by Reese, Jenn
"Ian," she said.
"Yes?"
"Close the door."
CHAPTER 9
Ian took a step back and closed the door without removing his gaze from Shan. The hair on his head stood up in its trademark disarray.
"It's late," he said.
"Yes." Shan pulled back the covers and slid her feet onto the floor. She stood, feeling every bit as sexy in her oversized cotton nightshirt as she had in the silk gown.
"We both need sleep."
"Yes." Shan padded toward him.
"You have an appointment in the morning."
Shan stopped inches in front of Ian and looked up into his eyes. "One kiss."
Ian's gaze wandered down her face, her neck, her body. "Just one?" he croaked.
"Just one," Shan said. "Then we go to separate beds."
Ian gulped and nodded, still tracing her curves with his stare. "One kiss. Then bed. Got it."
"Do you?"
Shan brought her body even closer to his and mirrored his pose. Their fingers wavered a mere inch apart. Their forearms, their biceps, their shoulders. Her chest brushed against his, cotton on cotton. Their hips and thighs and knees, separated by just inches of flimsy, inconsequential air.
Keeping her eyes locked on Ian's, Shan brought one hand up to his face. She brushed the tips of his hair, his eyelid, the side of his nose, the corner of his mouth. She drew a long, thin line down the length of this throat and heard him groan.
Energy surged through her body. Her fingertips tingled, feeling like they would spark against his flesh. Ian's face softened around his mouth, but grew yet more intense around his eyes. Deep, shadowed secrets lay within, and Shan wanted to explore.
She brought her lips to his, but didn't touch him. Not yet. She wanted him to feel the chi leaping between them, drawing them closer. Driving them mad.
Ian growled deep in his throat and turned his head, careful not to touch their mouths together. The sooner they kissed, the sooner it would be over, and Shan didn't want that. But each heartbeat that kept her from that joining drove her closer to losing control and kissing him anyway.
Shan swallowed, her mouth dry. Every nerve ending in her body prickled. As she and Ian stood there, wavering, their bodies brushed each other and parted a dozen times.
More. She wanted more.
Ian's hand caressed the cotton at her waist and traveled upward, to her uninjured ribs. His thumb grazed the bottom of her breast and Shan gasped, her eyes wide. Ian stepped back, and Shan pursued. She led him to a wide chair, the one not covered in clothes. Still facing her, Ian braced himself on the chair's arms and sat.
Shan followed, putting one knee to the right of his thighs, the other to the left. Their legs pressed warmly against each other, their bellies flattened into one. Shan burned like a bonfire, dangerous and almost out of control. Her entire body felt consumed with flames, and each touch from Ian's body added more fuel to the fire.
Her face was higher than his. Shan gripped the back of the chair on either side of his head and stared into his eyes. An animal need stared back at her. Shan had no idea how they stayed so much in control with such elemental forces driving them to lose it.
She said nothing. She didn't need to.
Shan communicated only with her hands, her eyes, the parting of her lips. Ian answered by tilting his head, letting his eyelids slip almost all the way closed. It was an irrefutable language, more powerful, more meaningful, more primal than any involving words.
And they kissed.
Shan fell, spiraling into a deep abyss filled with explosions of light and color. Her heart thrummed in every vein. She sank against Ian, trying to join as much of their flesh as possible.
Ian moaned. His hand found the small of her back and pulled. Her mouth opened wider; his followed, lip against lip. The harder she pressed him, the longer it would last. If she tried, it might last forever.
Shan closed her eyes, lost in sensation, then forced herself to open them again. She found Ian's eyes staring back into hers, and wanted to roar.
His lips. The taste of his flesh. The smooth feel of his skin and his cotton shirt, rubbing against her.
Those impossible eyes in that impossible face.
How long did it last? Shan had no idea. Was it long enough? No. No. A world of no.
Shan felt their combined energy change its shape. Lust gave way to passion and, if possible, something new. Startled, frightened, Shan severed the gentle expanse of their kiss.
She studied his eyes, searching, as he studied hers.
Shan couldn't speak. Slowly, she stood up and released him from the chair. Her body felt strangely incomplete standing there by itself.
Ian rose to his feet, clearly incapable of words. He shook his head and smiled, the edges of his mouth twisting wryly. Shan managed a small smile in return, but was likewise without a voice.
One kiss? One kiss? What had she been thinking?
Ian wobbled slightly on his way to door and stopped to steady himself on the bedpost. It would be so easy to knock him backward onto the bed and finish what they had started. But the clock on the nightstand glared at her. It was almost three in the morning, and her appointment was for eight. If she touched Ian again, she'd get no sleep tonight. And she might damage her ribs further. And she might lose the next fight she was in. And maybe she'd be fighting to defend Ian.
Shan closed her eyes, breaking the intensity that flashed between them like lightning. She heard him move to the door and open it. After a second, she heard it snick closed again. He was gone.
Inside, however, her body continued to burn.
Shan escaped Dashell Manor early in the morning with Geof, leaving Ian to explain the sudden appearance of "Aunt Xia" to his parents. Ian could certainly handle the social awkwardness, and Xia could handle most physical threats in case One-eye showed up. Of course, now Shan had to worry that Xia would injure Ian, or Ian's father, or one of the servants. But her Sifu would probably show them the respect due to a host. As least Shan hoped she would.
Geof held the back door of the car open for Shan as she descended the huge staircase in front of the house. The comfy jeans and red, long-sleeved top she'd found on the clothes pile that morning fit perfectly and made her feel clean for the first time in days. Even the tailored wool pea coat looked good.
Shan walked up and closed the door.
"I'd prefer to sit up front, with you," she said. Geof nodded and went to open the other car door for her. "No, no," Shan said quickly, "I've got it." Geof simply smiled and let her.
Shan tucked herself into the car and fastened her seatbelt. She plied Geof with questions as he drove, and even got him to laugh a few times. By the time they arrived at the acupuncturist, they were in a heated argument.
"Jackie Chan, without question," Geof said.
"You've got to be kidding," Shan countered. "Yeah, he's an awesome stuntman, but all his training comes from the Peking Opera. I'd put money on Jet Li over Jackie any day of the week."
Geof snorted. "Have you actually seen any of his latest films?"
Shan laughed. "Oh, and Jackie Chan has been starring in Oscar-winners? But that's not the point."
"The point is," Geof said, "that we've arrived." He pointed to a pleasant ochre-colored building and pulled into one of the four parking spots out front. "I'll be here when you're finished."
Shan unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. "You're not going to be bored, are you?"
"Absolutely not. I've got some errands to run."
The acupuncturist, a young Caucasian woman named Dr. Kelly, confirmed Shan's diagnosis of one cracked rib and several bruised ones. The doctor went to work with her little steel needles while Shan dozed on the examining table.
"This isn't going to heal you completely," the doctor said. "Ribs take time."
"I know," said Shan, "but I heal quickly, so I'm hoping for the best."
The doctor felt Shan's pulse, studied the color of her tongue, felt the tempe
rature of her fingers and toes. Then she had Shan lay on the bed while she dabbed metal pins into the pressure points along the energy meridians running through Shan's body.
While the acupuncture pins redirected energy to her ribs, Shan's mind drifted to thoughts of her mother.
"Mother, why can't Father fight like you?" Shan stood in front of the shrine and ran her fingers around of the edge of the Jade Circle. Crane, leopard, snake, tiger, crane...and the dragon in the middle. Behind her, Lin-Yao practiced with broadsword. Shan turned and watched. Her mother moved like a silk dragon, smooth and deadly. But Shan was bored. Her mother was ignoring her, and her father wouldn't leave his musty old books. "Mother, why?" she whined.
Lin-Yao continued her practice. The springy blade of the broadsword wobbled with each move, the green sash tied to the handle whipping around like a tail. Soon, other women would fill the chamber. They would meditate before the jade animals, and they would practice the ancient ways. Shan should be practicing, too, but she didn't want to.
Shan's mother finished her sword form, bowed, and finally looked at her daughter. Shan found herself standing straighter immediately. Lin-Yao walked to the wall and hung the broadsword in its place.
"He does not fight because he does not want to, child."
Shan frowned. "But why?"
Lin-Yao smiled at her daughter, and Shan's heart melted. Her mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole Jade Circle. No, the whole world. "Because not everyone is the same, Shan," her mother said.
"I won't ever love someone who doesn't fight," Shan said, knowing her mother would disapprove of her tone. "I won't even be his friend."
Shan expected a rebuff, but her mother simply laughed.
"You are so young, my daughter. I think it impossible that I was ever your age."
Lin-Yao walked over and swept Shan into her arms. "My little tigress." Shan squirmed but didn't actually try to get away. "You will have many friends, child," her mother said, laughing, "and I will always be one of them."
When Shan and Geof returned to Dashell Manor a few hours later, Shan found all three Dashells in the backyard arguing about tea with Aunt Xia. Xia, for her part, looked as if she'd swallowed a rat. Ah, well, Shan thought with a smile, some friendships were simply not meant to be.
They had just a few hours before they needed to leave for the airport. Geof insisted she take all the new clothes, plus a new stack he had added.
Shan picked up the first glittery piece. "What's this?"
"Ian asked me to pick you up some formalwear, on the off chance you haven't five or six appropriate dresses at your flat in Los Angeles." Geof coughed politely. "The Ashton event is, apparently, black tie."
"Black tie?" Shan said stupidly.
"Apparently."
Shan stared back at the slinky dress in her hand, a sick feeling growing in her stomach. Geof let out one of his rare laughs. "Come now, Shan," he said. "You don't look like a woman who shrinks from danger, even of the deplorably aristocratic sort."
She grinned. His English accent made it impossible for her to be angry, even if she wanted to be. "Well, let's hope this dress doesn't shrink from it, either, or the aristocrats are in for quite a show."
"Everything's in," Ian said, slamming the trunk shut. He smiled, and Shan melted. They hadn't spoken about last night, but they were treating each other differently today. The flirting certainly hadn't stopped, but their stolen touches and lingering looks had taken on a depth that shook Shan to her core. Even standing here on the driveway with Xia and Ian's parents, she found her heart beating fast every time Ian looked at her, found her mouth dry and her skin tingling.
And found Xia snorting in disgust with almost every breath.
"I hope we see you again very soon, dear," Janet said to Shan, smiling. "Are you good with children? You look like you'd be good with children."
"Janet..." Mr. Dashell groaned.
Mrs. Dashell touched her husband's arm. "Now, shush, Henry. Shan knows that I'm just teasing. Right, Shan?"
"Of course, Janet," Shan said easily. Ian and his mother may have had issues, but Shan genuinely liked the woman. "And thank you again for Dr. Kelly. I'm feeling much better now."
Janet beamed.
"Okay, enough of this," Ian laughed. "If we don't flee now, we'll be sucked into dinner."
"Ooh, dinner!" said Janet Dashell. "You must stay!"
Somehow they managed to extricate themselves from Dashell Manor and make it to the airport. Mr. Dashell had insisted on buying their tickets to Los Angeles, and, of course, he booked them in first class.
Unfortunately, he assumed Shan would want to sit next to her "aunt" instead of Ian. She could just make out the top of his head three rows in front of her.
Sitting in the wide first class recliner, Xia looked even more like a child, especially because she kept her nose pressed against the window during much of the flight. At first, Xia had tsked and grumped at the incredible waste of space. By the second complementary glass of wine, however, her tune had changed somewhat.
"You have a school in Los Angeles?"
"Yes, Sifu," Shan said. "I named it The Way of the River."
Xia nodded. "I see. Is that tactic working?"
"Yes. We get women and a few men. They don't all stay, but at least they're the right type." Lydia, the real owner of the studio, had wanted to name it something like "Deadly Tiger" or "Golden Dragon" or "Invincible Fist." Something "cool," in Lydia's opinion. But the more dangerous the name of the school, the more attractive it looked to the wrong sort of people--the ones interested in tournaments and bragging rights and how fast they could get their black belt. "The Way of the River" implied a softer, more mental approach, which seemed to appeal more to women.
Shan understood why so many schools used different colored belts to mark status, but she wanted no part of that attitude in her school. Although it was proper to respect an elder and one who demonstrated great skill in something, all people were equal in her mind. Beginning students were still human beings. They didn't deserve to be treated like children just because they were brave enough to try something new late in life. Not all schools used the belt system, but many did. Shan didn't want her students to respect her, or each other, based on the number of stripes around her black belt. Bruce Lee had felt the same way, and, even after his death, most Jeet Kune Do students wore street clothes instead of uniforms to class.
"Sifu," Shan said, "how many of us are left?"
Xia shook her head. "I know what you know. Nothing. When Lin-Yao entrusted me with the dragon, I did not ask questions. I simply fled."
Shan heard something in Xia's voice. Guilt, if her own emotions were any clue. If they had all stayed and defended the sanctuary, would it still be standing? Would her mother still be alive?
Shan lost her taste for the conversation--and for her first-class soy-glazed salmon with rice pilaf.
"I would be honored if you would teach at my school, Sifu," Shan said. "The advanced students, of course."
"I prefer the beginners," Xia said, clearly as eager to leave their discussion of fallen comrades as Shan.
"I'm not sure the beginners are...ready for you, Sifu. Things are very different in the States."
Xia harrumphed and turned her back to Shan, presumably to look out the window. Only it was night. Shan took the hint and went back to playing with her food. If only she'd brought a book, or had even thought to buy a notebook and pen at the airport. Some day, Shan intended to make a record of all the Jade Circle techniques, forms, and philosophical teachings. If she and Xia died, the knowledge would be lost forever. Living artifacts, that's what they were. Suddenly, Shan felt far more tired than her twenty-eight years deserved.
They arrived at the airport in Los Angeles rumpled and exhausted from a day of inaction. The woman at the customs counter gave Shan some trouble about the jade crane, but ultimately let her pass. Within a half an hour, they were outside and waiting for Lydia at LAX's Bradley International terminal.
"So this is L.A.," said Ian. One side of Ian's hair was matted down from his long nap on the plane. Shan longed to scruffle it back to life.
"Smart boy," groused Xia. Her English wasn't nearly as good as her Mandarin and her French, but she managed.
"L.A.'s probably not going to wow you with its beauty," Shan said, ignoring Xia. "But it has an energy that I love. And an incredibly diverse population."
Xia grunted, but said nothing.
They waited almost thirty minutes before Shan began to worry. She left another message on Lydia's cell phone.
"Do you think something's happened?" Ian asked.
"I don't know," Shan said, "but we're sure as hell going to find out." Lydia, just twenty-one and already a dot-com millionaire, had a blindingly bright future ahead of her. If something happened to her...
"Taxi!"
Shan could barely sit still on the long ride back to the Valley. She tried to stretch a little in back of the taxi, but her muscles complained instantly. It wouldn't be safe to continue stretching until she had a chance to warm up and get the blood flowing through her system.
"Lydia's a martial artist, right?" said Ian. "She should be able to take care of herself." He sat in the front with the driver. Xia sat next to Shan, watching the world go by out the window.
"She's only been studying two, maybe three years," Shan said. "She can definitely defend herself from the run-of-the-mill mugger or aggressive date, but a trained killer like One-eye..."
"Right," Ian said. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it to the taxi cab driver. "And I'll pay for any tickets."
The driver grinned and hit the accelerator. Shan considered herself lucky if she could hit forty-five on any of the major highways during an L.A. rush hour, but this guy was good. He bobbed and weaved through the lines of traffic like a boxer in the ring.
"One-eye doesn't know where you live, does he?" Ian said.
Shan shook her head. "I certainly didn't tell him. But he and his boss managed to find the Fortiers in Chamonix and our sister Chen Sun in Moscow. I'm not sure what to think now."
