by Sarah Andre
“Welcome. Stand next to Phillip, please.” Sean pointed to the smallest boy at the end of the line, who sported a mop of bright red hair and a watch way too big for his wrist. When she remained stationary, Sean’s brows lifted. His challenge glinted openly.
Damn it. Damn him! She’d lose face either way, although arriving at work tomorrow as a yellow-bellied coward was worse than whatever humiliation he planned tonight. She released her grip on the door handle and set her shoulders.
“Class, meet our guest, Miss Gretchen Allen,” Sean said, his calm instructor voice contradicting the confrontational expression the boys couldn’t see.
The boys immediately broke their imitation stances and bowed as one.
“As a special surprise for our guest, we’ll switch from practicing katas to learning judo throw-downs.”
Of course. Gretch closed her eyes as a chorus of cheers went up around the dojo. Sonofabitch. Jaw clenched, she tossed her purse under the front desk, kicked off her flip-flops, and shrugged out of her oversized sweatshirt. Let’s get this shit over with. She spun around and stepped onto the cool mat, her posture regal and rigid.
Sean’s gaze swept over her black knit tank and snug yoga pants. The long, slow appraisal wasn’t anything she’d witnessed from him before, as if this hottie ninja had bound and gagged the restoration geek. Her courage stalled. This was going to be a bloodbath of humiliation. How would she get through the hour? Or look him in the eye tomorrow?
Like you always do. Shut up and rule the situation. She marched toward Phillip, who opened his mouth to speak, but closed it after a glance from Sean. Gretch winked at the little boy and stood in line, dredging up her über-cool bar-scene composure.
“This is an over-the-shoulder toss you can use when your opponent comes at you from behind.” Sean spoke to the boys, like he was no longer aware Gretch was in the room. “We’ll break it into components and then practice. First—I need a volunteer to help demonstrate.” Every boy’s hand waved frantically.
“Pick me, Sensei,” Phillip pleaded, on tiptoes. Gretch pursed her lips and studied her manicure.
“How about if we choose our guest?” Amid the groans of disappointment, Sean called her name. He backed up to the middle of the mat and crooked his finger. He was so fucking predictable!
“You’re so lucky,” Phillip whined.
“That’s not the word I’d use,” she murmured, and headed out to center stage.
She faced Sean dourly, and he gazed back like he was waiting. For what? Her to chicken out? She shrugged. “Let’s do this.”
“You have to bow to Sensei,” Phillip stage-whispered. “You were supposed to before you stepped on the mat too.”
“Oh, dear God,” she muttered, and although Sean didn’t repeat his broad grin, a predatory gleam entered his eyes. She clenched her teeth and bowed at the waist.
“Very good.” Sean walked behind her. “This is one of the self-defense moves that will counter an opponent doing this.” He slid his arm around her clavicle and tightened his grip, gluing her backside to the front of him with much more authority than anything he’d done on the train this morning. The body heat coming through his pajamas was like being plastered to a furnace. The pressure on her lungs was uncomfortable, but damn if she’d utter a peep.
“We’ve talked about breaking this hold by raising your arms and dropping to the ground, right?” His commanding voice buzzed in her ear. “But a second method is a throw-down, also known as a takedown or tossing your opponent. Gretch, why don’t you demonstrate?”
Amid the snickers and calls of “do it!” she summoned regal mockery. “You want me to toss you?”
“Isn’t it on your bucket list?” His tone was low and amused, and his breath stirred her hair. He adjusted his hold tighter. There was no way she could inhale, much less escape. His limbs molded against hers too closely—she couldn’t get purchase to back-kick him in the balls.
Fury and embarrassment morphed into determination. She was a toned, fit ex-personal trainer. He had no idea how strong she was. She gripped the arm that held her prisoner, snapped forward at the waist, and used all her might and muscle to flip him over her shoulder. He bent effortlessly with her, until they were in a porn-style, downward-dog yoga pose. The boys erupted into giggles.
“Any day now, Miss Allen,” he said loudly, for their benefit.
“Why don’t you go—”
“Don’t you swear in my dojo, Gretch,” he murmured. The steely tone and intimacy of their position awoke something within. A ferocious hunger for something. She tightened her grip on his forearm to hold back the shiver.
With humiliating ease, he hauled her back to the original stance. “As you can see, class, it’s not as easy as it looks on TV.”
Sean spun in a blur until he stood before her, then manhandled her arm until it was wrapped around his throat. He still smelled of lemons, and now fresh sweat. Gretch inhaled unsteadily. Technically, she was in a position of power, the perpetrator. The controller. Why did she feel so helplessly feminine? To counteract the silliness fluttering through her insides, she flexed her bicep, but the firm grip he had on her arm gave him comfortable room to breathe and speak.
“The trick,” he continued, “is to create a fulcrum and lever. Step forward with your right foot and shift your weight—like so.” His demonstration raised her on tiptoes, plastering her fully along his backside. Butterflies shimmered low in her belly. “This allows you to use the person’s momentum to follow through. Like this.”
A subtle twist tossed her into the air. She landed with a graceless whoof on the mat. He knelt beside her inelegant sprawl. “And then,” he said in a voice meant only for her, “it’s lights out.” The look in his eyes oozed pure confidence and smoking-hot promise.
Gretch gaped at him. Her limbs quivered like jelly, much worse than when she’d crossed marathon finish lines. She couldn’t summon anger if she tried. All she wanted to do was drown in that scorching gaze.
Sean’s expression shuttered. “You okay?”
She nodded, and he helped her up like the wretched rag doll she was. “Excuse me,” he said formally, and wandered about adjusting grips and instructing the boys, completely unaffected by that spark of sizzling chemistry.
Partnerless and enthralled, Gretch tracked every move of this other Sean. Who knew the temperamental introvert was good with kids? Or could transform into a commanding warrior? Did he even realize how freaking sexy he was right now?
Back turned, he bent beside two boys. The cotton gi strained, providing what those loose jeans and button-downs never could: a clear view of his tight ass. She stared at the muscled orbs outlined in the uniform. Too soon he straightened. Now his well-defined shoulders and slim hips captivated her. Her pulse flowed thickly as she fantasized about being alone with him on the mat. Dropping to her knees before him. Easing down those white pajamas…
She pressed her lips and spun around. What kind of rabbit hole had she fallen into? He didn’t belong anywhere near the black void inside her. He’d gotten his giggles. The lesson had never been meant for her. Besides, she’d already demonstrated how ineffective she’d be if Brandon ever caught her from behind.
In five long strides, she was at the desk.
“A warrior never retreats,” Sean said, his nearness and quiet authority making her jump. How the hell did he move so silently?
“I’m not a warrior, and I’m not retreating,” she snapped. “I need to get home.” She picked up her sweatshirt and purse. “You made your point to the little boys. Glad I could help.” She rummaged for her unlimited El pass.
“Turns out that ugly Wickham painting is not on the priority list.”
She stilled. On any other man, she’d have sworn the soft tone was filled with humor. She glanced at his hard mouth and swallowed. Nope. No humor there at all. He rested an ass cheek on the desk and folded his arms. She’d never noticed those sinewy biceps before either—
“On the bright side,” he added, �
��I get to add Hannah to the list of people who think I’m short a couple million brain cells.”
“It was a joke. I started to tell you yesterday, but you were so focused on the adventure with your brother.”
He shrugged loosely, the tilting eyebrows and shuttered expression transforming him back into the guy she worked with and didn’t understand at all. “No harm done. Hannah set me straight.”
She nodded, despising the heat blistering her cheeks. He was supposed to be angry so she could grasp the memory of his ugly fury every time she felt this weird attraction. But no. His stoic reaction reversed the prank and reinforced her immaturity. What a miserable fucking night.
She shoved into her flip-flops. “See you tomorrow.”
“The class is almost over.” He stood tall and commanding in front of her. “Let me take you home.”
“I’m done with your bodyguard services, thank you very much.”
“But Brandon is still out there, right? Still stalking you?”
Her breath caught at his concern. “He’s not stalking me.”
“Don’t parse words with me, Gretch. You won’t win that either.”
She glared in sullen defeat. Behind him, shrieking boys were flying in the air unsupervised. She jerked her chin. “You need to get back.”
Without turning, Sean clapped his hands twice. The boys immediately plopped into cross-legged formation, as motionless as Stonehenge. Gretch’s mouth sagged open. Sean refolded his arms, his gaze direct and unblinking. “It’s the blond guy from Teenie’s, right?”
The swirling lights of the dance floor flooded back. Sean’s aloof expression. How quickly he’d disappeared. She stiffened. “In the future, if you see me out in public, just ignore me.”
One of his comical eyebrows lifted further. “I can ignore you about as much as the sun in a desert, Gretch.” Just as her insides began to melt in a gooey, sticky mess, he added, “Did it ever occur to you that eventually you’d hook up with someone clinically deranged?”
Her breath yelped out in a half-sneer. “There are some lessons you are so not qualified to teach me.” She yanked the purse strap up to her shoulder. With the speed of a cobra, he snagged her wrist, and the purse swung wildly in the air. Her heart sprinted off rhythm. A timeless moment passed, filled with unspoken challenges. A clock ticking somewhere to her left chipped away at the fathomless stillness in the studio.
Sean blinked first. “I apologize,” he said, a muscle twitching along his jaw. “Your dates are none of my business.”
She wrenched away. “You can say that again.” Great, now she sounded about as old as the boys sitting so miraculously silent. “See you tomorrow.” She burst out the front door.
The May evening had chilled in the past half-hour, and goosebumps dotted her skin, but fury kept her powerwalking the blocks to the El platform without donning her sweatshirt. Clinically deranged. The son of a bitch! Who was he to regulate who she went out with?
Gretch paused, eyeing the men around her for a tall, handsome blond. When she spotted none, she seethed some more at Sean’s interference. And his stoic response to her punking him with that stupid charity painting. There was no chemistry here. No future. No fairytale of waltzing in a red gown in those sturdy arms. Sean was an introvert who lived inside his head. All that hoity-toity knowledge and emotional depth… Dating him would be like hopscotching through a minefield blindfolded. Eventually she’d end up in shards and fragments. No, thank you.
Besides. She preferred men like his brother, anyway.
Once on the train, she slumped into a seat. As the city lights whipped past, she checked the eBay bid for Adyton’s Quran, ruminated over Eve’s struggle with her abusive husband, and even practiced the new signs Zamira had taught her, but her treacherous mind continued to loop back to Sean’s iron embrace tonight. The quiet authority and primal gleam in those dark brown eyes when he’d knelt beside her gasping body.
And then—it’s lights out. Jesus. When he was that other guy, Sean was pure sex on a stick. In little white pajamas. She had to avoid that guy at all costs.
15
After staring at the ceiling for hours, obsessing over every detail of his dojo encounter with Gretch, Sean fell asleep just before his alarm rang.
He hurriedly dressed and ate, unrested and in full self-recrimination mode. Why hadn’t he just gotten up and gone to work in the wee hours? He could have started on that mysterious Wickham painting, which had seeped into his thoughts little by little until it was a dull nag. Now, during regular work hours, he’d have to give the Etruscan mosaic his full attention.
He strode into the Moore and Morrow break room for a well-needed cup of coffee and stopped short. Margo, in a blue suit that did nothing to hide her gun holster, sat at the round table with Hannah. “There you are,” she chirped. “You don’t answer your phone.”
“No.” He cast about for something more grown-up than I don’t like to talk to people. “Not when I don’t know the incoming phone number.”
She smiled sweetly. “Well, good news. Adyton sent an email to Bixby yesterday afternoon; he’d like to meet you again. We’ve studied the op from all angles and think this is legit. Hannah said it was okay for you to take a few hours off.”
Sean headed for the coffee pot before his no-fucking-way expression outed him. “You heard Jace loud and clear. I can’t handle covert ops.”
“First of all, Jace is an associate; he does not give the orders. Second, we need to find out the extent and location of Adyton’s artifacts. Looks like you and Gretch did a good enough job fooling him as Bixby that he doesn’t suspect FBI involvement, or he would’ve pulled the project yesterday. He’s interested in the potential buyers Moore and Morrow can bring to the table.”
Hannah gasped. “Moore and Morrow?”
“Gretch told him you refer buyers and sellers to each other.”
“Sweet baby Jesus, Walter’s going to hit the roof.”
“I don’t trust Adyton,” Sean declared, pouring the coffee without turning around. “He knows Gretch and I work here. Why the cat-and-mouse email instead of calling Moore and Morrow?”
“He still thinks you’re Bixby. Seems reasonable he’d use Bixby’s email.”
“And maybe he did call here,” Hannah said. “When Gretch gets in, she can listen to the messages. I’m not familiar with how to work her console.”
Sean glanced at his watch and frowned. Gretch was sixty-six minutes late. Punctuality was as important to her as the right shade of lipstick. The early hour wasn’t a factor either; as a trainer, her appointments had begun at five in the morning. In fact, her exuberant energy was obnoxious as hell to an insomniac like him.
He stirred his coffee and turned to the women. “Did she have another appointment this morning?” When Hannah shrugged and shook her head, every muscle in his body stilled. How could her best-friend-slash-boss not know Gretch’s habits and schedule?
“She’s never late, Hannah.” His clipped words were marred by his jaw, which refused to unlock. “She has a stalker out there and ISIS sympathizers who may or may not be playing us. No doubt they all know where she works.”
Alarm washed over his boss’s features. She dug out her phone and pressed the screen a few times. On speakerphone, Gretch’s exuberant voicemail message began. Hannah disconnected. “Maybe her phone’s still off.” She darted a glance at Margo. “She didn’t know if this guy could trace her GPS by the phone number.”
“He could reverse-look-up the phone number for her address in two seconds.”
“Shit,” Sean breathed. He should never have let her walk out of the dojo last night.
Hannah pressed her screen again. “I’ll call her house.”
This time the phone was picked up, and Dwayne boomed out a greeting. “Gretch left at her usual time.” His voice echoed around the break room. “She hasn’t arrived yet?”
Sean plunked his mug on the counter and bolted to the reception desk. No black purse under the table, and altho
ugh her perfume permeated the space, it was not fresh. He toured the labs and cubicles, heading last to his—the farthest from his coworkers’. He’d give anything to see her spinning on his stool, messing with his shit.
His cubicle was empty. He struggled to regulate his breathing as he hurried back up front. Margo paced the reception area, phone glued to her ear. “—could be a coincidence, but just reporting it in…”
Hannah was knocking on Walter’s door. She slipped inside as Dane wandered in from the street.
No, he hadn’t encountered Gretch from the El station to here.
Walter followed Hannah out, mouth tight. “We need to do something,” he said pointedly to Margo. She quickly signed off and pocketed her phone.
“What I suggest is you call her roommate again and get a description of what she’s wearing. And someone figure out how to work the phone console so we can listen to messages.”
Sean lunged for Gretch’s ergonomic chair and began rifling through drawers until he found the manual. He flipped to the index while Walter gazed over his shoulder. Together they figured out the surprisingly complicated message retrieval system. The digital screen lit up and indicated five messages. Sean hit play.
Two clients with questions about their projects, one price inquiry, and a hang-up. Sean scrubbed a palm across his mouth as Walter hit the arrow key for the final message.
“This is Joseph Adyton. Please return my call as soon as possible.” The old man rattled off his number.
Walter pressed a button to retrieve the details on the screen. “He called an hour ago.” Sean shut off the device as Hannah picked up the phone with shaking fingers. Her face was ashen.
“Put him on speaker,” Margo ordered. “Everyone remain silent.”
Anna walked in at that moment and was immediately shushed before she could open her mouth. She stood, eyebrows knit, clutching the diagonal strap of her satchel bag.
