"I don't suppose this"—his fingers tickled a spot just above her left hip—"has anything to do with the reason you reacted so strongly."
"Uh-uh. I like roses."
"So I see. When did you do this?"
"Prom night. I didn't have a date, so some of us got together and did some. . . rather foolish things."
"But a rose?"
"I guess I'm a closet romantic."
"A rose tattoo, huh?"
She rolled toward him, twining her arms around his neck, distracting him in the most pleasurable way she could think of. "Are you shocked?"
"You can't shock me anymore. The unexpected is the norm."
"I think I like that."
"You're not going to let me stay with you tonight, are you?"
She stiffened. "No. I can't."
"Why?"
Because I'm falling in love with you.
Her throat closed over the words as her mind shoved away the thought.
"Let's go eat." she said, and exited the room before he could say a word.
Eleven
For the next three days Charly could think of nothing else but her feelings for J.D and the confusion they caused. It distracted her during football practice, it intruded into her conversations with her brother and friends, and it caught her unawares in the deepest part of the night as she lay alone in her bed. The only time she didn't feel this internal battle was when she was with him. Usually. This time was different.
"Parry!" he cried.
"That was a parry." She growled and struck "on guard." The white, padded tunic he had provided was beginning to make her swelter in the sun's warmth, but she ignored the discomfort. It was the first time he had allowed her to actually aim at him, and she wanted to enjoy it.
J.D. thrust high, and Charly bounced the tip of his foil aside, her heart swelling with pride as he glowed his approval.
"Good! Good! Tierce!"
"Bless you."
He chuckled. "That particular parry was called tierce. Fingernails downward, eye-level point, hand and wrist articulation pronounced."
"And here I thought I was just shoving it out of the way."
He frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe I should have taught you the names of all of them and their correct executions." He nodded. "Prime, seconde, tierce, quarte, quinte, sixte, septlme, and octave are all used to parry a particular thrust..."
Charly groaned, but smiled softly at the excitement on his face as he demonstrated each one.
When they were together, whether during these incessant drills he insisted upon or just walking on the beach, Charly sensed a heightened awareness of everything around her. The sun shone brighter, the birds sang louder, and the air smelled sweeter. It was nothing that he did, for he acted no differently than he always had. His wry sense of humor, his touching nobility, his slow smile, even his aloof observation of others, were all the same. It was she who had changed. And she wasn't sure she liked it.
She had always considered herself a strong woman, one who didn't need the kind of caring that J.D. showed her. It was more than the massage of aching muscles after a workout, more than the deepening passion they had discovered in the bedroom. It was the amusement they exchanged with a glance across a group of people, a reminder of some private joke an inadvertent comment had prompted. It was the heart-stopping lack of breath she experienced when J.D. simply brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. It was the darkening of his green eyes that she could prompt with merely a smile, the rumbling laughter she could feel through her bones when she tried to antagonize him.
It was the intimacy, the sharing, that frightened her. Because she was very much afraid that if she gave too much away, she wouldn't have anything left.
"Okay," he was saying. "If I make a thrust into low quarte"— he aimed toward the left side of her rib cage—"you what?"
Charly turned her wrist and nails downward, keeping her foil horizontal, and crossed his foil, slapping it aside. "I quinte."
"Very good. I wasn't sure you were listening." He lifted their masks, kissed her on the tip of her nose, and replaced them. "Now let's try that same thrust with a septime parry."
She huffed, but readied herself.
Maybe he pushed so hard because this was their last real day together. The thought caused her heart to fall straight through to her toes. Tomorrow was her party to celebrate the new team and the beginning of school, and Tuesday he would return to San Francisco. His imminent departure intensified her confusion, as if she had accidentally put all of her emotions in a blender and he had switched it up a couple of notches. Because she didn't know what was going to happen next, and he hadn't brought it up.
"You're not concentrating," J.D. told her sternly as her point wobbled past his arm. "You can do these, Charly. I know you can. You're the best student I've ever had."
She attempted a rueful smile and was glad he couldn't see beneath her fencing mask as she failed. "I'm the only student you ever had."
"True. love, but that doesn't make you any less apt."
"Don't call me that," she snapped, irritated with herself.
He removed his mask. "Are you worried about the team's chances this season?"
There it was again, his easy concern about something that was usually her territory alone. Since their confrontation, since her outrage at his interference, he had used that same angle with her. Not only did he tell her of his family, his goals in life, he had begun to draw the same information from her. And what could she do? She had opened her big mouth!
"No, the team's fine." She struck on guard. "Let's try again."
He sighed and replaced his mask.
His thrusts continued to be slow and focused, but Charly found herself using more and more force to slap him away. He stabbed into the high quarte, and she countered, a circular parry he had only told her about. But he said nothing and attacked again. Charly used her entire arm to heave his foil aside. Before he even struck on guard, she lunged at him and touched him with the point of her foil.
"Illegal," he murmured with no reproach. "But cute. Let's try again."
With a deep breath Charly forced her anguish deep down inside and tried to focus on the lesson. But it wasn't easy. Chaos reigned in her mind and her body, but she could hardly tell him that. On the one hand, every time she saw him, she wanted to see more of him. His humor and pure masculinity stirred her as no other man's had. He was the kind of lover she'd never dreamed existed, tender and gentle yet with a hungry passion that had overwhelmed her.
Yet on the other hand, she wanted him out of her life, because that very joy threatened her in a way she'd never experienced. His high-handedness infuriated her. Yet it was this very strength that had attracted her in the first place, the strength to carry burdens far heavier than hers, and his own as well. The strength to do battle with her on an equal basis, without his male ego overcompensating and trying to deny her own freedom of choice. He was no petulant little boy, no Peter Pan wishing to never grow up, no strutting rooster blatantly showing his physical power over her. He was, basically, the complete opposite of every man she'd ever known.
Her concentration shot, the point of her foil nearly gouged him in the throat. He removed his-mask and frowned at her, the tiny lines between his brows endearing as he chided her gently.
Damn the man! If he would only become predictable, it would make things so much easier. Because she did respect him, his character, his strong will. Was this love? she wondered.
She just didn't know anymore.
But she did know that she had never thanked him, and it suddenly became imperative that she did. "J.D., I need to tell you something—"
"No!" His vehemence stunned her into silence. "Not now."
He moved forward and she pressed the tip of her foil against the pristine white of his chest. It bent as he ignored it. "I wanted to thank you for helping my brother," she said. "And everything."
"Oh." One corner of his mouth lifted. "Don't worry about it."
"What did you think
I was going to say?"
"It's not important." Gingerly, he removed the obstacle and reached out to remove her mask and drop it to the deck. His hand fluffed her damp, flattened hair, and his gaze studied her mutinous expression. "I think it's time for a reward."
Her blood heated, but her eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh. A reward for whom?"
"You. I'm taking you to dinner tonight."
"Oh?" His thumb traced her mouth, and her breathing became ragged. "Don't I have a choice In this?"
"Nope. Not this time." He kissed her slowly, his tongue making delicate forays along her lips. "You’ve done so much for me, love. Let me do something nice for you for a change."
She melted against him. When he put it like that, he was difficult to resist. Her arms crept around his neck, and she placed her forehead against his. "You’ve taught me to fence. Isn't that nice enough?"
"What? Did I hear that right? She's actually admitting that she likes it?"
"Stinker." Her gaze held his. "I like it. J.D. I never imagined it would be so tough, and I never imagined it would be so much fun. It is the sport of kings, not the sport of wimps. Are you happy now?"
He pressed against her. "I love a woman who can admit she's wrong."
"Don't push it." In spite of herself, she giggled, and her mouth captured his in a passionate kiss that sent her pulse racing.
He broke it off with a groan. "We’ll never get there if you do that again."
"Oh, well," she murmured, but he backed away.
"I have something else for you, if you’ll wear them tonight."
"Don't tell me you found me a T-shirt that says 'Fencing masters thrust better.' "
"No, but it's a thought. Besides, I said 'them' not 'it,’"
Sighing, she allowed him to lead her to his bag at the edge of the deck. He rummaged through it and lifted out a small box. She frowned. "What is it?"
He placed it in her hand, a hesitant smile on his face. "Open it."
She gasped when she saw a pair of sapphire earrings nestled in the velvet lining. "I can't wear these!"
"Sure you can." He turned one over. "See? They're clips. I noticed you don't have pierced ears."
"I used to, but I let all the holes grow closed," she said absently. "J.D., these are the size of Iowa!"
"No, they're not. 'All' the holes? How many did you have?"
"Six." She peeped up at him through her lashes, attempting to cover the fact that his gift had touched her deeply. "In each ear."
He blinked. "Why did you let them close?"
"Have you ever tried to sleep with those sharp little points pressing into your neck?"
"Uh, no."
She cocked her head, her eyes dancing. "Maybe..." She touched his lobe. "You know, you'd look great with an earring. Maybe just a little diamond stud—"
He grabbed her hand and laughed as he kissed her. "I’ll stud you ..." When their bodies were entwined once again, he asked her softly, "Will you accept them? And wear them tonight?"
"Sure." Charly could deny him nothing, not when he was so eager for her to like them. Later in the evening they could discuss the problems of a long-distance relationship, but she realized that she wanted to take the next step. She just wished she knew what that was. "I'd be honored."
"And a special dress? Or do you—"
"Don't worry," she said quickly. "I have something just perfect."
She kissed him slowly, frantically wondering when the stores closed.
J.D. had showered, shaved, and dressed in his dark suit, all the while unable to erase the frown from his face. Charly's performance earlier had been totally out of character. She had something on her mind, and he had no doubt it was their relationship. The question was, what had she decided in these last days of wrestling with the problem?
He absentmindedly tied his tie backward twice before he swore and threw it to the floor, only recovering it because he was running late. He raked his hair with his hand, then combed it back. He was dawdling, and he realized it was because he didn't know what she was going to do.
Charly was the only person he'd never been able to read clearly. Her tense body language and volatile attitude told him one thing, but her melting sweetness told him another. He had the horrible feeling that she would walk out one minute, and the wonderful feeling that she would never leave the next.
He hated this. One way or the other, they had to settle things. He wouldn't end it. And he didn't want to give her the opportunity to either. If he had to drive down every day from San Francisco to see her, to continue their relationship, he would. She was far too precious to lose.
When J.D. picked Charly up that night, the glow that warmed his eyes when he saw her told her more than words ever could. His gaze sent goose bumps popping out all over her skin, and she was glad she could shock him after all. Pride filled her as she walked arm in arm with him into his hotel's restaurant, trying desperately not to give herself away by hobbling on the unfamiliar heels. But panic overtook pride as the meal drew to a close. What was happening to her? Was this what love did?
J.D. gazed at her in the candlelight, still astonished at her transformation but refusing to let her see just how much it had stunned him. Her lovely brown hair, held back at the temples with combs, tumbled around her shoulders. The sapphire earrings glittered in the reflected light. Her gown was simply tailored. The plunging neckline emphasized the fullness of her breasts, and the swirling hem flattered her beautifully shaped legs. Her high-heeled shoes had nearly brought her eye to eye with him.
She was striking, magnificent, and carried her height proudly. 'You are incredible," he said reverently.
She self-consciously fidgeted with her padded shoulders. "When are normal clothes going to come back? I look like Lyle Alzado."
He cocked his head. "You don't have a beard. Maybe you should grow one."
Surprise, then delight lit her eyes. "You always know just what to say to a girl, don't you, Mr. Smith?"
"Of course, Ms. Czerniowski. That color is perfect on you," he said. "It brings out the red highlights in your hair and the violet in your eyes."
"You don't know how lucky you are. I nearly bought another wonderful little number—tight black skirt, yellow-and-black-striped tube top with pull-on matching sleeves."
He tried to picture it and enjoyed the image he saw. "Like a torch dancer from fifties Paris."
"Is that what they were called where you come from? We have another name for them."
"You'd look beautiful in whatever you wore."
She lowered her gaze. "We need to talk. J.D. About us."
"I don't think this is the time."
"It hasn't been the time all evening," she muttered.
"Not tonight." He had cut her off several times already, but he didn't want to hear the words that would end their relationship. She loved him. She was just too stubborn to admit it. He had seen her distraction all evening, and he absolutely refused to give her the opportunity.
He would use her own bulldog tactics on her! By keeping her off balance, he would win the game.
"Would you like dessert? To go dancing? Either of the above?"
"No, I—" she cleared her throat. "I have something to say."
His mouth went dry. "No."
Her brows raised. "No, what?"
"No, I don't want to hear it."
"Will you stop that! You don't even know what I was going to say!"
His jaw firmed "We're not going to spoil this evening with a fight."
She gaped at him. "Then don't start one!"
"That's it." He stood abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process, and grabbed her wrist. "We're going to have this out. In private."
Charly gasped as he dragged her to her feet. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," he said grimly, and tugged. "I'm just playing your game for a change."
Numb with astonishment, Charly matched his energetic stride, or tried to. Her shoes seemed to have a mind all their own. And he wouldn't let g
o of her! "Slow down!" she cried. "Dammit, J.D., stop! I can't run in heels!"
He paused long enough to peel off her shoes and toss them at the shocked maître d'. "Keep the change," he told him, then swung Charly up into his arms, glaring at her. "You owe the bucket a dollar."
"I—" She gulped once—hard—at his expression. He strode to the elevator, rigid with fury, and she didn't know whether to laugh or punch his lights out.
Laughter won. He scowled at her as she struggled to subdue the giggles that rose to her throat. She knew that if she applied the slightest pressure on some of his more sensitive parts he'd drop her like a hot potato. But since he seemed to be going in the right direction—his room—she did nothing. It should have occurred to her before that J.D. might think she was ready to end their relationship instead of to work out how to continue it. Heaven knew she'd had enough hints throughout the day. He would pay for his romantic impetuosity soon enough.
"Barbarian," she muttered under her breath, and made herself go completely limp, letting gravity take its course.
By the time they were in his room, she could feel his muscles trembling from the strain of her not extreme but imposing dead weight. It set her off again, and J.D. glowered at her as he dropped her feet to the floor. "You're not exactly Scarlett O'Hara," he muttered, rolling his shoulders.
She pressed her lips together. "It does look easier in the movies, doesn't it?" She sat on the edge of his bed, folding her hands primly in her lap. "Now, you wanted to have something out?"
"Yes, I—" He took a deep breath. "It's about what you wanted to say."
She tried to compose herself. "Yes, J.D.?" When he paused, she encouraged him. "Come on, keep up the momentum."
"Don't do that! This isn't something to laugh about!"
"Yes, J.D." Her expression was solemn, but her lungs nearly burst with the effort of holding back her amusement. He was so beautiful when he was angry. And her placid appearance obviously disconcerted him.
Sternly, he went nose to nose with her. "We have a good relationship."
"Yes, J.D."
"And I'm not talking about just sexually either. We're opposites, but we complement each other. We dovetail. Separately, we're fine. Together we're stronger."
The Dragon's Revenge Page 13
