by Nancy Gideon
"Buenas noches, Miss Tessa."
"Hola, Rose." She slipped into the seat across from the girl and her fickle pet. Her glance touched on the empty chair at the head of the table. "Where's Mr. Jack?"
"He is making some phone calls. He said he would join us soon. Must be important business for him to miss Aunt Connie's vindo depescado. It's a fish stew she cooks on the grill and is his favorite."
"Must be important," Tessa agreed. And most likely, it involved her.
A silent Constanza carried in a fragrant bowl and ladled up portions for the three of them while Rose chattered on about her day.
"I have been writing a report on tornadoes. Have you ever seen a tornado, Miss Tessa? Me neither, but winds knocked down some of our trees last year and took away our power for a week. They say one touched down just north of here. Would you like to read my report?"
"Rose, Ms. Tessa doesn't have time for that," Jack's smooth tone intruded. He slid into his seat and began to dish up his stew. "Smells great, Connie."
"Of course I have time," Tessa assured the crestfallen youngster. And immediately Rose perked up and attacked her dinner with enthusiasm. The poor lonely thing was as hungry for the attention as she was for the delicious meal. Both filled necessary parts of her growing body and soul. "You can show me after we finish eating." She glanced up. "If it's all right with Mr. Jack."
Jack waved his permission. He seemed distracted, no doubt by his telephone conversation, and spent the rest of the meal in silent thought. She understood his desire to keep such things from Rose but would that also apply to her? A man like Chaney dealt in secrets and knew how to keep them well. If he didn't consider her as need-to-know, she would never know. And she didn't like being kept out of the loop.
Once the meal was finished and Tinker was contentedly lapping up the remains, Rose caught her hand and tugged until Tessa followed her upstairs to her room. Was Jack's up here, as well? Tessa wondered, noting several other closed doors.
Stepping into the child's room was another refreshing surprise, like wandering unexpectedly into a jungle paradise. The wallpaper was bright topical colors, vivid green banana tree fronds and vines blossoming with splashes of yellow, orange and crimson. Toucans, spider monkeys, pythons and panthers frolicked on the dazzling canopy over the bed. The wall behind the bed was a mural of a waterfall complete with rainbow and brilliant birds in flight. Mobiles hung from the ceiling and the movement of air from the opening door had the egrets, flamingos and parrots dancing and wheeling around.
"You like?" Rose asked, delighted by her reaction. "Mr. Jack made it for me so I wouldn't miss home so much."
"Do you miss it?"
"Sometimes but not so much anymore. The time I was there is like these walls, pretty but not real."
And Tessa's heart softened to think Jack would expend so much effort to make a lost little girl less afraid.
What was Rose to the cold-eyed ex-operative? Why would her happiness matter so much to a man who preferred to keep the world at a careful distance? A more pertinent question would be, what had Rose's mother been to him? Obviously someone important enough to obligate bringing her child into his home, if not into his heart.
What kept Jack from loving the precocious little girl? Tessa couldn't believe it was disinterest. She had seen affection in his gestures and in his reactions before his self-protective mechanisms slammed into place. And how sad for Jack that he felt he had to hold himself away from caring about the one individual who so obviously adored him completely, without reservation.
Was that what his profession had taught him or was it something deeper, more personal? Such as the abandonment of his own mother?
Determined to give the girl the full benefit of her attention, Tessa perched on the edge of the canopy bed and listened with real interest as Rose read her report. The girl didn't just read. She taught. Tessa observed a future educator in the bud, one who would blossom beautifully with the right encouragement. Would she find it here, in this unconventional household where her only companions were a somber aunt, a taciturn guardian and a computer?
That computer, the link to her playmates and schoolmates, gave an impatient beeping from its place of honor on the far wall.
"I have a study group chat in five minutes," Rose announced, then appeared to struggle with a dilemma. She glanced at the nineteen-inch flat screen then at the living, breathing company seated on her bed, torn between the two.
Tessa smiled gently. "You have fun with your friends. I'll see you later."
That was all it took to send the girl bounding to her desk to hurriedly sort through her books and papers and switch on the screen.
Tessa slipped from the room unobserved and found her way back to the dining room. Jack was standing in front of the windows, cup of coffee in hand, staring out into the night. He heard her approach and waited while she poured a cup of fragrant brew for herself.
"She's a bright little girl," Tessa began as a neutral overture to conversation. But Jack wasn't in a conversational mood.
"It's not good for her to get too attached to you."
"Better that she be here all alone, detached from you?" She struck back, hurt by his not-so-subtle warning to back off.
"Rose is not your concern."
"Is she yours? Are you her legal guardian?"
She saw him flinch slightly and pressed ahead ruthlessly.
"How did you get her out of South America?"
"No one was there to miss her."
"So you just took her? You smuggled her in like some artifact or undeclared merchandise?"
"I gave her a home, something she wouldn't have gotten down there."
"Is this her home … or just someplace you let her stay?"
He looked at her then and the fury in his dark eyes was as palpable as a destructive force of nature. "That, again, is none of your business. Rose is my responsibility and I've seen to her every need."
"Except for love. Do you love her, Jack? How could you not? Or was it her mother that you cared for?"
His hand closed around her upper arms in a move so fast and unexpected it made her gasp. But it was his tone, low and icy, that frightened her.
"Look. I haven't butted in to your business. I haven't asked any awkward questions about your relationship with your family, have I? So have a little respect for mine or I'll send you packing so quick you'll be meeting that pretty little backside of yours on the way out. Understand?"
"Perfectly."
Whether prompted by her frigid reply or the realization that he'd stepped over the line, Jack released her with a final warning. "This is not your family or your house. You have no say in what goes on here. You have the right to an opinion and the right to keep it to yourself. Exercise it."
Exercise it.
The words burned in Tessa's brain as her stride gobbled up the five-mile run. She didn't look at Jack's delectable backside. Her stare skewered between his shoulder blades.
How dare he come on strong to her? Did he think to scare her? To intimidate her? Or was he just trying to bluntly put her in her place, a place that didn't involve living in his house, sitting at his table and daring to criticize his rules or, heaven forbid, break them? The omnipotent Jack Chaney, above reproach, beyond the reach of real emotion.
Well, she didn't want a place in his life nor did she want to wake up whatever might substitute for feeling within his ice-cold interior. She wanted to learn to stay alive. To not be afraid. To stay angry.
And she was still burning when they faced one another on the mats.
Jack was all competent instructor as he explained, "When you're in close with an opponent, body leverage should do most of the work in a basic takedown."
All calm and cool as if he'd never grabbed her. As if he'd never gotten in her face to issue a fierce ultimatum.
"Throw a punch."
With pleasure.
Jack parried her jab easily. His right hand caught the back of her neck, propelling her down into th
e pretend pump of his knee kick.
"Bring your left forearm under his right arm and bring it up to a twelve o'clock position. At the same time, keep his head down with your right hand at six. He's stretched out and helpless and it's time to take him down. Turn him inside and drop him to the ground."
With little effort, he had her on her back. When she was face-up and vulnerable, he kept her arm pinned against his shin and simulated a knee strike to the body and elbow strike to the head.
"You want to bring your opponent under control, not roll around with them for ten or fifteen minutes. When you've got him on his back, place yourself at a ninety-degree angle with your upper body on his chest. Lock your right arm behind his head and place the bone of your left forearm across his neck for a choke hold. Make sure your head is down and in tight to your elbow so he can't reverse the hold. Got it?"
As soon as the pressure was off, Tessa pushed him to the side and trapped his right arm under her bottom leg and their bodies tight together. She whipped her arm around his head and locked it in place by gripping her opposite forearm.
"I read ahead," she told him smugly.
His surprise was monumental but only momentary. With a toss of his shoulders for leverage, he was on top of her, chest-to-chest at a ninety-degree angle. He had her left wrist in his right hand, his left arm snaking under her upper arm so that he could secure her with the slightest pressure. No matter how much she wiggled, she couldn't get free without bringing exquisite pain shooting through her left arm.
She stopped wriggling beneath him. The moment she went still, so did he and awareness of their proximity stole their wind more effectively than a straight blast punch from the sternum. His grip eased gradually from her wrist as if he wasn't sure she wouldn't try another attack. Attacking wasn't foremost in her thoughts. She was at a shameless white level and vulnerable to whatever he might attempt while lost in his dark, smoldering gaze. Her mouth softened and began to part.
Then he was up and off her. By the time he put down his hand, her senses had returned.
Get angry.
She saw the creased pant legs stepping into her field of vision.
She saw her father's impassive face as he closed the door to his office, shutting her out time and time again.
She saw the gun in his hand and the gore on his desk.
She saw the faces of the police investigators as they listened to her story and tried to politely hide their disbelief.
She saw Jack's hard features levering close to her own.
Exercise it. Take every advantage.
He pulled her to her feet but before he could release her hand, Tessa twisted hers so her fingers closed around his wrist. She leaned ahead slightly just until he was off balance then jerked his arm toward her. At the same time her other palm flashed up to catch him under the chin and her fingers hooked toward his eyes. She heard his exclamation but momentum drove her. Momentum and just plain anger. Her elbow was already swinging a wicked arc toward his temple. She'd meant to pull it back at the last minute but she'd underestimated the adrenaline pumping through her system. She connected with an eyeball-rolling force that actually staggered him. He was too good at hand-to-hand for her to ever bring him to his knees so she relished this small victory for its full female empowering value.
Until she stepped back and saw his eyes all squinty and teared up.
"Oh, no! I didn't mean to poke you."
He blinked repeatedly and massaged the rapidly discoloring orbits. "Don't apologize, Tess. You did good. I've never had a student get through before. I'd applaud but I think you blinded me."
Ravaged with guilt, she pulled his hands down and leaned close to assess the damage. "Look at me. Oh, you big baby. I didn't hurt you that badly."
His hands twisted to capture her wrists and before she knew it, she was on her back with the breath knocked from her.
And then his mouth was on hers and she couldn't have taken a breath if she'd wanted to.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Though Tessa hadn't known it a heartbeat before, the kiss was exactly what she'd wanted. Needed. Longed for.
And just as she'd guessed, the man could kiss.
He sucked the oxygen from her lungs, the power of thought from her brain. All she could do was react and respond to the heat spreading wildly from the fluttering pit of her belly. Heat that felt so good, so right after being cold inside for so long. That's what Jack was—power, heat, the very symbol of control—and she clung to those things and to him with a greedy desperation. Perhaps a little too desperately, for Jack levered back to regard her through a shuttered stare. Cautious, oh, so cautious. The lone wolf once more.
"Is this how you reward all your students?" she quipped, hoping the levity would relieve the edgy tension she could feel building between them.
Taking the out like the coward he was, Jack grinned.
"Only the ones who look as good in a sports bra as you do."
Grateful for the chance to make a graceful escape, Jack rocked back onto his heels and stood, bringing Tessa up with him. She stood close, so close a man wasn't meant to maintain his sanity while the taste of her still lay moist and sweet upon his lips. If he reached out, she'd be in his arms. He could tell by the willing tilt of her head, by the tempting part of her mouth, by the sexy combination of conflict and desire swirling in her heavy-lidded gaze.
Oh, hell.
He took a saving step back, both physically and emotionally. Surprise became confusion and then a reluctant relief in her uplifted stare. She wasn't ready for this complication any more than he was. Somebody had to show some restraint. And dammit, it had to be him.
"Since you've been such a good girl and an overachiever by doing extra homework, I think it's time we moved on to another section."
Just as he'd hoped, thoughts of passion were pushed aside by anticipation.
"Feel up to handling a handgun?"
"I can handle anything you've got, Chaney."
His wolfish grin brought an appealing flush of color to her cheeks. "We'll see."
* * *
She was a natural. Once Tessa got over her inherent fear and distaste at handling the textured grip of the .40 Smith & Wesson, she found the 24.7 ounces of firepower a comfortable fit in her hand.
"We'll try a semiautomatic first. This is an autoloading pistol instead of a wheel gun revolver. They're a little more complicated and some women have a difficult time loading a magazine. Women aren't as strong as men and sometimes they have a hard time shoving the magazine in with enough force to get a good seating or have trouble pulling back the slide then releasing it smoothly."
Tessa smacked in the clip with the palm of her hand and worked the slide quickly. "No trouble."
He fought the urge to grin. She was showing off. But that wasn't a bad thing. It meant she felt confident and comfortable. A real Dirty Harriet. She was making his day.
"You've got ten rounds plus one as opposed to five in a wheel gun. Let's hope you don't have to use any of them."
"If I do, I want to make sure I can hit what I shoot at. And stop it."
"That's the plan. A lot of times when guns are purchased for self-protection, whether by a man or a woman, the new owners make the mistake of feeling safe just by having the gun tucked away in a drawer or purse and never bother really learning how to use it. You have to know how to control a gun or it controls you."
"Show me."
So he did. For the rest of the afternoon he went through a cleaning and reassembly drill half a dozen times before he'd let Tessa attempt it. She got it right the first time. Then they went to the range. With her percussion earphones draped at her neck, she listened to Jack explain correct stance and proper sighting before he passed the pistol to her.
"Now, slow down and breathe. There's never a rush. Do it right the first time and there won't be a second. No. Like this."
He stepped up behind her, shadowing her stance and the extension o
f her arm. His hand covered hers like a snug-fitting glove. His cheek nestled in against her hair. And her breath started chugging like crazy.
"Relax. Deep breath. Squeeze the trigger."
The recoil and sound were both bigger than she'd expected. Her body jerked back against Jack, finding him a solid, immovable force. She'd shut her eyes without realizing it and when she opened them, she got a surprise.
"I hit it."
"Not pretty but clean. Again."
She took a breath, expelled it and let the tension flow from her. Contrarily, her awareness of her instructor continued to increase.
"Concentrate. You've got a powerful tool in your hand. Control it."
His hand was still over hers. Her mind was adding tool and Jack into the same equation. Finding focus was more difficult with his hips wedged in behind hers. Finally she couldn't think of anything but the mesmerizing rhythm of his heartbeats.
"I've got it," she told him a bit testily. "If you could just step back a little."
He complied with more reluctance than she'd have expected after the hurried way he'd backed off from the unplanned kiss of that morning.
"Show me what you got," he prompted from a safe distance.
And after she'd gone through half a dozen clips, he was suitably impressed by what he saw. "Nice shooting there, Annie Oakley. You've got the makings of a lethal little lady."
She ejected the spent clip and eyed the tight pattern on the target with approval. She was thoughtful rather than exuberant. "It's not hard when you're staring down the barrel at a piece of paper that's not shooting back."
"And that's a lesson in itself. Don't get overconfident. Target shooting isn't like aiming at another human being no matter how much that piece of humanity may need to be shot. You're going to hesitate. You're going to be afraid you'll freeze up. That's why practice is so important. If the moves are second nature, your conscience won't have time to second-guess your brain. She who hesitates is—"
