

  "It's a bit on the short side, but it'll do."

  "What about my team?"

  "You don't have to go until this afternoon."

  "J.D., I don't want to learn to fence!"

  "I know." He raised one brow and smiled. "But you will."

  She held out the foil to him. her mouth set mutinously. His confidence irritated her. "No, I won't."

  "I think you will. You forget, this is a challenge. I answered yours, you can answer mine."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You said it was time I got out of my ivory tower, that my perspective was warped."

  "I didn't say that!"

  "Implied, granted." He held out a mesh mask. "I’ve proven that I can have fun your way. Now you need to return the same consideration. Or would you rather admit that you can't do this, that it's too difficult, and save us time."

  She met his gaze defiantly. He was laughing at Her! How dare he! "Give me that." She snatched the mask from his hand. "I can do anything I put my mind to."

  "I know that, love. I just don't think you realize the power of that ability."

  Her anger left her abruptly. He truly believed it. J.D. taunted her, but only to get her to accept his challenge. And she had to admit, those Errol Flynn movies they'd watched had peaked her interest.

  "Stinker," she murmured. Her heart swelled, but before he could see the disconcerting emotions play across her face, she raised her brows and saluted him with her foil, mimicking some late-night swashbuckler.

  He dodged as she nearly took off an ear. "I think we have a long way to go," he said with a sigh.

  She giggled.

  Though Charly wanted to leap right in with the actual parries, J.D. firmly told her she needed the basics first. Thankfully, her teacher's instincts affirmed his statement that she couldn't run before she walked, otherwise he had a horrible feeling he'd be missing several body parts if he allowed her to attack at will.

  "I compete in all three areas—foil, epee, and saber. Fencing is one of the few sports that uses not only your body, but your mind in an almost religious definition. The day we met. you asked me about martial arts. In a way, this was Europe's version of kung fu."

  "I just cannot see David Carradine with a sword."

  He ignored her interruption. "You need judgment, quickness, precision, the glance, and the feel for the blade."

  The glance? Is that like the evil eye?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh."

  That got her, he thought. "You need to concentrate on your opponent, on his body movements, and learn to anticipate his actions. That's part of football too. You watch, you shift with the other's motions, and you defeat."

  "Do we get to pat each other's bottom in fencing?"

  "I wish," he murmured, wanting to do more than pat her right now. Her comments were beginning to irritate him, but he figured that was her intention, so he decided to play the stern taskmaster, to force the interest he knew was there. Once Charly became involved with something, she tore into it like a rat terrier. Then, with her excuses gone, he would move in for the kill.

  This is the foil," he explained, holding up the object in question.

  "No kidding."

  "Charly!" He frowned at her, and she tried to look solemn. "It's composed of two portions—the blade and the handle—each of which is subdivided into several parts." He indicated the first third, from the tip downward. "This is the point. This is where the touch is made to your opponent The middle, the next third, is where the blades touch during the engagement. And the heel, the lower third, is where the parries are executed. The steel that passes from the guard through the grip to the pommel is called the tongue."

  She nodded. "From where the thrusts are executed." He shot her a dark look, and she giggled. "Sorry."

  "Hold the handle loosely, thumb upward and nearly touching the guard, fingers underneath."

  "Like a tennis racquet?"

  "Almost. Your thumb and index finger will manage the foil, while your other fingers will control parrying. Your wrist plays the biggest part, but you use your whole body in the actual engagement." He grinned. “You're in good shape, darlin', but believe me, you'll find muscles you didn't even know you had tomorrow."

  She pursed her mouth. "Go for it."

  He taught her to keep her left foot flat on the ground at all times, which was essential to anchor her body and prevent uncoordinated movement. Once she was actually moving, her comments became less inhibiting to his teaching and were more to the point of learning. He showed her t
he correct salute, the positions of attention, on guard, the advance, the retreat—which she said she never did — correct arm extension, lunge, and recovery, forward and backward.

  She was an apt pupil, but executed each of these with the stiffness inherent to first-time students. "Relax," he told her softly. "You need to flow smoothly, otherwise your executions will be jerky and easy to counter."

  She took a deep breath. "I'm trying."

  "I know. Try it again. Left leg stiff, lift your right foot only an inch or so and lunge forward, arm straight." She did, the point of her foil wobbling erratically. "No, love. Relax your hips. You're too tense." He positioned himself behind her and placed his hands on her waist, slipping one beneath her jeans to the small of her back to rub gently. "You're going to be in knots if you're not careful."

  She straightened abruptly, bringing her ear nearly to his mouth. "Relax," he whispered. His heart leapt madly in his chest as he smelled the clean scent of her shampoo. He felt his arousal begin, slowly, achingly sweet, and slid his other hand around to her flat stomach. "You're doing just fine, love."

  His mouth traced the curve of her ear seductively as he caressed her belly in slow circles. Beneath his fingertips, he felt her take a sharp breath, the muscles in her back unwinding. She tilted her head against his shoulder and he slipped both arms around her, drawing her buttocks firmly against his rapidly hardening manhood. He leaned forward, turning her face to his with a nudge of his chin, and kissed her.

  She whimpered in pleasure not protest, and he slid his hand to her breast, cupping the fullness in his palm. His thumb found the pebbled nipple and rubbed slowly. Her breath quickened, and her tongue darted out to trace his mouth in a caress that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing.

  After several aching moments of this torture, he pulled back, gazing Into her passion-filled blue eyes. Heavy-lidded with desire, they answered his unspoken question with uncertainty, and he smiled crookedly. No matter how he'd thought to use her extraordinary responses against her, he couldn't take advantage of that vulnerable, little-girl confusion.

  She was right, he thought with a sigh. Nobility stinks.

  "Don't worry, love," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. "If you think the other night was a mistake, it won't happen again."

  "It wasn't a mistake!" Her eyes widened as the words seemed to slip out. "I mean—"

  "Shh ..." He caressed her cheek and drew away, bending swiftly to retrieve their dropped weapons. At least he had her thinking, not attacking. That was more than he could wish for at this point. He glanced up at the lowering sun, surprised that so much time had passed. "Lesson's over, love. You have a lot of potential."

  "Potential?"

  He nodded and smiled at her. She stood where he had left her, her mouth still kiss-swollen, but the anguish had disappeared from her face. "You're a quick study, you're in excellent condition, and most of all, you have the reflexes of a cat. I think you have the makings of a master."

  After a moment she eyed him suspiciously. "You're just saying that to make me drop my guard, aren't you?"

  He stiffened. "No, Charly. I don't throw compliments around like confetti. And I don't use them to seduce women."

  Rigid with indignation, he saluted her briefly, spun on his heel, and walked away. Why was it that he had to fall in love with the only woman who could enrage him with the simplest of statements? Or encourage him with the slightest of provocations?

  Maybe because his guilty conscience told him that had been his intention in the first place.

  “Trim my toast, will you?" he muttered with a rueful chuckle, then he climbed in his car and sped away.

  Late that night, J.D. lay staring at the moonlit ceiling, wondering if he would survive the rest of the week. Charly was a woman in every way. She was earth mother, child, partner. She was in turn endearing, aggravating, frustrating, and awe-inspiring. She would put him in the grave.

  A soft knock startled him from his musings. He hesitated a moment, but grabbed his robe and belted it tightly before opening his door.

  "Hi," said Charly, unusually subdued. She fidgeted with her jacket.

  "Hi," he echoed. He held her gaze for a moment, then ushered her in. She smiled and entered, nervously darting glances around his darkened room. "Is something wrong?"

  "No, not exactly. I mean—I was thinking—" She sighed and turned toward him. "Look, J.D. We're two mature adults, right?"

  He nodded and closed the door.

  "Right," she repeated. "After you left today, I decided that—I thought about what you said—" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I lashed out at you. I didn't mean what I said, at least not the way it sounded. And I think if we just admitted that we both want a sexual relationship, we wouldn't keep snarling at each other."

  "I want more than that," he said quietly. "I love you."

  Her eyes widened in panic. "This was a bad idea."

  She bolted to the door, but he caught her by the arm. "Why are you afraid of that word, Charly? Don't you believe that I could love you?"

  "That's a loaded question," she whispered. "If I say yes, I sound arrogant. If I say no, I sound insecure."

  "And you're neither." He turned her gently and tilted her chin up. "I love you, Charly. I don't know when it happened, or why, but I do. This isn't blackmail. It's a hazard."

  Her brow creased in puzzlement.

  "To throw oneself on the opponent's blade without turning it aside."

  "Oh, J.D." Her eyes misted.

  "I don't expect to hear it, honey. Not yet."

  "What if it's never?"

  His heart twisted, but her tone was not as firm as she tried to make it, and that gave him hope. "Tell me." Her eyes closed, and he kissed each lid. 'Tell me why you can't, or won't even consider loving me too."

  "Because ..." She trailed away and a tiny droplet appeared beneath each lash. "It's a trap. J.D. Love is a trap designed to make you need someone, to care for them so much that you can't function by yourself anymore." She moaned, an animal sound of pain. "I see it all the time, the broken relationships, the floundering woman. I saw it with my own mother. When Dad left, it killed her. It just took her years for her body to die. I—I can't go through that."

  His chest tightened, and he pulled her into his arms. "Good Lord," he whispered. "You really believe that."

  "Yes." She drew a shaky breath and attempted to pull away. "Let me go."

  "No." Her halfhearted struggling ceased, and he kissed the top of her head. "I love you, and I don't feel trapped. I don't feel any less of a person because of what I feel for you. If anything, I feel more."

  "But you're not me."

  "No." He drew back and gazed into her blurred eyes. Her withdrawal was subtle, but he could feel it. "And you're not your mother any more than I'm my father." She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He ached for her. "Charly, I'm not going to push you, and I'm not going to lie and say I’ll never leave you alone. I have no way of predicting my death, any more than you do."

  He wiped her tears with his thumbs. "But I think you're selling yourself terribly short if you think that you'd fall apart if someone you loved left again. I don't need you for every breath I take, every thought I think. And neither do you. That's not a loving relationship, it's parasitical."

  "I—" She buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm scared, J.D. I don't like being scared. It's a weakness."

  "No, love. It's human. You scared the hell out of me at first."

  She gave him a chuckle. "Me?"

  "You. And you know it."

  "I try harder than most people."

  His hand swept over her back, caressing the slowly unwinding muscles. "Think about it, okay? That's all I ask."

  Her breath quickened, and her fingers crept into his hair. "I don't want to think any more."

  She was parrying again, but she was still there. "You're just saying that to make me drop my guard," he said lightly.

  "Nope. Just your robe."

  His lips
twitched. "You're a formidable opponent. Dragon Lady."

  “I’m a quick study."

  Their gazes locked. There was no battle of wills, no combat, no confusion to prompt his nobility. When Charly knew what she wanted, he thought ruefully, she didn't dance around the issue, she didn't feint to fool him into a counterattack. She lunged straight for the heart.

  He smiled. "I admit it."

  "What?"

  "That I want at least a sexual relationship."

  She smiled, a slow, sensual smile that accelerated his pulse. "So do I."

  Their mouths met halfway, sweetly confirming the truth of their statements.

  This time, when she left his bed in the wee hours of the night, J.D. said nothing, tried to quell his pain. He sensed that it was difficult for her, but he had no wish to arouse that panic and fear in her again. The last of her defenses had clicked in, and he wondered when, or even if, she would let them fall.

  But he knew one thing clearly. When Charly spent the night in his arms, it wouldn't be the end. It would be their true beginning.

  Ten

  Charly opened her eyes, blinked, then smiled as memory intruded through the morning fuzziness. Yawning, she stretched languorously, wincing as her muscles protested. J.D. was wrong, she thought. Fencing used most of her body, but it was the athletics during the night that had finished her off.

  But it was a wonderful ache, she decided as she stretched again. Her breasts felt heavy against the sheets, her neck and chest burned lightly from the rough caress of the whiskers of J.D.'s unshaven face

  All in all, It was not a bad way to start the day.

  The fleeting realization that It would be better if she were to awaken next to that unshaven face she shoved from her thoughts. She refused to feel either guilt or longing. In spite of his declaration, everything was still on her terms. Exactly as she wanted it.

  Rising from the bed proved more difficult than she’d guessed as her sore right thigh hurt from her energetic lunging in practice the previous day. But she had felt worse after a football game, and after a warm shower she could ignore even the worst of her pain. When J.D. returned to show her the different quadrants and lines of the opponent's body, she wouldn't shrink and complain like some wimp. She would show him that she was made of sterner stuff!