by Leigh Morgan
“So what’s it going to be, Ms. Campbell-Mohr, sex? Chocolate? Your wish is my command, my lady.” It was killing him to say that. What he wanted was to throw her over his shoulder and take her to his room, get her out of that dress Finn lent her that was cut way to low and cinched way too tight, and make love to her until neither of them could stay awake any longer.
“That’s the second time in the last fifteen minutes that I’ve been asked what I want like someone else can make my every dream come true.” She smiled, a sad smile and then seemed to collapse inside herself.
“What I’d really like right now is a t-bone, medium rare, a twice baked potato with extra-sharp cheddar, some steamed and buttered green beans, still crisp, and a Petite Syrah to wash it down. I’d also like a bath and an old, long well-worn t-shirt that smells like your cologne. Then I’d like to cuddle in and watch Love Actually so I can remind myself that the best love comes to those under twelve and over ninety. Then I’d like to eat a big slice of dark chocolate cake with French silk frosting and fall asleep in your arms.” Taryn looked up at him with no artifice, only a semi-platonic yearning that wasn’t going to get him laid. “I’d like to fall asleep wearing your shirt with you holding me.”
Damn. For a man with nothing but a night of frustration ahead of him, Jesse found himself more aroused than he could remember being since he graduated from high school.
“I don’t wear cologne.”
“I’ll take the shirt you’re wearing under that tuxedo shirt.” She shrugged. “As long as I can smell you on it, it’ll do.” She cocked her head at him. “How many tuxedoes sd you own anyway?”
Jesse ignored her question. He didn’t want to engage in any conversation that had anything to do with what he was worth. He took too much heat from his family about that already. He didn’t need Taryn joining in.
“You can have my t-shirt after I feed you, but you’re gong to have to take it off me.”
The smile she gave him could only be described as beatific. “My pleasure.”
Groaning, Jesse grabbed her hand and took her home.
…
The remnants of bone, beans and potato peel sat on a plate on the floor. There wasn’t even a crumb of chocolate cake left. The bottle from his collection, which he purchased three years ago for five hundred dollars, and was now worth about twelve hundred, was two-thirds gone. Taryn fell asleep in his arms, her third glass untouched. Jesse held her, watched the remainder of her movie. She was right about the movie too. The best character was the boy. The second best, the old couple in the airport who had about two seconds of screen time.
Taryn never got her bath. She even fell asleep before she got that shirt that she wanted so badly. For the life of him, Jesse couldn’t figure out why he was content to just hold her. She let out a soft snore. Turning off the TV with the remote, he rested his head against the headboard, wondering just when it was he decided he was going to keep her. Her lips parted, she snuggled more deeply into his chest, and drooled on him. Jesse smiled, allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment.
You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Just like that old couple, I’ll be holding you while you drool all over me at ninety and hopefully a good decade after that.
An hour later Jesse undressed her, pulled his t-shirt, still warm from his body, over her and held her while wearing nothing but his boxers, his pendant and the heartfelt smile that having her near brought.
His eyes took in her curves but didn’t linger too long. He didn’t want to wake her, she needed her sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day for her, so would be the nine after that. She was going to hate him before the week was out. There wasn’t much hope for a different outcome and he wouldn’t risk her safety to achieve one if in fact that was possible.
Jesse held her through the night, enjoying the small sounds she made and her ready hand reaching out to him every time he shifted position. It was as if she wanted to keep touching him, even in her sleep. As the first streaks of midnight purple turned to orange in the early morning sky, Jesse slipped his pendant from his neck and gently eased the chain around hers. The pendant was longer on her, reaching the length of her breasts. It was a daisy. The only tangible gift he had from his birth mother.
He kissed the top of her head, cringing again at the purpling of her temple, steeling himself for the week and a half he’d be away from her, hoping she’d forgive him once it was over. It had to be done.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He whispered against her hair, softly kissing her head again. “Forgive me.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Taryn awoke in an unfamiliar room, bathed in her dream lover’s scent, an equally unfamiliar weight around her neck. She pulled at the thick chain. It was sterling, handmade by the weight and feel, comprised of woven links. It held a pendant bigger than a nickel but smaller than a quarter, made of eighteen carat gold and sterling. Taryn held it up to the light. It was heavy and solid, the sterling tarnished with sweat and age and gold petals that could never be dulled by either. The pendant was a daisy, happy and glittering bright, obviously worn, and at one time Taryn was willing to bet, owned by a woman. It wasn’t the kind of thing a man would chose for himself, especially not one as blatantly masculine as Jesse.
When she’d heard him whisper, she’d been in that easy place, where dreams still held sway yet managed to incorporate elements from the waking world, spinning them into a silken web of dream-wake reality that blended the best of both. Forgive me, she’d heard him say as he placed the necklace over her head. Was this his version of a birthday or wedding gift? Taryn vaguely remembered its warmth as Jesse fished it under her…ah…his shirt that she was snuggled into. And just when had she started thinking of what happened yesterday as a wedding?
I’m losing my blooming mind.
There was a noise in the room and suddenly the heavy drapes were being dragged back, letting the full light of day hit her square in the face. Squinting, one hand attempting to shade her eyes, Taryn saw Shannon O’Shay standing in the middle of the room, smiling evilly, brandishing a kitchen ladle. Then the real pain began.
Ladle in one hand, cast iron skillet in the other, Shay began banging like a demon escaped from Hades. When she buried her head under the pillow the obnoxious sound momentarily stopped only to be replaced with the over-bassed blaring of the theme from Rocky. Taryn grabbed the closest thing she could from the side table, a rock paper-weight with painted flowers and hearts on it, and threw it in the general vicinity of the offending sounds.
“Turn that foul crap off and get out of my room before I gut you like the pig you are, O’Shay.”
Shay flipped off the stereo. She peeked out from under the pillow, watching warily as he strode to the side of the bed, way too cheerful for the earliness of the day. When he reached her side he smacked her cover strewn bottom.
“Gutting is exactly what you need to learn, so get your lazy tail out of bed, general. It’s time to ascend to your tower and get locked in for the next-”
Shay looked at his watch. “-nine days, twenty-two hours and thirty-four minutes. Oh, you dented Jesse’s favorite 1880’s spittoon with that paperweight, but otherwise did no damage. Aim’s a little off, I’d say.”
Taryn sat up. “What are you talking about?”
“Besides the fact that you can’t throw and you can’t gut?”
Taryn looked around for something else to throw at him. In fairness, her eyes were covered the last time. Shay grinned like an evil four decade old leprechaun who hadn’t found his rainbow or his pot of gold yet but was having the time of his life bedeviling everyone in his path until he did.
“You are about to learn the fine art of kicking tail and taking names. Of course it’s going to be painful since you don’t have much time and you’re hopelessly out of shape, not to mention, entirely unskilled. So there you have it. You are going to learn how to defend yourself.” Shay held up a hand when she opened her mouth to cut him off. “That’s it. That’s all.
You have no choice, so get moving.”
She wasn’t out of shape. She walked five miles a day and lifted weights. So what if she enjoyed her food a bit more enthusiastically than every other female she knew. Who was he to say she was out of shape? Okay, so one could probably bounce quarters off Shay’s well defined and overly muscled stomach. Still, he had no right to say she was out of shape. Did Jesse think so? Oh God, Taryn thought, as the realization swept through her that she was naked under his shirt. He’s seen me and found me wanting.
Blood rushing in her ears, Taryn shouted at the inked Irishman from hell. Suddenly she hated him and every other fantastic bit of male eye candy that could grace the cover of Fitness Today. “Get out of here O’Shay before I find a way to slice off your head. Right now I hate you…I hate mornings…I hate bad ‘70s boxing music, and I’m beginning to hate this place.” Taryn was screaming by the time she got to the bit about the music, which was a lie, because she’d always been a Rocky fan. Still, she’d worked herself into quite a state and she wasn’t done yet.
“I hate that I can’t beat you, and Jesse, to a bloody pulp for leaving me to your tender mercies.” Taryn threw a pillow at Shay’s head. It fell short, just like her insults.
Shay bent down, picked up something white and neatly folded from the bottom of the bed, that hadn’t been there last night, and tossed it two handed like an expert basketball player passing a ball, hard, fast and right on target. It hit her in the face before she could duck or block.
“Pathetic.” Shay said, shaking his head at her, grin still splitting his irritatingly handsome face. “Anger is good, grasshopper, but you’re all talk. You can’t even block cotton coming at you from six feet away.” The grin fled and something in his eyes shifted. “Get your ass in gear, sister or I’ll take you to Sensei naked. Either way you’re going to meet him in ninety seconds. If I were you I’d put that gi on fast and hit the head. Clock’s a ticking.”
Taryn looked at Shay a moment trying to weigh his words and his determination. Shay wore a shroud of self-assuredness that seemed to be emblematic of the men who populated this fairyland. In the short time she’d spent here, Taryn had grown to hate it. Mostly because she was quickly learning that when Jesse or Shay or Jordon, for that matter, got that particular look in their eyes, they meant exactly what they said and nothing under heaven would stop them from following through with whatever promise they made.
Taryn jumped out of bed, ran her hands through her tangled hair, and quickly untied the red ribbon holding the pajama-like outfit that Shay threw at her face. The cotton held Jesse’s scent, just like his shirt. Taryn held it to her face, inhaling deeply.
“Thirty seconds.” Shay said, not bothering to leave the room.
“Turn around.”
He raised a brow, but he turned. “I can hear every move you make so don’t even think about trying to brain me again.”
Taryn stopped thinking and started moving. She set aside the red ribbon, pulled the t-shirt over her head, grabbed her bra and panties, that were each nicely folded and placed on the chair in the corner, and put them both on. The gi pants followed. They were self explanatory. She pushed her arms through the tunic like top, but she couldn’t figure out how to tie it or the belt that went with it.
“Fifteen seconds.”
“Oh shut up, hard ass. I can’t figure out how to tie this damn thing.” Taryn said, feeling browbeat and worse than that, hopelessly inept. “Help me or go away.” Taryn picked up the cast iron skillet. She’d had enough of feeling like a victim in the last twenty-four hours to last a lifetime.
“I don’t need to be a ninja to send you to hell, Shannon O’Shay.” She said, holding her weapon like a baseball bat. It was heavy and he could probably disarm her, but not before she broke something. “I am sick to death of the overbearing, over-the-top-macho-crap from you people. What makes you think you’re entitled to run roughshod over us mere mortals?”
Taryn was on the ground before her brain registered he’d moved. The skillet skidded across the room, no mean feat considering its weight. Shay looked down at her, letting her feel his weight, not the least bit sexual or threatening other than cutting off her ability to take more than exceptionally shallow breaths. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t being condescending. In fact, Taryn could best describe the emotion in his gray eyes as empathetic. His words, however, were not.
“Lesson number one: Never ‘talk’ about using a weapon. If you pick up a weapon or have one in your possession, use it, hard and fast. Never threaten, especially when your enemy is stronger or better trained than you, or in this case, both. Strike and then run, or just run. Don’t talk, just do.” As soon as he was done with his lesson Shay jumped off of her, pulling her up with a quick jerk that hurt her shoulder.
He tied the strings of her gi without further comment. Taryn memorized his quick, efficient movements since she didn’t want to have to ask for help getting dressed again. Shay picked up the white belt from the bed. He looked her in the eye, hit her right shoulder hard from the front at the same time hitting her left shoulder from behind, spinning her so fast it made her dizzy. Shay wrapped his arms around her waist, wrapping the long span of white cotton canvas around her starting at her belly button with the mid-point, wrapping the ends around to the front, the left over right and right over left until she had a knot tied tightly just below her navel. Taryn’s face flamed at being tossed around like a six foot ragdoll, humiliated beyond belief at having to accept help from a man she would have willingly smucked a few seconds ago. No way would she ask him for help again.
Before she could fully complete that thought, Shay spun her around again, fast and furiously, holding her still with a grip on her shoulders so she couldn’t escape.
“Does this little demonstration have a point?”
Shay shook her.
Taryn narrowed her eyes at him and growled.
Something like respect flashed across his face and was gone faster than the time it took to spin her. She hated that. She also hated Jesse for leaving her to the tender mercies of this man and his ‘lessons’.
“Lesson Two: Know your limitations.” Again his voice was without malice, without condescension, just a calm, emotionless recitation of information.
Taryn inclined her head slightly, acknowledging Shay’s point. She didn’t lie to herself intentionally and, in Taryn’s experience, when an adversary is right, fighting the knowledge instead of acting on it is simply a waste of time. Even so, she decided she would no longer accede to this particular adversary.
Her chin jutted up and her eyes narrowed. Taryn took a deep breath that expanded her chest as she rolled her shoulders back. She said nothing, simply willed him to understand her intent. Her body might not have been up to the challenge yet, but her will sure as hell was as strong as his. Next time we reenact this little scenario we’ll see who lands on top, asshole.
Sensei Schwartz turned off the camera feed to his newest student’s room and prepared for her imminent arrival in Jesse’s third floor dojo. Taryn Campbell would make a fine student, Sensei thought.
She has the spirit of a Samurai. A fine start.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dagmar Alexander had never been farther west in the States than Boston, the harbor and wharf areas to be precise. She was unprepared for the vastness of the country in general or the specific beauty of Wisconsin in particular. She and her father, Seamus, traveled from Boston by rental car, first to Bar Harbor, Maine, which she loved and Seamus found amusing, mostly because of the accents. While there, Dagmar purchased some lovely tourmalines she intended to use in some of her new designs when she got home.
She called Magnus earlier in the week, informing him that she and Seamus would be stopping in Boston first, spending a few days sightseeing there, before they’d fly into Chicago. Magnus was busy checking out art schools while he stayed with a ‘friend’ Mari had never met just south of Milwaukee. He wanted to stay for something called Summerfest. He’d also someh
ow managed to secure a twelve week internship at the Milwaukee Art Museum.
When Mari talked to him on the phone last evening, Magnus seemed almost giddy with excitement, telling her that the museum’s chief curator was interested in carrying some sterling pieces that he’d designed for their Orkney collection of jewelry, in the gift shop. He was even more excited to be planning a special Celtic jewelry exhibition, which was to include modern, vintage and ancient pieces, as well as reproductions. All replicas would be for sale in the art museum’s gift shop as well.
She wasn’t sure how any of that was going to be figured out by a twenty year old, especially her twenty year old, with his poet’s soul and newly found wandering heart. Magnus had always been more interested in staying within a hundred kilometers of Scotland. Now, he found a friend and suddenly her entire family was in the States for an extended holiday. Not that she minded. She loved her time here, but she missed having daily contact with Magnus and she was worried by his out of character need to explore the world on his own.
“Where are we go’n, Mari-girl? This GPS contraption is taking me around in circles and I haven’t seen a house since we turned off the county road onto this unmarked road. We’re supposed to be looking for the country, whatever that means.”
“Magnus said his mate’s house was in the country. I guess this is the country, Dad.”
It was a lovely summer morning. They had the windows down and the scent of freshly mowed grass teased Mari’s nostrils with its earthy fragrance. She’d noticed lawn care was a big deal here in the Midwest. Everyone seemed to be out cutting their lawns to what appeared to be an agreed upon and uniform length. She thought the English were garden obsessed.
A large pond came into view as they passed a hand painted sign that read: Potter’s Woods: Alternative Healthcare & Wellness. Mari bolted up in her seat and hit her father’s shoulder. “Stop, stop, stop. Daaaddd…stop.”
