Unwound

CHAPTER NINE

RONIN understood why Thaddeus Pettigrew preferred to conduct meetings in his private executive dining room at his high-rise office building. The real estate, restaurant, oil, and timber magnate couldn’t go anywhere without being approached by business associates, wannabe business associates, the media, or critics.

Yet Ronin knew agreeing to TP’s parameters put the power in his hands. He suspected from their very first meeting that TP recorded their conversation. Since many of their discussions included what could be considered criminal activity, Ronin had configured a scrambling device he kept in his pocket whenever they held a meeting. If TP was aware of it, he hadn’t mentioned it. Ronin believed his business relationship with TP survived and thrived because Ronin looked after his own best interests first.

He took the elevator to the thirtieth floor and was met by a curvy brunette who proclaimed herself TP’s personal assistant. Funny how fast TP went through assistants; in ten years, Ronin hadn’t seen the same one twice.

And if Amery was impressed with his private elevator, she’d really be blown away by the one that led to TP’s office. A glass elevator on the inside of the building. Given how much she loved his rooftop garden, this three-story glass atrium, which had been designed to mimic a rain forest, would be right up her alley. Even when the snow flew and the temps dipped below freezing, it felt like the Amazon in here.

The assistant led him into the executive room where TP held court. He stood and held out his hand when Ronin approached.

“Ronin, I was glad you called. I’ve heard some interesting tidbits in the past few weeks that no one will confirm, but I know I’ll get the truth from you. Before we delve into that and the favor I need to ask you, care for a cocktail?”

“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

TP beckoned his personal assistant closer. “Bambi, be a dear and fix us a drink. Chivas and water.”

“Right away, Mr. Pettigrew.” She stepped to a well-stocked bar, mixed the drinks, and had them on the table almost before Ronin took a seat.

“Is there anything else, sir?”

TP shook his head and blew a big puff of cigar smoke in her face.

She didn’t even blink or cough before she tottered out of the room.

“Bambi?” Ronin repeated. “Is that her real name?”

“The guy at the strip club who lent her to me for a few weeks swears it is.”

Don’t ask.

“So what’s this I hear about you getting the fuck beat outta you in the cage?”

“Which time are you referring to?”

TP’s shaggy gray eyebrows rose. “Jesus, Black. It happened more than once? What? You getting soft or something?”

“Just old and stupid. I filled in for a fighter, and my brain forgot to remind my body that I’m thirty-eight, not twenty-eight.”

“Don’t you train every goddamn day so you’re ready to fight anytime, anyplace?”

“Yes. But like in the business world, theory and practice aren’t always copacetic.” Ronin shrugged. “Still hurts like a motherfucker to get knocked out. That aspect hasn’t changed. The recovery time is longer too as I’ve aged.”

“So the rumors aren’t true? You weren’t a last-minute add-on as a dare?”

“No. My only pro-level fighter backed out of a scheduled bout. It was a rare foray into official fight promotion for us, and rather than lose more money, I fought.” He grinned. “Ended up getting my ass handed to me—at least during the fight.”

“No one else would be grinning about that, Ronin.”

“Yet you are.”

“Yep.” TP grinned widely. “Like you, I hate bein’ predictable. Pays to keep people guessing.”

“And it always pays well for you.”

He grunted. “Not always. Let’s get the first business discussion out of the way. Why’d you want to know about that property on Baldwin?”

“The lone tenant is a friend of mine.” Ronin explained the incidents, ending with, “I hadn’t heard of those organizations moving into that neighborhood. Figured you’d know something about it.”

“I’d heard a blip or two over the past few months but nothing solid. I’ll be keeping a better eye on it now. I’ll also pass the info to Stanislovsky. I know that won’t sit well with him.”

“How is Max?”

“Headed for divorce court again. This marriage lasted barely three years. He set her up in business, some healthy frozen yogurt chain. She had some success with it, so she figures that entitles her to a bigger piece of all of his business.” TP sighed. “He could’ve saved himself two divorces and ten million bucks if he’d listened to my advice.”

“Which is what?”

“Keep your woman—or women—out of your business.”

Surely he’d misheard that.

“I see by the look on your face you think I’m sexist.” TP shrugged and puffed on his cigar. “Maybe I am. I’ve been married thirty years. Not once have I ever asked my wife’s opinion on a possible business deal. Not once have I given her the details on how I make the money she’s more than happy to spend.”

“So you don’t share anything with your wife?”

“Businesswise? Nope.”

Maybe that’s why rumors abounded that TP had multiple mistresses. Just like Ronin’s grandfather—but at least he didn’t have a wife literally overlooking his affairs.

“I never fooled myself into believing I was a handsome son of a bitch like you, Black. I’m fat. Obnoxious. Cocky. Crude. I don’t score with the ladies because they’re getting a night with Brad Pitt. I’m rich. That’s my appeal. I knew it when I married my wife. I know it whenever I hire a new assistant. I’m good with that.”

“Does that throwback attitude keep you from doing business with women?”

“No. I know women are highly capable of running their own businesses. I just don’t want them running mine. Men like us? We do what we have to do. We don’t piss and moan about it and wring our hands. We don’t hold a focus group to determine the best course of action. We just do it.”

Ronin wasn’t anything like TP . . . Was he?

“Can’t go back and change the past, Ronin. Only thing you can do is move forward.”

“I fail to see how asking me to do you a favor—given the types of favors I’ve done for you in the past—is allowing me to move forward.”

“So tell me no.”

“Jesus, TP, are you off your meds?”

TP grinned. “You paid your debt to me years ago, Ronin. It’s your sense of loyalty that keeps you doing the occasional favor for me. I’m not above taking advantage of that for no reason other than I trust you. And you can be guaran-damn-teed if I’ve asked for your help it’s because I’ve exhausted other options.”

There was a compliment in there somewhere. “What’s going on?”

He sighed. “My daughter Katie. She’s twenty-three, beautiful, sweet, and dumb as a post. I say that with pure fatherly love and no malevolence.”

“What’s she gotten herself into?”

“Three months ago, she called her mom, claiming her boyfriend was holding her against her will. Prior to that, we hadn’t seen the girl for damn near two months, so we had legitimate reason for concern. Katie has fallen for every dirtbag to come down the pike since she turned sixteen. When these guys figure out who she is, they swear it’s true love.” He snorted. “She even married one of these bastards. It lasted one month. That cost me a chunk of change. Every time she’s been in a situation, I’ve bailed her out.”

“Of jail?”

“Not so far, knock on wood.” He rapped on the table. “Like our other kids, when she turned eighteen, she started receiving monthly dividends from her trust fund. For the past five years, at the beginning of every month, the balance on the account is close to zero because she—or her douche bag boyfriend of the moment—has emptied the account. But during those three months, she hadn’t touched the money. Long story short, my PI found her, and my security team dragged her out of the roach-infested place she’d been held. The wife picked out a rehab place in California that specializes in rebuilding or re-creating self-esteem in poor little rich girls or some such new-age shit. After she completed the program, she returned to Denver, and she’s been driving me batshit crazy ever since.”

“While I’m glad it sounds like everything worked out, why are you telling me this, TP?”

“Come to find out, the guy she’d shacked up with was an MMA fighter.” He blew a smoke ring. “Evidently you refereed one of his amateur underground fights.”

“Still not seeing where you’re going with this.”

“Katie discovered you and I are acquaintances. Somewhere along the way, she’s convinced herself she belongs in the MMA fight-promotion business. Specifically building one with Black Arts.”

Ronin couldn’t stop his look of shock.

TP laughed. “Exactly my reaction when my daughter demanded I set up a meeting between the three of us to discuss options.”

He fought the urge to look over his shoulder to see if TP’s kid was joining them.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna foist my ditzy daughter on ya without your permission. I like you too much. But my wife, who is not privy to my business, is riding my ass about this. So I gotta come up with something besides losing a shit ton of money.”

“Jesus. I need another drink.” Ronin walked to the bar in the corner of the room and grabbed the bottle of Chivas, bringing it back to the table. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like I said, tell me no.” TP refilled both their glasses. “I won’t hold it against you.”

Ronin knocked back the scotch. “Christ, TP. This feels wrong.”

A sheepish look crossed TP’s face. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I adore this kid—she’s sweet and she’s got a damn good heart. It’s the first time I’ve seen her excited about anything besides a man in years. She did manage to finish a two-year community-college degree in administrative business.”

An odd notion occurred to him.

“What? I see the wheels turning. If you’ve got an idea—no matter how damn crazy it sounds—I’d consider it.”

“It is crazy. But do you think she’d buy that being a ring girl for an event is the best way to learn the fight-promotion business from the inside?”

“Possibly. The girl’s got the body and the looks for it.”

Most fathers thought their daughters were beautiful. What if Katie . . . wasn’t? Ronin needed a backup idea. “Would she be willing to enroll in martial arts classes?”

“You could make it a stipulation.” His eyes turned shrewd. “How’d you come up with that?”

“Black Arts is adding on Brazilian jujitsu. I’d like to have a newcomer in the classes as a way to keep an eye on things.”

TP’s eyebrows rose. “Whose idea was that?”

Since TP freely admitted he never took his woman’s advice, Ronin opted to keep Amery’s suggestions out of it. “Makes financial sense to expand. I found an instructor who is qualified and has an established dojo.”

“What’s this guy’s name?”

“Alvares Curacao. He owns the ABC dojo. Oddly enough, your timing is”—suspect, but Ronin soldiered on with—“good because he and I recently decided to combine resources and start a fight-promotion company that focuses on the amateur circuit. Katie could work as a ring girl, and train in the dojo to see firsthand what the MMA fighters do to prepare.”

“Keep going.”

“She’d have to understand she starts on the bottom, doing grunt work like anyone else.” Ronin gave TP a contemplative look. “Will it mean more to her if she thinks she got the job on her own?”

“It’d be a first.” TP poured himself another shot. “I appreciate you doing this, Ronin. And don’t worry; I’m fully prepared to pay her salary.”

Ronin laughed. “Not happening, Daddy Warbucks. She works for me; I pay her. Won’t be much. Nor will it be full-time. I’d put her on probation for the standard six months to see if she’s serious. Because I don’t think you really know how long her interest in this will last.”

“Understood. I’ll tell Katie I talked to you and you have an opening, but she has to apply for the job like everyone else. If she doesn’t follow through, neither of us are out anything.” TP grinned. “Think I oughta tell her to keep it on the down low that she’s my daughter? She kept the last name of the asshole she married. Hiding your family connections has worked well for you.”

“Not always.” Definitely not with Amery.

“Count yourself lucky you were born with the looks that make it an option for you. An ugly guy like me? No choice but to flash money around.” He put out his cigar. “When do you want Katie to interview?”

“Have her send a résumé to Black and Blue Promotions. Same address as the dojo.”

“Clever name.”

Another one of Amery’s ideas. “I’ll probably sit on it for a week or so before I call her in.”

“Good plan. And just so we’re clear. You do this for me? We’re square. For good. No more favors.”

That right there made it worth doing.

“Deal.”

• • •

THURSDAY afternoon, Ronin was rearranging teaching schedules when his cell phone rang. “Ronin Black.”

“It’s Blue. I don’t know what kind of pull you’ve got, but man, thank you. I spoke to the property rental company on Monday right after our conversation, and the guy pretty much guaranteed it’d be a hefty enough penalty for breaking the lease that I’d end up staying. So today I had a message from him, and he said there’d be no penalty at all for breaking the lease early except for losing first and last month deposits and incurring a cleaning cost.”

Ronin had figured either TP or Max would step in. “I’m glad to hear they saw the light.”

“The kicker is we have to be out of here by Saturday.”

“How much equipment do you have?” Ronin jotted down items as Blue rattled them off. That was less stuff than he’d anticipated. But it’d take a crew to load and unload. “How many guys you got helping make the move?”

“Five.”

“I can add”—he did a quick calculation—“six more. Shouldn’t take too long. When is final inspection?”

“Saturday afternoon at two.” He paused. “But here’s the thing. I worry the protection dudes will vandalize the building before the lease company signs off.”

“They might make an example of you, so protect yourself.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Set up a perimeter around the building and get enough guys to stand watch from sundown to sunup. They show their faces, make sure none of your guys engage them in any kind of physical altercation and call the cops.”

“What if the cops don’t show up?”

“Just say shots have been fired, and I guarantee you’ll get a response.”

Blue got quiet. “I’d ask how you know all this stuff, but then I’d know, and I’m not sure I want that.”

“Smart choice. Call me if you have any problems. I’ll have people there at six a.m. with a truck. I want you there keeping an eye out, not loading stuff.”

“Thanks, Sensei. Anything else I need to know?”

“You’ll have legal documents to sign on Saturday afternoon, as soon as everything is unloaded here. We’ll go over scheduling and all that the first part of next week. I’m giving only you a keycard and the security codes until we decide who else will get access.”

“I appreciate everything, and I’m looking forward to being in business together.”

After Ronin hung up, he rummaged in his desk for something to eradicate the pounding in his head. But he couldn’t even find a damn aspirin, and it was too much trouble to head up to his place for a pain pill.

Fifteen minutes before classes were scheduled to start, Knox came into his office without knocking and closed the door.

“What?”

“Please tell me that the hot fucking blonde out there applying for a job is one of the female black belt instructors you’ve been talking about hiring?”

Ronin shook his head. “I haven’t set up any interviews.”

“Maybe it’s our lucky day because she’s here for a job interview. Said you were expecting her.”

He rubbed his forehead. “No. Send her—”

“Jesus, man, don’t send her away. I’ll hire her for something.”

“I was going to say send her in, you fucking pervert.”

Almost as soon as Knox opened the door, a six-foot blond bombshell sashayed in wearing a low-cut shirt that showcased a big pair of tits that jiggled too perfectly to be fake. She offered her hand. “Ronin? I’m Katie Pettigrew Gardiner.”

This was TP’s daughter? He glanced at Knox—who had his gaze glued on this chick’s ass in her painted-on jeans. “Shihan, close the door on your way out.”

“Ah, sure.”

Ronin pointed at the chair across from the desk and didn’t take Katie’s hand. “I received your résumé. I intended to call you next week to set up an interview.”

“I couldn’t wait. I’m just so excited to be part of the team.” Her gaze encompassed the room and frowned. “Will my office be smaller than this one?”

“Ms. Gardiner. You need to take a step back.”

“Excuse me?”

“I haven’t hired you. And with the way you’ve shown up, assuming you’ve already got the job? I’m leaning toward ending this interview right now.”

Katie blinked with confusion. “But didn’t you talk to Daddy and come to an agreement about this?”

“No. I agreed to read your résumé and call you for an interview. That’s it. Unlike most people in this town, I do not jump through hoops for Thaddeus Pettigrew.”

“But you’ve had it since yesterday! I sent it by special courier.”

Was this woman for real?

Yes. She’s had the kind of spoiled upbringing your mother refused to give her children.

Ronin said a silent thank-you to his mother.

“Have you read my résumé?”

“I skimmed it.”

“And?” she demanded.

“You have zero experience for the position.” He paused. “You are aware of the job requirements?”

“I’d be heading up the Black and Blue promotional team for MMA events.”

Ronin flashed his teeth at her. “Wrong. You are applying for an entry-level position—a part-time position. Your main responsibility? Ring girl.”

Her jaw almost hit her cleavage. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. We’re hiring a ring girl, a gopher, and a lackey—all-in-one. Those would be your job duties and in that order, plus you’d be enrolled in classes and report to me.”

Katie’s eyes cooled. “My father knew this was the type of job after he spoke to you.”

“Yes. And you would’ve known it too if you would’ve waited for the callback. But since you’re here, and you’ve been apprised of what the job entails, I imagine you’re not interested?”

“Ring girl,” she muttered. “I should’ve known he’d pass me off as some brainless twit.” Determination shone on her face. “Of course I’d be happy to represent Black and Blue Promotions as ring girl. I’ll even fetch coffee and file.”

If she expected Ronin to backtrack, the girl was bound to be disappointed. “We’ll need help setting up the office next week. I’ll have to get back to you on specific times. Your classes here will be free. The job pays minimum wage for office work. The dollar amounts will vary for your work as ring girl, depending on sponsor commitments, size of the event, and the venue. Clothing is provided. Any questions?”

“Is my father paying you to hire me?”

“No. He is not paying your wages, either. If you take the job, you will have six months of job probation.”

“Which means you can fire me at will.”

“Yes. I’ll warn you—I’m demanding, and I will not treat you like a delicate flower. You’ll either bloom on your own or wither and die. Your choice.”

She looked confused—and maybe a little scared.

Good.

She rose to her feet. “Thank you for this opportunity, Ronin.”

“Not Ronin. Call me Mr. Black.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Black.” She stood and bowed with a flourish before she spun on her heel and exited the room.

His screaming headache had just gotten worse.

Normally he’d head to the workout room and pound on a speed bag, or a heavy bag, or a sparring opponent and give himself something else to focus on besides the pain. But that wasn’t an option, because he was heeding the doctor’s warnings. Ronin had to admit his body wasn’t fully healed. So he detoured to the Crow’s Nest to brood and pace. Up here, his anxiety would be hidden. Up here, he’d be spared from his instructors treating him with kid gloves.

Over the years, he’d packed his working hours with so much he had no idea what to do with himself when he had free time. So what had he done when he had free time? Started a new promotion company that occupied his every waking hour spent in the dojo so he didn’t have to worry that he’d finally irreparably damaged his body and he’d never bounce back to the man—to the fighter—he was.

As much as he tried not to think about the repercussions of a lifetime spent pushing his body past normal limits, he couldn’t help it since he had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for tomorrow.

A loud ki-yah brought Ronin’s attention to the class of yellow belts. He barely remembered being in that stage of his training. He’d accelerated quickly because his father had drilled him continually, both in class and outside of it.

Maybe it was Shiori’s constant presence, or maybe it was because he’d been dodging his mother’s calls, but his family had been on his mind a lot lately. He’d been thinking about his grandfather’s expectations, which had somehow segued into his questioning his father’s motives in enrolling him in jujitsu at such a young age.

Had his father seen that something extra special in his son that caused him to constantly push Ronin to the next level? Or had his father merely lived vicariously through his child?

A long-buried memory surfaced of being with his father in the tiny backyard of their house on base, practicing kicking strikes. Ronin couldn’t have been older than five, and all he’d wanted to do on that sunny afternoon was roll in the grass, chase his little sister around, and dig in the dirt with his toy trucks. He’d heard the happy shrieks of the boy next door and his friends and experienced his first taste of envy. His father believed a purposeful life meant a structured use of time. So while kids his age learned to have fun, Ronin learned how to tune out those sounds and concentrate on achieving greatness.

That jarred him. Been a while since that phrase surfaced: achieving greatness. Those were his father’s favorite words to explain why Ronin’s life wouldn’t be like other kids.’ He was meant for more.

Ronin heard the bottom door open and played the guessing game of who’d breached Master Black’s ivory tower. Then Amery’s sweet cherry scent wafted toward him, calming him.

She pressed her chest to his back and wreathed her arms around his waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I had this crazy idea you were hiding from me when you didn’t answer your phone, and you weren’t in the penthouse or in your office or punishing yourself in the weight room. So I set out on a quest to find you.”

“And find me you did.”

“So whatcha doing up here, Sensei?”

“Taking stock.”

“And how are the kiddos performing?”

Ronin launched into details of training errors he’d seen. When Amery didn’t respond, he realized his explanation had turned into a diatribe. “Sorry to go off on a tangent.”

“It’s okay. I could complain about my horrible day, but luckily, I got to manipulate shadows and light on an image of this really hot guy who is gracing the cover of a very naughty book.”

He didn’t even crack a smile.

Amery moved in front of him. “Is the pained look in your eye because of me? I know I’m not supposed to be up here.”

“No, baby, I’m very glad to see you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Do you want me to bail so you can continue glaring at the yellow belt class? Because that redheaded kid in the second row? I think he’s looking up here and purposely taunting you with his very sloppy half-guard technique.”

That did bring a smile. “You are such a smart-ass.”

She placed her cool hands on his cheeks.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Ronin. You’re not well.”

“Was it my lack of charming conversation or that I didn’t immediately try to seduce you that gave it away?”

“Come on. Tell me where it hurts. Maybe I can help.”

He glossed over her concerns. “I’m having light-sensitivity issues, which is why you found me sitting in the dark, with a screaming fucking headache. I’ve been spending time picking apart my youngest students’ techniques when I’m not fixating on Black and Blue Promotions and what it’ll mean in the long run to absorb ABC into Black Arts. I’m not getting shit done.” Ronin softly smooched her mouth. “That makes me unpleasant to be around.”

“I beg to differ. I find you very pleasant to be around. Especially when you’re naked with that wicked gleam in your eye.” She kissed him. “So since you’re not getting shit done down here, why don’t you come upstairs and do me?”

He gathered a handful of her hair and pressed the softness against his lips, breathing her in. Just being close to her chased away his shadows.

“Ronin?”

“You don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured. “You bring such joy and light into my life, Amery. Can you blame me for wanting to wake up with that every morning? To surround myself with it every night?” Her reluctance to officially commit to moving in with him was just another thing he’d been obsessing about.

For once she didn’t look away from him when he brought up taking that permanent step. She reached up and brushed away a few hairs that were stuck to his forehead. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

“I wouldn’t mind if we just crawled in bed and you wrapped yourself around me.”

Amery gasped with mock horror. “You don’t want to wrap ropes around me? Just your arms? You must really feel like shit.” She kept running her hands through his hair. “When is your appointment with the neurologist?”

As much as he wanted her at his appointment tomorrow . . . he didn’t want her there. Telling her that would piss her off, and she deserved better after trying to improve his mood. He wanted her to see his physical improvement, not dwell on whatever limitations his doctor would set. He’d been enough of a whiny, brooding ass lately.

“Ronin?”

“Can we just drop it and go upstairs? My brain is throbbing.”

“Poor baby with a throbbing need. Once we’re upstairs, I’ll give you a little head . . . massage.”

Damn woman always made him feel better.

• • •

AMERY did drop it, but she didn’t forget about it. And she wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse when she saw the doctor’s appointment card with today’s date and time tossed in the garbage. It wasn’t as if she’d been pawing through the trash looking for clues; the postcard had fallen out of the bag when she’d removed it from the garbage can.

So maybe if she’d found it in a stack of mail or with the magazines in the den, she’d think Ronin had left it lying about, hoping she’d find it and ask him about it. But since he’d stuffed it in the trash . . . that told her he was hiding the appointment from her.

Why? Especially when he’d insisted she was an integral part of his life and his recovery process?

Because he’s back to the same old keeping things from you bullshit.

Amery didn’t want to believe it, but with the way he’d been acting the last couple of days? She couldn’t stop the niggling worry that there was more to it. She’d hoped last night, confronting him in his private space, cajoling him, keeping things light and showing her total support of him with gentle teasing and soft kisses would encourage him to confide in her. But that hadn’t happened. He’d just remained tight and closed off even during his massage. Directly after that he’d conked out.

Maybe he wanted to hear the doctor’s diagnosis first before he involved her. That she could understand. Still, she couldn’t help but feel shut out.

Nothing you can do about it now but wait and see if he wants to talk later.

She ditched the trash in the Dumpster and headed to work.

After working late, she didn’t have the energy to drive to the penthouse. As much as she loved being there, she felt the need to be in her own space for a change. That was another indication she wasn’t ready to move in with Ronin. Her phone pinged with a text message.

RB: Where are you?

I’m at home.

RB: At the penthouse?

No. My loft. Where are you?

RB: Dojo. You didn’t stop in, so I figured you’re working late. Are you about done and on your way?

I’m done, but I’m tired. I’ll probably just stay here tonight.

RB: Fine. I’ll be there in a bit. Have you eaten?

I was just about to make a sandwich. Should I make two?

RB: Please. See you soon. I’ll let myself in.

Twenty minutes later, the high-pitched whine of a motorcycle echoed from the alley. The back door slammed. He didn’t clomp up the stairs. The next thing she knew, Ronin was standing next to the breakfast bar looking at her.

“Hey.”

Maybe she was being paranoid, but he didn’t cross the room to kiss her. “Hey, yourself. Have a seat. Food’s almost ready. Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m good.” He sat on a barstool. “What did you work on today that kept you in the office so late that you’re crashing here?”

Rather than point out that she lived here, she focused on assembling the sandwich. “A new campground contacted me about designing promotional material. They’ve got a unique concept, so that’ll be a fun project.”

“What’s unique about it?”

Amery placed two slices of thick-cut twelve-grain bread on the cutting board. Then she spread brown mustard across each slice. “It’s a winter campground close to the slopes that offers modern tent camping but in the snow. A cheaper option for winter sports enthusiasts to enjoy the ski season in the Rockies instead of staying in pricey hotels in Aspen and Vail.”

Ronin watched as she piled on sliced turkey, tomato, avocado, and alfalfa sprouts. She drizzled balsamic vinaigrette over everything. Then she slathered hummus on the top pieces of bread before layering them on top. She cut each in half, plated them, and slid one in front of him.

“Eat up. And yes, all the ingredients are organic.” She cracked open a small bag of veggie chips—slices of baked beets, sweet potatoes, and spinach. “I seriously eyed the jumbo bag of kettle-cooked salt-and-vinegar chips, but opted for healthy. You should be proud you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I’d like to rub you off,” he said with a wolfish smile before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Amery laughed and relaxed at seeing the glimmer of the Ronin she hadn’t seen for a few days. “Maybe for dessert.” She filled two glasses of water and slid into the seat beside him.

Ronin must’ve been hungry; he finished his entire sandwich before she’d eaten half of hers. Sheepishly, he said, “I forgot to eat lunch.”

“I can make you another one,” she offered.

“I’m full. But thank you. It was delicious.”

After several long moments of dead air, Amery’s sandwich seemed to be lodged in her throat. Or maybe it was the awkward silence between them that was choking her. She asked, “So what did you do today?” and inwardly cringed at her lack of subtlety.

“I was out most of the day, and then I hung around the dojo. Why?”

So suspicious. Instead of zeroing in on the vagueness of his response, she said, “I’m surprised you didn’t eat. Doesn’t Shiori bring you lunch most days?”

“There was a to-go box in the fridge when I returned from running errands, but it was late afternoon and I didn’t have time to eat. Why?”

It was hard not to bristle at his accusatory tone. “I just find it weird that she brings you food but the two of you don’t eat it together.”

“We don’t eat together because she uses it as an opportunity to harangue me, and that gives me indigestion.”

Now she was getting somewhere. “Haranguing you about what?”

“To stop ignoring our mother’s calls. Jesus. Every time she nags me, it makes me feel like a delinquent teenager again.”

Amery poked his arm. “Don’t deny you’ve acted like a surly teen the last couple of days.” She sipped her water. “So are you telling me that by-the-book Sensei participated in wild teenage behavior in his younger years and lied to his mom about it? Or did you just not tell her?”

He faced her, his gaze suspicious. “Where’d that come from?”

“You don’t talk much about your formative years, so I’m curious. Did you sneak out of the house to meet a girl? Or did you sneak a girl into your room? Did you swipe candy from the corner market on a dare? Did you and your buddies rip off a bottle of booze and get barfing drunk?”

“I didn’t have a typical upbringing, by Japanese or American standards. The focus of my school from the age of twelve on was jujitsu.”

She frowned. “You didn’t study Japanese history, or government, or language, or literature, or take computer classes while you studied martial arts?”

“Of course I did. My mother insisted on a private tutor. He taught through pop culture, so Shiori and I became fluent in switching back and forth between English and Japanese fairly young. At age sixteen, when I started training with a jujitsu master, he taught me more about Japanese history and culture in two years than I learned in all the time I spent in a traditional classroom. Also during that time, my grandfather insisted I take business classes.”

“Did you enjoy them?”

He shrugged. “More than I was willing to admit. That knowledge helped when I started my own business.”

“And yet you still sidestepped the question, Master Black. Any getting-a-girl-drunk, copping-a-feel, pulling-pranks-with-your-buddies stories?”

Ronin’s puzzled look said, Why are you pressing me on this?

Because this is what a man and a woman in a serious relationship do—share pieces of their lives. Open up to me, Ronin, like you promised you would. You can trust me.

When he realized she wasn’t backing down, he sighed. “I didn’t have a group of buddies, just boys I went to school with. We were so disciplined that if one of us would’ve admitted to breaking a rule, or even asked another student to help break a rule, even in fun, most likely that infraction would’ve been reported to the headmaster.”

She whistled. “Harsh. No wonder the Japanese educational system is superior to ours.”

“But it’s hell on maintaining individuality.”

“Even with the way you look?” she cooed. “Sweetheart, I’d bet you broke hearts being such an exotic-looking hottie with all those muscles from hours of practicing jujitsu.”

“Exotic-looking might be a benefit for a woman, but not for a boy.” He traced the edge of his water glass, lost in thought. With the way his cheeks flushed, she wondered if the memories caused embarrassment. “The reason I didn’t have a gang of friends growing up was because I didn’t fit in, not just because I was the only mixed race kid. My mother further alienated me by keeping our family affiliation from everyone in the school even when she knew it’d provide me with more acceptance from my peers.”

Was that the genesis of him hiding who he was from everyone? Because that’s how he was taught to act? No wonder he had identity issues. “Maybe she worried that people would want to be your friend only because your family was filthy rich.”

“My grandfather was filthy rich, not us. We lived modestly. And during my surly teen phase”—he offered a slight smile—“I didn’t understand why my grandfather wouldn’t pay for my jujitsu studies after I finished regular school. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. But now I’m grateful because I’ve had to make it on my own.”

Amery cupped the side of his face and urged him to look at her. “While I admire all you’ve accomplished and you have a right to be proud that your drive got you to where you are today, I’m still sad that you were a lonely little boy.”

He kissed her, and the sweetness in it curled around her heart.

“So what happened when you grew into these amazing looks of yours?”

“I’ve never been a player. But I did lose my virginity in a Japanese bathhouse to an older woman who swore she was a trained geisha.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Is that true?”

“Absolutely. While I remember thinking wet, naked bodies sliding together was the greatest invention ever, the best thing to come out of that”—Amery groaned at his pun—“was the woman warning me not to neglect my sexual skills because I was easy to look at.”

“That you are,” she murmured. “Leave it to Master Black to have a metaphysical cherry popping.”

He laughed. Then he kissed her again.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Is your head better today?”

His face became that blank mask she hated. He immediately retreated physically and emotionally.

That freaked her out. What had the doctor said about his recovery? Why didn’t Ronin want to discuss it? She opened her mouth to give voice to those questions, but the annoyance in his eyes kept her lips closed.

“Don’t nag me, Amery. I’m not in the mood.”

Nag him? She never nagged him and resented the implication she did. “I’m not Shiori. And I see you’re still as cranky as you were yesterday.”

“Cranky is for kids who need a nap.” Ronin invaded her space. “And, baby, I’d be happy to crawl in bed with you, but we sure as fuck won’t be sleeping.”

Amery ducked away from him. “Nice try. Watch TV or something. I need to put this stuff away.”

“So you plan to shoot down my advances now that I don’t have a headache?”

Tell me why you don’t have a headache for the first time in a week. Tell me if you’re on different meds. Tell me what the damn doctor said. But once again, she voiced none of that.

Unhappy with her hesitation, Ronin threw up his hands. “Fine. I’ll watch TV.”

She finished the dishes, silently cursing him because he hadn’t offered to help. He always helped, which was just another indication that something was distracting him.

Amery wasn’t being petulant, or testing him, but she wasn’t going to ask him—nag him—about what was wrong. If everything in his life truly was an open book, as he often proclaimed, then he should be willing to share—the good and the bad. In fact, he should want to share it.

But she wanted to do something for him that’d get him out of the weird funk he’d been in. With Blue and crew moving into the dojo this weekend, he’d be busy, which would be good for him. She’d allow him a few days to settle in, and then she’d pull out all the stops to remind him she trusted him implicitly with her body. Maybe that would spur him to spill the secrets he was keeping.

After cleaning the kitchen, she snuggled into him on the couch.

He didn’t say anything; he just kissed her on the forehead and returned to watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory.

When Amery began to drift off, she pushed upright and stifled a yawn. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll be in shortly.”

Another oddity. He usually went to bed when she did, although rarely because he wanted to sleep. Come to think of it, he hadn’t touched her last night. Or the night before that. A tiny kernel of panic lodged in her belly. Maybe his attraction for her had cooled? Maybe that was why he’d been so damn distant? It also occurred to her he hadn’t pressed the issue of her moving in with him. What if he already regretted the invite?

Not knowing the answers to any of these questions cemented her decision to keep things as is.

She completed her bedtime rituals and eased between the sheets. Her bed wasn’t as comfortable as Ronin’s, but she sighed anyway when her head hit the pillow.

Sometime later, the mattress dipped, alerting her to his presence. Then he switched on the bedside lamp to ensure he had her attention. He said, “I love these baby doll nighties you wear.”

Amery gave him a sleepy-eyed glance over her shoulder.

Ronin had propped himself up on his elbow, and his hungry gaze drifted over her body.

“Why do I feel like Little Red Riding Hood about to be pounced on by the Big, Bad Wolf?”

He slowly ran his finger down her bare arm. “Maybe because you look very tasty.” He tugged on the ties of her nightgown. “I want to lift you to your knees and bind your hands with these. I know how warm your skin feels against mine as I fuck you from behind. I know how much you like my breath in your ear as you shatter beneath me.”

Amery faced him and glanced at the tent pole imitation his cock was doing against his boxers and then back up into his smoldering eyes. “You’re hard, and you haven’t even touched me yet.”

“That’s about to change.” He leaned over so his lips brushed the skin below her ear. “I need you to surrender to me tonight.”

She trembled from the heat and intensity pouring from him. She said “yes” and gave herself over to him completely.

But even though the sex was spectacular, as soon as they were both sweaty, sated, and spent, she felt him disconnect emotionally. And she was at a loss as to what to do about it.