by Pamela Aares
“My dinner guest has arrived,” Martin said as he rose from his chair. He nodded to Sabrina. “I hope you enjoy your visit—you’re in good company,” he added over his shoulder as he returned to his table.
Sabrina sipped at her wine. “You’re selling your land?”
“In his dreams,” Kaz said.
Sabrina couldn’t help but notice the change in Kaz. He held his body stiffly, as if poised for battle. It didn’t surprise her—Martin Erickson seemed like a man not accustomed to being refused. She knew the type: men with big egos and visions to match. And she’d seen the twitch in Kaz’s jaw when he’d looked over at the woman who’d joined Martin. What man wouldn’t react? Even at a distance Sabrina felt the tug of the woman’s classic beauty. But Sabrina was more interested in the future of his farm. Selling off family land was unthinkable to her.
“Why would your father want to sell off acreage?”
Kaz fingered his knife, straightened it beside his plate and then let out a long breath. He reached for his wine glass.
“Our farm hasn’t turned a profit in many years.” He took a long sip of wine. “The market for delicate heirloom peaches grows smaller every year.”
He glanced over at Martin’s table. The other man stood and left. The woman looked at Sabrina and Kaz and then back to her meal. Sabrina didn’t miss the way the woman’s gaze rested on Kaz. There was history there, she could feel it.
“The market doesn’t care that my family planted our orchards decades ago,” Kaz said as he turned back to Sabrina. “Back then the taste and quality of a fruit mattered more than its suitability for long-distance travel.”
The defeat in his eyes surprised her. She hadn’t imagined anything could daunt him.
“We buy fruit from small growers,” she said. “Alex orders it online and it’s shipped to us directly. You could build a market of people who want the real deal, people who want a peach to taste like a peach. They’ll pay for it.”
“We’re farmers, not marketing experts.”
“But you could change that. Move away from how it’s always been done, develop a new market.”
Kaz took a sip of wine. “It took me four years to convince my father to get a computer. Only when my sister, Nariko, moved to LA and started using it to video phone him did he get the hang of it and begin to consider it a tool he could use.”
“There must be people in your circles who’d love to take this on,” she said. “It’d be a challenge. And the marketing people don’t have to live here.” She waved her hand to gesture to the street fronting the café. “A good team could organize sales and marketing from almost anywhere.”
His gaze darted behind her. She turned to see the woman from Martin’s table crossing the café toward them.
“Hello, Kaz.”
“Stacy,” Kaz said as he stood.
He had old-fashioned manners. Old-fashioned manners in a thoroughly modern body. He didn’t look pleased to see Stacy.
An awkward silence fell between them. Sabrina could feel the woman’s urge to reach out, to touch Kaz. Or was that her imagination making up stories? From the way Kaz shifted back, she thought not.
“This is Sabrina, my friend’s sister.”
“Hello,” Stacy said in a neutral tone that wasn’t cool but wasn’t welcoming either.
Sabrina had an eye for beauty, and she recognized that Stacy was stunning, although the lines around her eyes and the pallor of her skin told a story of recent troubles.
“I spoke with your grandmother,” Stacy said, looking back to Kaz before Sabrina could respond to her greeting. “Perhaps she forgot to give you my message.”
Kaz’s eyes flashed. “She doesn’t forget things. I’ve been tied up.”
“So I see,” Stacy said with a shallow smile to Sabrina.
Stacy’s smile told Sabrina all she needed to know. Kaz and Stacy had been lovers, or if not lovers, something pretty damned close. There was energy between them still. But Sabrina couldn’t read the look on Kaz’s face. And she hoped the ridiculous stab of jealousy sparking in her didn’t show in hers. He wasn’t her man, so she had no right to be jealous. And no right to pry.
“I’ll call you next week,” Kaz said in a flat tone.
“Sounds like ages away,” Stacy said. “But I can wait.” She flipped her hair back from her face. “Nice to meet you, Sabrina.”
Kaz sat back down, picked up his fork and stabbed at an asparagus spear. Sabrina watched Stacy stride back to join Martin. It probably irked Kaz that a woman who’d been his lover was sitting with a man he clearly didn’t like. But that was none of her business either.
Chapter Ten
The next morning Sabrina woke to a glorious sunlit day. Kaz hurried her through a breakfast of cold cereal and green tea and told her to change into lightweight clothing since the day was going to be a scorcher.
She returned downstairs wearing a thin tank top and shorts. He herded her out to a circular graveled area near a building with a curved, sloping tiled roof.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you later. We have work to do first.”
His words were clipped. He didn’t seem like the same man who’d laughed with her as they’d driven to the café the night before.
She’d dreamed of him. And though the nightmares hadn’t come, her dream of Kaz had possessed a haunting quality. She remembered only bits of it. He’d held her, the warmth of their naked bodies mingling as they’d floated against a billowing blue cloud. She’d touched him, and her fingertips pulsed with energy as she’d run them along the planed muscles of his chest. He’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back. No kiss had ever felt so sensual, so arousing, so right. But before she could reach for him again, a shock of dark energy had roared in and the physical force of it had torn her away from him. She’d called out his name as she fell back into the darkness. And then she’d heard a faint knocking sound coming toward her, louder and more insistent as it neared.
Only when she’d opened her eyes had she realized that Kaz was knocking loudly at her bedroom door, calling her to breakfast. She’d tried to recall more of the dream as she dressed, but to her disappointment, the sensual images had vanished.
Kaz secured the woven ropes onto a steel pole mounted between two wooden columns. The short-sleeved T-shirt he wore gave her a full view of his rippling biceps. Before now she’d only seen him in long sleeves. She’d known there were muscles under his buttoned-up cotton shirts—a pitcher couldn’t hurl fastballs without them. The T-shirt hugged his body, and she made an effort not to stare at the way the snug fit accentuated the muscles in his back.
Back. She’d never thought so much about backs and back bodies in her life. Still, she rather liked thinking about Kaz’s.
“Try this,” he said, turning to her and raising his arms over his head. “But take it slowly.”
Was she imagining the care he took not to touch her as he passed her the handles at the ends of the ropes? She grasped the handles and stepped forward, raising her arms. Halfway up, she winced when pain stopped her motion.
Kaz frowned.
He took the handles from her. And frowned again.
“I need to show you something,” he said as he stepped back and dropped the ropes. “I’ll write this sequence down for you later so you can practice it on your own, but for now, just mimic me.”
He held out one hand and tapped against the side of his palm with the fingertips of his other hand. She copied him.
He frowned again.
“No, like this,” he said. “Just below where your little finger meets your palm.”
She copied him again.
“Good. Now I want you to call up that scene from yesterday, the scene of safety.”
She shut her eyes, but what rose before her was the image from the dream, the feel of his lips on hers and the shock of being torn from him. Her eyes flew open.
“Sabrina, you have to concentrate.” He stepped next to her. “I’ll tap
you through this, like I did yesterday. But I want you to stay present, stay focused. This technique will help you more than you might imagine.”
“Is this a samurai technique? Alex said you used some ancient samurai techniques on him.”
“Your brother has a selective memory. But no, this is a trauma-dissolving technique. I learned it when I went to Indonesia to volunteer to help tsunami victims. It’s specifically designed to resolve post-traumatic stress that’s held in the body.”
“But I haven’t been traumatized,” she protested. “Not anything big anyway.”
He shook his head. “A man you don’t know attacks you, dislocates your shoulder, knocks you to the ground, and you sustain a concussion. I’d call that trauma.”
“I don’t want to think about all that. I’ve fought hard to put the experience behind me.”
“And trying to keep it locked up may be part of your problem. Physical events leave a residue. This technique releases the trauma, dissolves it, and erases the body’s memory. And it’s simple to learn. We were able to teach it to illiterate families and help them heal, help them move on from the horrors they suffered.”
He pressed his lips together. “But you are proving to be more of a challenge than the good citizens of Indonesia.” He tapped a finger against her temple. “Too much thinking.”
He was close. The sun blazed now. It was hot. Very hot. She detected the scent of his sweat, his maleness. The heat called not to her thoughts but to her body.
She swallowed and stepped back from him. Took in a breath. He held her in his gaze and she saw a flicker of…she wasn’t sure, maybe concern. Whatever it was, it vanished as he lifted his hand to the top of her head.
“Maybe I should sit down,” she said, feeling unsteady.
“No, you need to be on your feet. To stand. We’re going to teach you to stand in your power, Sabrina. Maybe not right at this moment, but before you leave. For now, we’ll do this. But I want you to stand.”
He’d said we; she wondered what he meant by it. And she wondered what standing in her power entailed. But before she could think more about either, he smoothed his palm against the top of her head and her thoughts dissolved into the awareness of his touch.
“This will be a tool for you. Shut your eyes and feel into the places I tap.”
She didn’t have to focus to feel the effect of his touch. It jolted energy into her in ways that shocked and surprised her. Thoughts rushed in, mixing with the energy his touch stirred, and fear swept over her.
“Don’t think, just feel,” he said, as if he knew the movements of her mind.
He tapped the top of her head as he had the previous afternoon. Then he tapped above her eyebrow, gently and rhythmically. His fingertips moved to tap beside her eye, then under it, then gently above her upper lip. Her thoughts melted away as he tapped below her lips, just above her chin, and the delicious sense of peace she’d felt the day before blossomed in her.
“Raise your arms,” he said in a low tone. “Halfway, not into pain.” His voice sounded distant.
She raised her arms.
He tapped at the side of her ribs; the delicate pressure nearly tickled. Then his hand brushed against the bottom of her breast. Her pulse sped up as sensation flooded her. It was all she could do to keep her eyes closed. His fingers found a spot just below her breast, between her ribs. Heat rushed through her, then settled as he kept up the gentle, hypnotizing rhythm. He moved his hand to her side and took hold of her palm, turning it to tap the spot he’d first shown her.
As if a gentle breeze swirled in her, through her, her body swayed, relaxed, and she floated in a pool of peace. Then she became aware that he’d stopped tapping. When, she hadn’t noticed.
She took a breath and opened her eyes. He stood several feet from her.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m… I’m not sure.” She moved her arms. Her injured arm moved more freely and there was less pain. “Better. Odd.”
“Yes.”
He leaned against the wooden column. Beside him the ropes swung in the light breeze that stirred the cloying heat.
“I couldn’t stand in front of power hitters, knowing the ball comes off a bat at a hundred and twenty miles per hour, if I didn’t use this technique and a few others. Hitters can tell if a pitcher fears them. Keeping fear out of my body is one of my most important practices.”
Fear.
She hadn’t imagined him being afraid of anything, but now that he’d mentioned fear, she felt the urge to tell him about the nightmares. But they weren’t real. And he’d think she was nuts. She shifted, lifted her hair off her neck. The heat that he’d fired left tension and insistent, puzzling desire in its wake.
As she slid her gaze to his, she caught him staring.
“That’s enough for now.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded toward the stone building. “I can show you the shrine, if you’d like.”
Though questions poured into her head, she held them back. “I’d like to see it.”
Kaz had to duck to enter the open doorway of the rustic structure. The three walls were built of river stones, and a small altar stood along the back wall. The aroma of incense infused the room with the scent she’d come to associate with him. Now Sabrina knew why.
A tiny portrait hung above the altar, and above that a sword rested in a mount much like the one in her family’s game room. Several meditation cushions were neatly stacked along the wall to her right. Other than those objects, the room was bare.
“Is this where you trained?”
He shook his head. “I trained out there, in the circle we were standing in.”
“Was that your grandfather’s?” She pointed to the sword.
“Yes. And now it’s mine. The owner of the sword takes on the vows and responsibilities of the previous owner. That’s why these shouldn’t be collected as they are, shut away and never used.”
“What do you use it for?” She’d seen the movies—the swords were weapons, used in battle.
“I use it to train my body. And in ritual, to train my mind.”
“I’d like to see that,” she said, knowing she shouldn’t be asking. It was the same as if he’d asked her to act on cue. But she wanted to see him wield the sword.
“Consider it part of your training,” he said, surprising her.
He bowed before removing the sword from its bracket and slipping it out of the case that covered the blade. He then bowed again to the portrait of his grandfather.
She followed him out to the smooth gravel circle.
“This sword was forged in the traditional way, maybe three hundred years ago. The sword you have at Trovare is even older.”
He raised the sword and moved it with an S-like motion, sweeping it over his head and then back down to his waist. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought that he and the sword were one entity. No stuntman she’d seen had ever moved like Kaz. And though she and Alex had often sparred with fencing foils, had both competed and won awards when they were younger, they’d never moved with the focused calm and efficient motion that Kaz displayed.
“Now you try it.”
He held the sword out to her, the hilt resting in one palm and the tip end in the other.
She took the sword from him. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked, maybe three pounds.
“The sword is said to hold the soul of the samurai who wields it. Put your soul into it, Sabrina.”
She raised the sword with both hands and whirled. The sword, though not heavy, drew her full circle, as if it had a life of its own. But more astonishing, she realized she’d raised her injured arm. Used her injured arm.
Giddy with joy, she lowered the sword and hugged Kaz. “Alex was right: you are a wizard.” She tilted her face to look up at him, felt his heart beating against her chest.
He didn’t pull away. His heartbeat raced, matching her own. What had begun as a joyous, spontaneous hug had quickly changed. His eyes searched hers.
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She rose to her tiptoes, wrapped her free arm around his neck and drew his head toward hers.
And relived the kiss from her dream.
He slid one hand down her arm and freed the sword from her hand. Then he wrapped both his arms around her back. She felt the hilt of the sword press into the small of her back as he pulled her closer, as he teased her lips open and tasted, his tongue stroking a trail of heat and fire. She began to tremble, but she wasn’t cold. He moved his hands to her waist, and the blade of the sword pressed against her hip. He broke the kiss, steadied her and pulled away.
“I apologize,” he said, shoving his free hand into his hair and taking another step back.
“You don’t need to apologize for something as sweet as that,” she said.
Kaz sheathed the sword.
Sweet? His balls were rocked nearly to his teeth and she called it sweet? One of them was deluded. Likely it was him. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He’d crossed a boundary he’d sworn he wouldn’t.
The sound of the gong reverberated from the house, which meant his grandmother had returned a day early. Maybe she’d seen them and sounding the gong was her face-saving way of announcing her return.
Sabrina hadn’t moved. Her eyes were glassy, her lips red. He resisted the urge to kiss her again. He’d known she’d be trouble, but not this kind of trouble. She tested him in ways he’d never anticipated.
“We should head back to the house. You are about to meet my grandmother.”
Sabrina smiled. It was a smile he had no idea how to read, but if the fire in his groin meant anything, he’d better put some distance between them. Fast.
“Like I said, we should head back.”
He strode into the shrine, aware of her watching him. He placed the sword back in its bracket and then together they walked silently back up the path. About a hundred yards from the house, he stopped.
