by Kristie Cook
I tapped out a quick reply to say I was sorry but she must have had the wrong Asia. Not that there were a lot of Asia’s running around, but she had to have meant someone else. I kind of wished she’d meant me. Her message had been so full of gratitude, and the other Asia had done something right by her. If anything, that would have at least explained the good karma I was receiving now.
For the first time in months, I took a shower in a decidedly clean bathroom and settled into a real bed that I didn’t feel compelled to check for bedbugs every hour. I opened Hope’s book that I’d put aside after our interview and read until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. I might have fallen asleep with a smile on my face.
* * *
My apartment consisted of the second floor of a detached four-car garage, which sat in the corner of the fenced-in backyard. My commute to work entailed crossing the lusciously landscaped backyard, skirting the custom pool, and entering the main house through the rear wing, then turning left and circling the courtyard until I was halfway to the front wing. Those were the directions I’d been given to find Hope’s office, which I presumed to be the same one where she’d interviewed me. I got a little distracted on my way, though, as I passed the pool and glanced through the tall windows of the room nearest the back door—a home gym, complete with a treadmill, elliptical, stationary bike, weight machines, and the standard hot guy that should come with all home gyms.
He wasn’t on any of the machines or the weight bench, though. He was in an empty part of the room, going through what looked like karate moves to my ignorant eye, punching and kicking the air. When his dark eyes glanced up and caught me halted in mid-stride and staring, I instantly looked away and hurried for the door. I entered and made my left turn, and then became distracted all over again. The door to the gym was open, providing another view of the beauty within. I simply couldn’t help but gawk.
When he moved to a punching bag, a thought occurred to me.
I cleared my throat, and Brock stopped his workout and turned toward me. A slow smile crossed his face, making my stomach drop an inch or two. The sweat glistening on his tanned skin and dripping down the crevice between his abs made my mouth dry.
“Good morning,” he said, as kind as could be, as if he’d forgotten his rude departure last night.
“Good morning,” I said, trying to return the warmth, mostly because I had a favor to ask. I hesitated, though, after remembering just how bipolar he’d been with me.
“Did you forget how to find Mom’s office?” His tone remained kind, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he was teasing me. Arrogant jerk.
“Um … actually, I saw you doing the martial arts thing and was wondering where you learned it.” That sounded stupid and not at all what I was thinking. “I mean, I was wondering where I might be able to learn.”
He walked toward me a few steps and crinkled his forehead. “You want to learn martial arts?”
I pulled the book I’d brought back closer to my chest, hugging it. “More like self-defense?”
His gaze skipped over my tiny frame, and he nodded. “Probably not a bad idea.” His eyes returned to my face as the corner of his lip lifted. I didn’t know if he was about to smile or smirk. With him, it could easily be either. “I could teach you a few moves. I don’t have a lot of time to give lengthy lessons, but there are really only a few things you need to know to protect yourself.”
I stared at him for a long moment, not knowing at first if he was truly offering this or was about to do another one-eighty on me.
“Tomorrow evening,” he said when I didn’t respond. “Mom’s always dying for time with Connor by five-thirty, so how about then?”
“It’s not exactly what I meant,” I said, still skeptical. “I meant lessons … at a gym … after I get paid, of course.”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Save your money. I can teach you everything you need to know, in this gym. No charge. Consider it a Christmas present.”
“A Christmas present? We just met. And I already owe you for getting me this job and my apartment. What ever could I give you in return?”
The corners of his mouth jumped upward, and his eyes sparked. “I’m not worried. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
I pressed my lips together, but after another long moment of consideration, I nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow after work.” I glanced down at the book in my arms. “Oh, and this isn’t mine. Maybe it’s your mom’s or dad’s.”
I placed the book on the top of a small shelf unit by the door that held some towels. Before his warm and helpful attitude became icy again, I hurried off, not wanting to be late. Decked in greens and all kinds of beautiful Christmas decorations, the house barely looked the same as when I’d first been here, but I found Hope’s office, where she greeted me with loads of excitement and a mile-long to-do list.
My first day went as well as first days could go. At one time not so long ago, rubbing elbows with a celebrity would have had me gushing, but I wasn’t like that any longer. Still, I kept catching myself in awe that I was spending my day with Hope Verdor. It wasn’t so much her fame that awed me as much as the actual job itself. In truth, Hope Verdor wasn’t a household name. She was a New York Times bestseller and many romance fans would know her and all of her books in an instant. Even some readers of other genres might. However, she was no Stephen King or J.K. Rowling. But working behind the scenes with a bona fide author thrilled me way more than her celebrity status.
It didn’t take long to realize just how much she needed me—the business side of an author was completely overwhelming, and she’d been drowning. I’d have fires to put out for weeks before we could ever start to bring everything under control. If I could pull it off, that meant job security, but by the end of my second day and my “appointment” with Brock, I was ready to work off some stress.
After I changed into shorts and my black Batman t-shirt, I met Brock in the home gym.
“Nice shirt,” he said with a smile as soon as I walked in. Once again, I didn’t know if he teased or meant it. After years of hiding the nerdy side of me, though, I proudly owned it now.
“Thanks,” I said with my own smile, smoothing my hand over my stomach.
“I took you for a Wonder Woman type, though.”
“I have one of those, too. And Superman.”
“Well, Batman’s better anyway. He has that badass edgy side to him that he uses for good.”
I shrugged. “That’s the only reason I like him. Otherwise, he’d be just another rich asshole breaking all the rules and getting away with it.”
He gave me a funny look, and then motioned toward the mats on the floor. We began by stretching.
“Besides the moves I’m going to teach you, the best thing you can do to protect yourself is make your body stronger,” he said as I sat on a mat and reached for my toes. “Do some strength training. You’re free to use this room whenever you’d like.”
I lifted my head enough to look around at the machines. I’d always been blessed with a thin body—or cursed, depending on how you looked at it—so I’d never had much use for such things. I’d gone to the gym at college maybe three times because a friend told me the stair-climber would make my butt rounder. She also told me I “glowed” when I sweat, which was a downright lie; I looked like a pig. So I never returned. That was before … when I cared about such things. Now the idea of being small but strong piqued my interest.
“I used to be skinny like you,” Brock said, his gaze raking over my body.
I snickered as I returned his examination with my own. “Really?”
“When I was twelve,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. Another jab at me. Although I wasn’t exactly stacked, he’d change his mind about my body looking like a prepubescent boy’s if he saw me dressed the way I used to, flaunting all I had. Like that would ever happen.
“Seriously. I was a scrawny little thing. I grew up as a book nerd. Total geek. But I was always getting picked on, so Mom put me in karate classes to start with. Besides reading, it became my second favorite thing to do. I’ve trained in all kinds of martial arts since then.”
I pulled myself up to sitting and then to my feet. “And that kept the bullies away?”
“Once I kicked a few of their asses, yeah. But it wasn’t until I bulked up that they really stayed away. They don’t even start when you’re bigger than them.”
I jutted a leg out and put my hands on my hips. “I’ll never be bigger than most men. I just need to know how to protect myself.”
“No, but I’m not talking about size and intimidation when it comes to you. I’m talking about giving yourself the best chance in any situation. The stronger you are, the more efficient and effective your kicks and punches will be. The faster you are, the more likely you’ll get away.”
He proved his point over and over as he showed me some basic self-defense techniques. Once I understood each move, we’d practice it with Brock using his size and strength more and more to his advantage each time. He was right: I could know how to do everything in perfect form, but someone bigger and stronger would always be able to overpower me. My best bet would be to run away, but I wasn’t exactly a fast runner. And I didn’t like the idea of running away. I wanted to be able to fight back. To kick a bully’s ass.
Of course, if I were ever in a situation again that required me to protect myself, I hoped adrenaline would give me a boost of unnatural strength. Working with Brock created quite the opposite effect. My muscles wanted to go soft, my bones wanted to melt, and my whole body wanted to surrender to his demands, especially if it meant we’d end up with him on top of me. It took every bit of concentration I had to remain focused on fighting back, because every time he touched my skin, a distracting warmth pulsed through my body.
And that’s how I ended up on my back with Brock on top of me, his mouth only an inch away from mine.
I hadn’t been paying attention, and he’d twisted me around, hooked his leg around mine, and toppled us both to the floor. He caught himself on his forearms before his full weight fell on me, his breath hot on my lips as his dark eyes caught mine for only a moment. The next thing I knew, his body pressed fully on mine, and our lips locked.
An unrecognizable feeling swept through me—the feeling of true pleasure. A tingling sensation that rippled from our joined lips, across my jaw, down my neck, over my breasts, and into the pit of my stomach. All thoughts left my mind, leaving it numb. All I knew was that I wanted more. More of this feeling. More of this man. More of the taste that his heady scent promised. My lips parted, Brock’s tongue gently prodded, and mine met it, tasted it, tangled with it. I reached my hands into his hair. My boobs ached with a new heaviness, and my nipples hardened against my sports bra, little marbles against his chest as I pulled him closer. The tingling grew as our mouths melded, becoming a ball of heat in my stomach that surged through my body and out to his. I suddenly felt like I might explode from my own body. I needed air. I slipped my hands between our chests and pushed on Brock’s. He sprang backward at the same time, already feet away that felt like miles.
Our eyes held each other’s as we stared for a long moment.
“I’m sorry,” we both said.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said.
“This can’t happen,” I said at the same time.
Yet the energy between us remained charged. An electrical connection I’d never felt before that kept me from taking anything more than the shallowest of breaths. Brock’s broad, cut chest lifted as he also seemed to have trouble breathing. Not until he pushed his hands through his thick, dark hair and looked away, breaking the lock of our gazes, could either of us catch a breath. My heart finally slowed. Brock stood and held his hand out to me, but I had a feeling touching him again wouldn’t be a good idea. I rolled to my knees and stood on shaking legs. I pressed my hand to my quivering belly and strode for the door.
“Asia,” Brock said, stopping me in the doorway, although I didn’t turn around. “I like you. A lot. I just can’t do this right now.”
I closed my eyes, and then snorted. “It’s not you, it’s me—did you really just say that?”
“It’s true, though. My life—it’s too complicated right now.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “Don’t worry. I can’t do this either. Not with you, especially. Let’s just agree it was an accident. It won’t happen again.”
“Agreed,” Brock said from behind me, and I didn’t know if I imagined the hurt in his voice, or if it was real.
It didn’t matter. I had to get out of here. Without a look back, I rushed out of the room and the main house, across the back yard, and up the steps to my apartment. My hand shook as I fumbled to get the door open. Not until I was inside the dark apartment, my back pressed against the door, could I finally breathe again. Once my heart settled, I immediately headed to the bathroom, stripping as I walked, and stepped into the coldest shower I could stand.
I tried to remove all thoughts of Brock, his hard body, and the heated charge between us from my mind, but I couldn’t erase the memory of how it all felt. I thought what I’d had in the past, especially with Drew, had been nothing more than lust, but that paled in comparison to the desire I felt for Brock. A deep-seated need that penetrated through every cell of my body, perhaps even into my soul. A lust like no other. And that’s all it could be.
Needing a distraction, I sat on the couch in my short pajama shorts and a tank top, crossed my legs, and opened my laptop. Facebook was still open in my browser, so I took a peek to see if anything was new. Another message from that Kami girl waited:
“I know we met only a couple of times, but I’m pretty sure you’re the Asia I know. We met first at the support group on campus. I think it was your first time then, and I didn’t go back after that. But then before you left, we ran into each other at the coffee shop. You said you were taking a break from classes and headed out of town. You had everything packed up in your Camaro. If this is you, I hope you’ll accept my friend request. I think we can both use a good friend, right?”
The memory of the girl with the long, brown hair and sad blue eyes filled my mind. The day I left Boston and headed south to Florida, we’d literally run into each other, both of us spilling coffee down our arms. By then, we both appeared normal from the outside—your typical college girls—but we were destroyed on the inside. I knew I was, of course, and I could feel it in her. See it in her eyes. Something unspoken had passed between us the first time we’d met, but neither of us had done anything about it. We hadn’t seen each other again until that moment and something told me to take a minute to sit down and chat with her before rushing off to the new life I needed to start.
I confirmed her friend request and was able to see her pictures. Definitely the same girl, although the most recent photo showed a spark of life in her eyes I’d never seen before. Was that what she’d been thanking me for? I wished I could remember what I might have said that seemed to have changed her life. I’d just finished typing a reply out to her and closing my laptop when a knock sounded on my door.
My heart stopped as I took in the sight on the other side. Brock had apparently showered, too, his dark brown hair still damp and standing up in towel-dried spikes. He wore nothing but jeans—his chest and even his feet bare, just like the day I’d met him. My mouth immediately felt like the desert. When his eyes skipped down my body, I had to swallow and cross my arms over my chest. My nipples pressed into my arms through the thin material of my tank top, and by the way his eyes tightened and his tongue slid over his lips, he’d obviously noticed now that I wasn’t exactly built like a twelve-year-old boy.
“I, uh …” He cleared his throat and locked his eyes on my face with a focus that felt forced to
keep his gaze from wandering again. “I know you said this isn’t yours, but it’s not mine, although when I tried to get rid of it, it appeared on my dresser in my room, and I just have to be sure it’s not yours because the damn thing is driving me crazy, especially because I can’t open it to find out where the hell it came from …”
He trailed off as I stared at him and blinked. He must have realized he’d been babbling. He thrust the leather-bound book at me, and I had no choice but to take it. Needing to break my gaze from his, I looked at the book in my hands, studying the clasp. There was no hole for a key, not that we had a key, but no way to jimmy it open with a paperclip or anything.
“Did you, um, try cutting it?” I asked, turning my back to him and walking the four steps to the kitchen, feeling the heat of his eyes on me the whole time. I opened a drawer and pulled out a knife.
“With scissors and a knife. Nothing will cut through that leather.”
I spun around, surprised to find him inside my apartment and the door closed. My heart rate ratcheted up several notches. He seemed to fill the entire living room. His eyes darted to the knife I held, pointed toward him. With a difficult breath, I placed the book on the counter and tried to saw through the leather. He was right. I couldn’t even nick it.
I turned back toward him and tried to give a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t know. Are you sure it’s not your mom’s or dad’s or anyone else’s?”
He took a step closer to me. I swallowed hard and stepped back, pressing my lower back into the counter. Our eyes locked.
