Burn (6 page)

She pursed her lips but failed to completely suppress a grin.

Gian’s hands worked at her back, folding one end of
the belt under the other. He repeated the wrapping in the
front, feeding the tails over and under themselves and
pulling them tight in a neat, flat knot that left the tails
h
anging mid thigh. “The
obi
has to be tied correctly for
your safety. If an opponent grabs you,” he said, demon
strating by tugging her closer by the belt, “it won’t get
tighter and cut off your circulation. Zae knows how to tie
an
obi
the right way, but she loops it anyhow. She says it’s
‘pretty.’ ”

“There’s no room for pretty in karate?”

Gian almost cupped her face to tip it toward the skylight to better gaze upon the prettiest thing he’d ever seen
in karate. “Yes, but we have different words for it. Like
power. Dignity. Respect. Dedication. Confidence.
Courage. Determination. Loyalty. Survival. Those words
define pretty at Sheng Li.”

“How do you define karate?”

“Karate comes from the Japanese words ‘kara,’ which
means empty, and ‘te,’ which means hand. Karate is a
form of Japanese self defense where the hands and feet are
used to strike—” He shot a fist past her and drew it back so fast, she didn’t see it, only felt it move the air. “And
block.” He executed a rapid series of precise arm movements designed to keep blows from his head and upper
torso. In his sleeveless jacket, the muscles of his shoulders
and arms bunched and lengthened with power and grace.
“At Sheng Li we teach a modified form of karate that combines several styles of martial arts.”

He loosely rested his hands on his trim hips. “The
Sheng Li technique borrows heavily from Thailand’s muy
thai, eskrima from the Phillippines, Japanese ninjutsu,
Korean taekwondo, Malaysian silat and Russian sambo. We’ll take it slow,” he assured her in response to her hor
r
ified expression. “But by the time we’re done, you’ll be a
lethal weapon. There will be very few situations in which
you can’t handle yourself.”

Her head bobbed slightly, uncertainly.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sensai.”

He smiled a little. “Very good.”

“I heard Zae call her teacher that.”

“It’s good to know she uses the proper terms of
respect, even if she doesn’t mean them.”

* * *

Forty minutes into the lesson, Gian picked her up
from the mat for the third time in a row. “You’re not
focused,” he said firmly. “Get your head in this or one of
us is going to get hurt.” He showed her the fighting
stance again, getting her back into proper starting posi
tion. “Keep your knees slightly bent, your right foot for
ward, and evenly distribute your weight. Good solid
footing makes it harder for an opponent to knock you
over, and you’ll get more power behind your blows.”

She nodded, giving herself a chance to catch her
breath and wipe sweat from her forehead before she
copied his movements.

“I know this is a lot to put together all at once, so just
watch me while I talk you through the low block again,”
he said. “Your blocking arm will slice down in front while
you bend your front leg and straighten your back leg.
Snap your hips,” he said, his actions following his words,
“to get the most power from the block. You’re going to
use your opponent’s energy against him. Make him tire
himself out trying to make contact while you use his
momentum to deflect his blows.” Gian shook his head,
throwing sweat across the mat. “You ready?”

She raised her fists in a fighting stance.

Gian threw a punch. It wasn’t hard, but it had enough
force to send her back a step when she failed to block it
and caught it in her shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” Gian relaxed his position.
“I think my timing is off.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He went to a corner cup
board and opened it to retrieve two white hand towels.
Mopping his face with one, he tossed the other to his
sweaty student.

“I know what you meant.” She blotted the back of
her neck and the shadowy crevice between her breasts.
“Can we try that block again?”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing.” She tossed her towel to the base of the
mirror lining one wall, where it landed next to Gian’s.
She assumed the fighting stance, her brow creased, her jaw clenched. She held his gaze.

The language of her big brown eyes and her body com
municated a message with which Gian was all too familiar.
Wounded warrior
, he thought, naming it. But what he said was, “Then it won’t hurt to tell me about nothing.”

Her fists clenched tighter, but then she dropped them at her sides and brought her feet together. “They have a
pool. About me.”

Looking at the floor, Gian gripped his biceps and
bounced on the balls of his feet.

Cinder touched his forearm, drawing his attention
back to her. “You know about it,” she stated simply.

His eyebrows arched toward his hairline. A half smile
softened his features.

Cinder placed her hands on her hips. “How much?”
He shrugged. “Ten bucks.”

A fine, feminine eyebrow lifted.

Gian stared at his feet. “Ten on New Beginning.
Twenty on Fugitive.”

“Fugi—!” She choked back the rest of the word,
turned, and started for the exit.

“C’mon, don’t go.” Gian trotted after her. He circled
in front of her to bar her getaway. “Nobody meant to hurt you.”

“It takes more than speculations to hurt me.”

It took Gian a moment to correctly read the slight flare of her nostrils and the heat brightening her eyes.
That more than speculations had hurt her was a given.
Even so, no one liked being talked about unkindly.
“None of us meant to disrespect you. People want to
know you. That’s all.”

“They want to know
about
me,” she said, a tremble in
her voice. “Not one person in this town has expressed an
interest in getting to know me.”

“From what I’ve heard, you haven’t made it easy.”
She flinched. “Just because people don’t have any
thing better to do than talk about other people—”

“
Karl says that your apartment is like a fortress,
and—” he cut in.

She gritted her teeth. “I need to feel safe.”

“From what?” He stepped closer to her, perhaps
unconsciously moving to protect her.

“From my—” She stopped herself. “It’s none of your
business. It’s no one’s business but mine why I came here,
or who I socialize with. I don’t owe you or anyone else
any explanations.” Once more, she turned to go. “Why don’t you ask Zae if you want to know every little thing about me? She’s the only friend I have here.”

“I don’t do that.” He caught her arm and reeled her
back. “If I want to know something about you, I’ll ask
you myself.” He freed her arm and admonished her. “You
came here so I could teach you how to stand up for your
self. Here’s lesson one: don’t run out on me if I get close
to a nerve. Stand or surrender. Those are your choices.
When you’re in my dojo, running is not an option.”

Her voice quivered. “Has it ever occurred to you that
sometimes running is the only thing you can do to stay alive? Or to keep from killing someone else?”

“Lady, I spent ten years in Special Ops. I’ve been in
situations you couldn’t imagine in your worst night
mares, and not once did it occur to me to run. You’re
gonna learn that about me.”

“Don’t you need to learn things about
me
?” she chal
lenged. “You never even asked my name!”

Her accusation might have stung if not for the reve
lation he was about to share with her. “I don’t need to
know your name. I know
you
.”

H
er breathing deepened, her skin turning to goose flesh. His earnest declaration started her heart pumping in ways exercise couldn’t. If any other man had said that
to her, chances were good that she would have been
packed and on her way out of Webster Groves within
hours. But Gian’s certainty gave her a sense of relief and
comfort she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

“It’s Cinder,” she told him. “Cinder White.”

He thrust forward a hand. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

Slipping her hand into his intensified the goose
bumps rising along her limbs. His big hand swallowed
hers, thrilling it with its warmth and roughness. He gave her hand a quick pump before briefly coddling it in both
of his. Cinder believed that you could learn a lot about a
person from a handshake, and Gian’s told her that he was
someone she could trust. Eventually.

“Who are you?” He still held her hand.

“I didn’t run away. I relocated. It’s not the same
thing.”

He tried a different question. “Why did you come to
Webster Groves?”

“I wanted to live someplace quiet and clean. . . . .”
She took a deep breath. “And my best friend lives here.”
“Zae Richardson?”

She nodded.

“Zae’s a pain in my whole ass when it comes to class, but she’s a real good friend to have.”

Curiosity brought her eyebrows a bit closer together,
but before she could ask the question perched on her
t
ongue, a knock on the bamboo door frame interrupted
her.

“Excuse me,” Chip said, leaning into the studio. “It’s
six-thirty, Gian. Pritchard Hok’s people just called. Says he’s
running late but that he’ll be here in about thirty minutes.”

“Which means he’ll be here in twenty,” Gian sighed.
“He’s Japanese, and punctuality is very important to
him.” He turned to Cinder. “I need to finish some paper
work, shower, and get pretty for a meeting, but I also
need you to fill out some forms.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Chip, there’s a receipt and a stack of enrollment
forms on my desk,” Gian said. “Would you give them to
Miss White on her way out and lock up for me?”

“Sure thing,” Chip responded before disappearing
into the office.

“Lesson one is in the bag,” Gian smiled as he bowed to Cinder. “You did good.”

“Thank you, sensai,” Cinder replied, returning his bow.
They left the studio, bowing to the mat as they did so.

“Five-thirty Monday?” Gian directed to Cinder
before taking a seat at his desk.

“I’ll be here.”

When she turned, Chip met her with a stack of
papers. “Here’s your receipt and your enrollment forms,
Miss . . . ?”

Cinder glanced back at Gian. “White. Cinder
White.”

“Pretty name.” Chip’s dimples teased in and out of
his smile. “It’s sure better than Chip.”

“Chip isn’t a nickname?” Cinder chuckled.

Gian’s head snapped up from the document he had
been reading. Cinder’s hesitant laugh had drawn his
attention, but her smile kept it. The smile vanished
almost as quickly as it had appeared, but its afterimage
burned in Gian’s mind. He sat back heavily in his chair,
totally confused.

Cinder was beautiful, unquestionably. Her somber
brown eyes looked black everywhere other than in the
bright light of the private studio. The warmth of her dark
skin contrasted beautifully with her chilly demeanor. Her
full lips constantly drew his eye, whether pursed in con
centration or shaping her words, but when she pulled
them into that brief smile, Gian had suddenly wanted to
fly across the room and grab her by the shoulders. Not because she had smiled, but because the smile had been
spent on Chip.