Authors: Katie Porter
“Rank?”
“Captain. And third-degree black belt.”
“Discipline?”
“Shotokan. I have extensive experience in ju-jitsu, Kalaripayattu, Krav—”
“I didn’t ask about those.” Black eyes stared up at him but also stared him down.
Dash bowed again. “Apologies,
sensei
.”
The man grinned. “Relax. I’m not your
sensei
yet. Although I appreciate all this. Haven’t had a third degree in here for at least a year, and they generally want to own their own place. Let’s say their attention to etiquette can seem more sarcastic than genuine.” He smiled deeper, which nearly obscured his irises. “And forgive me when I say that military men are worse.”
Blinking at the sudden change, Dash could only frown. “You’re probably not wrong.”
“Big egos. Little dicks.” Rather than continue with what had apparently been part one of the audition, the shorter man ushered Dash into the small office. “Have a seat. You’ll hurt my neck, craning up to look at you. I’m Jiro Kawashima. You?”
“Liam Christiansen.”
The name Dash didn’t even occur to him. The Air Force, flying, his whole goddamn career—they were a distant star in Orion’s Belt.
“It was my dad’s place first,” the man said. “He was
Nisei
, you know?”
“Japanese, but born here.”
“That’s it. He retired a few years ago, moved with Mom to Florida. Can you imagine? Like Vegas wasn’t warm enough.”
He laughed at his own joke, which made Dash grin too. Who the hell was this guy? The conversation turned a few things over in his head—flipped them around. Every
sensei
was a person, and those people had personalities. As a
karateka
, a student, he’d never been permitted that look behind the protocol. Again, not too different from his nine-to-five. Dash had attended Fang’s wedding, but it’d be a cold day in the desert before he’d call the man by his given name.
“So. Kalaripayattu?”
Dash nodded. “My wife’s from Bangalore.”
“Nice. She’s trained too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you have something to teach me too. Good. And you want this job?”
“Yes, sir.” Outside of what he hoped to have with Sunny, he hadn’t said anything truer in years. Why, he couldn’t say.
“If we go out to the bar, you may call me Jiro. Here in the office, as an employee, you may call me Kawashima. And I’ll put up with your mouthful too. Christiansen, was it?” He waited for Dash’s nod before standing. “Everywhere else, you can go back to calling me
sensei
. Time to show you around.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
On that Monday morning after Colonel Bandry’s soiree, Sunny hesitated when it was time to get out of her Acura at the office. Dread knotted in her chest. She rolled her neck. Three or four vertebrae popped in quick succession.
She didn’t used to dread work. Once upon a time, she’d thrived on it. The office had been where she went when everything else was hazy. There she knew what she was capable of accomplishing—impressive, dedicated, important tasks.
Now, leaving for work each morning was more like putting her life on pause until she got back home and saw Dash again. Saw Liam again.
They’d been…different. In several ways, but most of all in the way they touched. Since Saturday evening when they’d made love, they hadn’t been able to get their fill of touching each other. Things were still weird, especially with the added way Dash now distractedly talked about his work. A lot remained uncertain.
At least they were touching again, with more between them than rough grabs.
They’d watched Sunday morning news programs in bed, with her toes tucked under Liam’s thighs. Such a simple thing, yet she’d been breathless by the end of the show. They’d made love with long, deep moves and sighs that still echoed through her mind.
Fast forward twelve hours and he’d grabbed her from behind while she washed her face for the night. After yanking down her pajama pants, he’d sunk his teeth into the arch of her neck, bent her over the bathroom counter and fucked her from behind. Brutal thrusts. He’d been so ready to come that she didn’t think she’d be able to match his fierce pace. It was raw. Real. What she’d wanted all along. She’d given over to sensation and to trust—and he’d rewarded her for it. He’d thrummed his fingers over her clit to make sure her body clenched down on his prick when he groaned his climax.
She no longer cared how they came to together in passion. He’d take her, either soft or mean, and either way, he’d make it damned good. The rest didn’t matter—except how they went to bed together without hesitation or awkwardness. That mattered a great deal. It was so strangely normal, like waking with his arm around her waist.
Blinking, inhaling, she brought her mind back from those fantasies made real. Jake had returned from Miami on Saturday night, although he’d be in and out of the office all week, bringing important backers up to date on Rueland’s visit with the vice president. She hadn’t read his text until around lunch the next day, and had shuffled real life back into her purse.
She swung her attaché case’s strap over her shoulder. No more putting it off. Air conditioning blasted her in the face as she pushed in the front door. Crystal looked up with a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Christiansen. Good morning so far?”
She shrugged. “Good enough. Any messages for me?”
“A couple.” She handed over the pink slips.
Sunny shuffled through them, trying not to sigh. Maybe she was so focused on Liam’s lack of spark for his job because her own was fading as well.
Crystal pulled out a familiar dark blue folder from her top drawer. “I also have your itinerary for your first week back in Washington. You have your flight arranged, yes?”
She managed to swallow the foul word that she wanted to spit. “Yes.”
“Will you be happy to get back to the East Coast?”
“Yes, no, of course not.” She dropped the pink message slips and knelt fast to gather them up. Her fingers were numb. “Why would you think that?”
Did Crystal know about her troubles with Liam? Or maybe it was her connection to Jake. They were close, really good friends, and nothing inappropriate had gone on. Yet, she was a married woman. Was the receptionist implying she’d be happy to get back to DC and continue her not-torrid, non-affair with Jake?
Her brain was stuttering out, seeing and feeling guilt where there wasn’t any.
Meanwhile, the blonde woman was practically oblivious. “I’ve always wanted to live out east somewhere. I went to Boston for a school trip, and I really liked it. It’s green!”
“Trees and grass.” Sunny scooped up the last message and managed to stand. Her knees were loose. “They tend to grow in places where it’s not in the triple digits on a regular basis.”
“I know,” Crystal said on a wistful sigh. She leaned her cheek on a fist as she looked off into her imagination. “I think I’d apply for that opening in the DC office if it weren’t for my boyfriend.”
“Do whatever you want. Men come and go. Boys usually just go.” She kept it as light as she could manage. Crystal didn’t need her mental damage. She gave a little wave as she headed down the hallway toward her office. “See ya.”
Men come and go.
Except she was the one trying to go.
Stepping into her office usually meant stepping into a quiet haven. She set her messages and the dark blue folder down on her desk. Sorting them became more difficult with the way her hands were trembling. Her case thumped against her chair, and she couldn’t quite make herself sit down.
Where had her quiet haven gone? She wanted to breathe again, at least for a little while, but the thought of getting back on a plane stopped her lungs.
Sunday night. Less than a week.
What the hell was she going to do? Stay gone for a while…or for good? She’d been reluctant to leave their bed, let alone the damn city.
So there it was. Her answer.
She didn’t want to leave Liam.
Not now. Not when everything was so up in the air. Not when everything had so much renewed potential.
She wasn’t even sure she wanted a divorce.
Once they’d gotten everything sorted out, she could make an informed decision. But if she could wave a magic wand and have all the messy uncertainties resolved, she wouldn’t go.
How were they supposed to work through so much hurt and hope if she was thousands of miles away? They couldn’t. That was the plain truth, and probably half of what had gone wrong in the first place. They’d spent so much time apart and had filled the silences with their own imaginations.
She sank into the seat behind her desk, unable to take her eyes off the folder containing her Washington itinerary.
Maybe there was a way to say no.
By the end of the day, Sunny had put in a call to Representative Rueland about delaying her return, but she hadn’t heard back. Meanwhile she’d buried herself in reams of paperwork, sorting out yet another campaign finance line item.
Her office phone rang, displaying an unfamiliar number. “Sunita Christiansen.”
“I’ve always liked the way you said my name.”
“Liam.” The tight knot lodged in her chest loosened that easily. She set her pen down and leaned back. “It’s my name. You like the way I say
my
name.”
“Yes. That.”
She could practically hear the smile in his voice, and she didn’t mind at all. Certain smiles were a good thing.
“Is there a reason you’re pestering me at work?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
He chuckled. “Because it’s after hours and you didn’t answer either the house line or your cell.”
“I didn’t what?” She sat up straight, digging around in her center drawer, where she normally kept her cell. One missed call and two texts—one from Liam and one from Jake, who’d invited her to join him and a casino bigwig for drinks. “Oh. There it is. Sorry, I left it on vibrate.”
“No problem. I was wondering a little.”
“You weren’t waiting on me for dinner, were you?”
The line hissed as there was a small pause. “Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favor and run some food out to me.”
“On base?” She choked to keep back a groan.
“No,” he said, drawing the word out. “I’m at the Kawashima School of Karate off Tropicana Boulevard. I came here after work this afternoon. The owner’s been looking for an instructor. I’ve been running through a couple test classes, and I’m freaking starving.”
“Of course,” she managed to say. “I’ll bring you something light, yeah?”
“Perfect. See you soon.”
As she charged through the steps of straightening her office, picking up dinner at a drive-thru and heading over to the
dojo
, she tried to wrap her brain around the idea of Dash teaching. Brown belts, maybe?
She imagined it. Easily, actually. There was something about Dash as an instructor that worked in her head. The 64
th
was a teaching squadron, after all, and he was definitely an expert.
If
he could kill the jokes and grins and messing around.
He couldn’t teach martial arts as a jester, where everything was etiquette and stern faces. Maybe this was the key to what he’d been looking for all this time.
Maybe he could pass on a little of that good feeling. After dwelling on her trip, she could do with an intense, mean fuck. Being forced, being able to fight back and coming anyway—Liam’s roughness cleared her emotions and let her start with a fresh slate. Nothing had ever given her such a release from her thoughts. If only for that reason, she could accept this strange, taboo fetish they’d discovered.
With a plastic fast-food bag dangling from her fingers, she pushed through the front doors of the school. She bowed a
tachi-rei
greeting out of respect, although she hadn’t been a formal student since college.
The front office was empty. The walls were filled with pictures and shelves lined with trophies. There wasn’t a bare inch that wasn’t covered with some student’s award or championship. This place was no joke—exactly Dash’s level. He ran with champions and winners. Always had.
A tiny hallway extended toward the back of the building. She peeked through high windows set in the doors. Three classrooms, two occupied by high-end students. Teenagers and college kids—the real deal, on their way to becoming serious competitors. No Liam, though.
Only when she came to the last classroom…
A few men and women sat on folding chairs. Parents? Some flipped through magazines or books, while one woman clicked away on her cellphone. No one took more than idle notice of Sunny.
The noise from inside the classroom was undeniable, even before she stood on tiptoes to take a look.
She couldn’t believe what she saw.
There was Liam, all right. He was wearing his
gi
, standing with his back to a bank of mirrors. Three ranks of students lined up before him. Yet these weren’t teens or college athletes. All were around five or six years old. Most could barely stand still, much less maintain the Zen stance Liam was demonstrating.