Burn (32 page)

She touched her fingertip to his lower lip. “Don’t be too sorry. A part of me is glad that you went after Karl.”

“Well, which is it? Are you pissed or proud that I got
into it with Karl?”

“Both.” She rested her head on his chest, right under his chin. “I was so scared when I saw him staring at me
from Grogan’s. I froze. Sumchai used to do that. He
would just stare at me, and I’d go nuts trying to figure
out what was out of place, what was dirty, what I’d
bought that I shouldn’t have. It was torture.

“Even though Natasha was with me that night, I
started to feel that old anxiety and nausea that would make my stomach and head hurt while I waited for Sumchai to
finally say something insulting that would point out my
‘mistake’. The worst was when he’d grab me by the back of
my neck and point me toward what I’d done wrong, as if
I were a poorly trained dog. You did to Karl what I wanted
to do to Sumchai. That sounds so awful.”

“It sounds human. There’s only so much a person can
take before they snap.”

“Did you ever snap when you were in the service?”

“No. The pressure was there, for sure, and sometimes
it was hard to separate the business of a mission from the
personal feelings it might evoke. But I never lost control.”

“Karl brought out the beast in you?”

“I guess so.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Gian’s stomach growled. The rumbling resonated through his torso and into Cinder’s ear. She laughed,
finally relaxing in his embrace.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” he said.

“I could rustle up something.” Cinder rolled off the
sofa and went into the kitchen.

Tired, Gian was slow to follow. By the time he pulled
himself to his feet and went after her, she was returning,
a foil-covered hump on a plate in one hand and a
sweating bottle of beer in the other.

“Leftovers?” Gian’s salivary glands reacted immediately to the promise of food, at long last.

Cinder set the plate on the low table before the sofa.
She removed the foil as she sat.

Gian moaned. “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.” He sat down and cracked open the beer.
“Present company excepted, of course,” he added with a
beer-bottle salute.

Cinder curled up on the sofa. With her right knee
pulled to her chest, she laced her fingers together over her
right foot, propping her chin on her knee. She smiled,
watching Gian dive into his meal.

Hungry as he was, Gian spent a short moment mar
veling at the sandwich—which was no mere sandwich—
she had prepared. It was a classic Dagwood elevated to
culinary art. He identified five different meats, including mortadella— his favorite— and at least three varieties of
cheese layered between the halves of an eight-inch cia
batta roll. Romaine lettuce, red onion, tomato, and green
bell pepper slices complemented the cold cuts. Gian
devoured three hearty bites. “What else is on here?”

“I made a sandwich spread. Minced black, green, and
kalamata olives, capers, sautéed shallots, Dijon mustard,
a
nd a few spices mixed into a little basil oil. I also
splashed a bit of white balsamic vinegar on top of the vegetables. Do you like it?”

Smiling around bulging cheeks full of the sandwich,
he leaned over and kissed her, smearing a corner of her
mouth with oil.

“That good, huh?” She laughed lightly.

“Better,” he answered, chomping off another bite.
Cinder got up for napkins.

Gian licked his fingers. He was wiping his hand on
his jeans when Cinder returned. “I’m starting you on
something new this month. Make sure you bring your
mouth guard to class tomorrow night.”

Cinder gave him a few paper napkins. “That sounds
interesting. What are we doing?”

He grinned. “Weaponry. Every two weeks between now
and the tournament, you’re going to learn a new weapon, and you’ll learn how to improvise them in the field.”

“What field?”

“Home. The street. The middle of a department
store.” He licked his fingers. “The field is anyplace you
find yourself having to defend yourself.”

“Why would I have to defend myself in the middle of a department store?”

“It was just an example. Hopefully, nothing ever hap
pens at Macy’s that would lead to you busting skulls. But
if you ever have to, you’ll know how.”

“Sounds fun.” She giggled.

Gian finished the sandwich and followed it with two
cups of coffee and a slice of gooey butter cake. In her
d
arkened living room, he and Cinder cuddled on the
cushioned bench behind the sofa to watch a meteor
shower. She kissed him every time they saw a shooting
star. With the shooting stars coming more frequently and
the kisses lasting longer, Gian decided to bid her good
night while he thought he still could.

“I can’t stay, sweetie. I’ve got fifty new students to
process.” He gave her a final nip to her lower lip and
started for the door. “They want to start immediately,
and I’ve got to get them on file for insurance purposes before they can work out in the dojo.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Pressing her chest to his
back, she slipped her right hand into his pants. He stopped
abruptly at the door. “I think one of you might want to
stay awhile longer.” She nuzzled his back with her nose.
“He’s at full attention now. He definitely wants to stay.”

Her fingertip traced delicate circles over the sensitive
bed of nerves at the back of his little soldier’s head. Not
so little anymore, it seemed to buck and rear to battle its
way out of his jeans. “I suppose we could stay for a few
more minutes.”

“Minutes?” She flicked her tongue over his earlobe,
then suckled it.

Gian moaned, his response incoherent.

“What was that?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” In one rough motion, he
turned and kissed her, taking her by her backside to lift
her. Her arms and legs locked around his neck and waist.
Pressing her into the wall, his hands went into her hair,
clutching her head. He spoke to her in the language of d
esire. Through the fluency of his kisses, he showed her
that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, this
woman whose kisses blessed him, whose body gave him
new life every time she shared it with him. Her strength
was total, and elastic in the way it stretched over him,
giving him the invincibility that weapons and fighting
skill never could.

“I love you.” He stroked her hair from her face,
caressing her cheek, her lips.

The earnest intensity of his declaration seemed to
startle her out of their kiss. She cupped his face, holding his gaze. He wondered . . . hoped . . . she saw the weight
and truth of his love.

Her lower lip trembled. Tears glistened, but failed to
fall, from her lower lashes. “I know,” she said.

Gian touched his forehead to hers. There was no arro
gance in her response, only humble gratitude and accept
ance. He carried her into the living room and fell into the
comfortable depths of the sofa with her, determined to
show her, in every way he knew, how very much he loved
her.

* * *

“Did you get a cat?”

Gian looked up from the applications and insurance
forms spread over his desk to see Chip enter his office.
Chip’s fresh white
gi
temporarily blinded Gian. “No, I
don’t like cats,” Gian answered, returning to his paper
work. “Why do you ask?”

“
Your face. Looks like you got into a fight against
something with sharper claws than Karl.”

Absently touching his face, Gian remembered the
nicks he’d given his jaw and neck during his hasty
morning shave. “I really wish people would stop men
tioning that.”

“They will,” Chip assured him. He took the chair
facing Gian’s desk. “Just as soon as something more inter
esting happens around here. You’re the talk of the town.
I was at the university last night, and a lot of people asked
me about it there.”

“What were you doing at Webster?”

“Lecture.” Chip scratched his chin, his gaze toward the ceiling. “Nothin’ big.”

Gian set down his ballpoint pen and leaned back in
his chair, his fingers laced over the knot of his
obi
. “Since
when are you interested in lectures?”

“Since recently. It ain’t no thing, Gian.” Chip forced
a cough. “I’m gonna grab a bottle of water before my first
class, boss.”

“Hold up.” Gian grinned. “What was the lecture on?”

Chip’s gaze seemed unable to find Gian. “Just some
talk on woman warriors . . .” His voice dropped off, his
words running together unintelligibly.

“What’s that again?” Gian tried not to laugh as Chip
squirmed.

Chip sighed. “Waking the Warrior in Every Woman,”
he drawled.

“Is there a woman warrior in particular who inter
ested you in the subject?”

“Don’t go there, man.”

“I’m not trying to pry. I just didn’t know you had an
interest in that sort of thing.”

“Neither did I,” Chip replied, “until the speaker
started talkin’. It was . . . enlightening.”

Enlightening?
That was a Professor Zae Richard word
if Gian had ever heard one. “Did you go alone?”

Chip hopped out of the chair and went to the desk
that had once been Karl’s. “Hey, I got my applications
processed.” He took up a sheaf of forms and gave them
to Gian. “I finished ’em before I left last night. What
time did you finally get outta here?”

“Around eight. I got involved with something and
didn’t get home until early this morning. I wanted to come in early to process the applications I took yes
terday.” Gian glanced at the wall clock. “I’ve been here
since six.”

“You’ve been at this for three hours?”

Gian nodded. “I had to get them done. Our first
group of new students came in at seven-thirty for the first
Dangerous Housewives class of the day.” He reached back and tapped the schedule with the tip of his pen.
“Aja’s got two new Brees, two Gabbys, one Susan, and
one Edie.”

“No new Lynettes?”

Gian bent over his work. “The Lynettes don’t tend to
need self-defense classes.”

“Have you talked to Cinder yet?”

“Yeah. We’re good.”

“Are
you
?”

Gian raised his eyes to Chip. “I don’t follow.”

Chip sat back down. Resting his elbows on his knees,
he leaned in toward Gian. “Don’t take this the wrong
way, but I don’t think you’re using your brain when it
comes to Cinder.”

Gian’s face hardened. If anyone else had said that,
chances were good that he’d be brawling again. He waited
until the muscles in his jaw relaxed before he said,
“Cinder and I have more than a physical relationship. We
couldn’t be more different, but in the ways that matter,
we understand each other. I find balance with her, and I
think I give that to her, too. If you think I went after Karl
yesterday because I’m being led by my dick, then—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Chip cut in. “I think your
heart leads you when it comes to Cinder. Your brain takes
a backseat. When we were on tour, you were the best
commander because you were so logical. So reasonable.
You didn’t let emotion figure into the choices you had to
make, and I know how hard some of them were for you.
I think . . .” Chip chose his words very carefully. “I think
you should balance the heart with the brain when you
run into situations like what happened on Halloween.”