Headstrong (13 page)

Her heart hammered, brain fuzzy.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes, this is good. Keep going. I’m learning loads.”

When Reece’s mouth returned, he intensified the touch. Libby parted her lips to invite his tongue again. He tasted clean and faintly of his beer. Just the way a man ought to taste, she decided. She tilted her head for more. The way his tongue slid against hers was sexy—not weird or gross as she’d feared. Hot. Wet, but not messy. She scooted closer, the backs of her thighs resting on the tops of his as she began, cautiously, to kiss back.

She experimented with her lips, capturing his with them, his top one, then the bottom, lightly, then more rough, drawing it gently between her teeth. She felt him swallow.

“Am I doing all right?”

“Yeah, you’re doing great.” Reece looked down his nose to her lips, eyes crossing. “Are you…is it feeling good to you?” He was different, softer.

“It’s awesome,” Libby whispered. And it was far more than that—an unprecedented relief, to discover she could in fact feel this way,
be
this way, with someone.

She brought her lips back to his, eager to explore. Her tongue went in search of his, and she hoped she was hitting that balance between not too sloppy and not too dry. Soon however, she stopped thinking at all, and lo and behold, they were just kissing—trading whose tongue was leading, alternating between tasting and probing and crossing their lips over one another’s.

Libby’s body hummed. She cupped the nape of Reece’s neck, palm brushing the soft bristle of his hair.

They kissed for a blissful eternity, until a quarter past one when the sound of Colin mounting the steps cut Libby’s fun short. Reece pulled away as though he’d been given an electric zap. Libby hastily slid the board game back between them and tried to smooth her hair.

Colin entered, studying each of their far-too-cheerful grins. “You two posing for the game box or something?”

Reece looked to the clock. “Shit, it’s after one?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Colin said.

Reece stood and took his can to the kitchen. Libby hugged her knees and pursed her tender lips, glancing at Colin.

“Who’s winning?” he asked.

“I am,” she said.

He smiled tightly. “I’ll bet you are.”

Chapter Seven

Bloody SUVs.
Since when had New Zealanders gone mad and decided these ridiculous behemoths should be allowed?

Colin slipped between two such offenders and back to the left lane of the busy city street. A foul mood had dogged him all week, since that night after laser tag. Since he’d locked the pub for the evening and gone upstairs to find Reece and Libby looking flushed and guilty, game pieces scattered all over the board. Exactly what Colin knew Libby wanted, and what he’d been trying to help orchestrate. So why did it feel so unmistakably like a kick in balls when they’d succeeded?

Ahead two blocks, as though summoned, Colin spotted the head of unruly platinum hair that seemed doomed to make his breath catch each time it came into view.

Arms folded over her chest, Libby was in the midst of being chatted up on the sidewalk by a man she looked supremely uninterested in. Colin smiled and changed course. One knight in tarnished armor, coming right up.

Libby saw him, eyes locking meaningfully into his. He hopped his bike onto the curb beside them, scaring the daylights out of the man. Kid, really. Probably only a year or two out of university.

Colin flipped his bike around, fixing first Libby and then the kid with a savvy eye, making it plain he was at her disposal. “Good day, Libs?”

“Colin! Tiger, I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.” Libby shot a Stepford Wife smile at each of them. “Rich, this is my boyfriend, Colin.” She laid a possessive hand on Colin’s thigh, sending a bolt of unwholesome energy up his body.

Colin smiled grimly. “Nice to meet you, Rich.” He squeezed the proffered hand in the sort of bone-breaking shake only a man who spent six hours a day gripping bike handlebars could boast.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Libby,” the kid said, clearly irritated by this turn of events. He gave Colin a cold wave and walked off toward the city center.

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Colin batted his eyelashes at Libby.

She withdrew her hand from his thigh and poked it a couple times. “Damn, you’ve got some gams on you.”

“Hazard of the job.”

“Good timing back there, Tiger. He was getting kind of pushy.”

“I aim to please.” Lousy mood or not, Colin couldn’t seem to contain his happiness when Libby was within a hundred yards of him. He gave her a sideways glance, hoping to communicate his disapproval at her getting herself into such a situation yet again, but it dissolved into a smile. Reece was far better at that sort of thing. “I recognize him from karaoke the other week. You must get a lot of admirers.”

“I think we sang ‘Islands in the Stream’ once, and now he thinks we’ve got something going on.”

“Well, it’s a powerful track.”

“Thanks. For that.” Libby tugged her thumb in the direction of the retreating man. “And that.” She smiled lewdly and squeezed his leg again. “Like a Christmas ham.”

“Save those sweet nothings for my brother. You’ll need them.”

“I’ll give them a dry run at karaoke tonight, if you two are joining me.”

“We are,” Colin said. “Although Reece doesn’t know it yet.”

“Excellent.”

“Actually,” Colin said, “I promised I’d meet him at the studio at half-six, if you want to see where your stalker works when he’s not busy slinging drinks or documenting you at your bible study group, or whatever it is your old man’s meant to fall for.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Colin fished a pad and pen out of his bag and jotted down an address. “It’s locked after six but if you meet me outside, we can go up together. I know the code.” He ripped the page off and Libby pocketed it.

“It’s a date.”

As promised, Colin was waiting when Libby arrived at the appointed corner at six thirty that evening. He waved as she approached and propped the crossbar of his bike on his shoulder. He punched the keypad beside the door to a tall building that looked to be a former warehouse.

An endless staircase rose through the center of the building, the mere sight making Libby’s legs ache. She followed Colin up four brutal flights, past landings bearing signs for printing services and wholesale paper goods and vacancies. The stairs ended at the entrance to the tae kwon do studio, its double doors propped open. Libby fought for breath as they entered. Scrolls painted with Korean characters hung on the wall behind the front desk and from beyond the reception area came a curious mixture of sounds—loud slapping noises and blood-chilling shrieks.

Colin leaned his bike against a wall of square cubbies and untied his sneakers. “Got to take your shoes off, Libs.”

“Ah.”

He watched as she undid her laces. “You’ve got huge feet. I hope we don’t end up swapping by mistake.”

“Well, you know what big feet mean.” Libby slid her sneakers into the nook next to his identical ones. She breathed in the studio’s smells, much like those of the gym she held a membership to for showering purposes only. The smell of perspiration plus something else, here—combat, maybe.

She followed Colin past the unmanned front desk to the edge of a large, half-curtained-off area, its floor covered in tightly tiled blue gym mats. She felt his hand on the back of her head as they reached the edge of the matting, and she let him push her into a bow. He offered one too, and they entered what she’d heard Reece refer to before as the
dojang
.

An epic battle was being waged on the other side of the curtain. An epic and
noisy
battle, riddled with aggressive yells and the thwacks of fists and feet hitting padded chests and helmeted heads. Just two fighters—Reece and someone Libby at first took to be a child. But a long, shining black ponytail identified his opponent as a very short, slight woman.

Libby sat where Colin indicated she should, leaning against the mirrored wall at a safe distance from the action.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He left her to bow himself out of the gym area.

Libby watched the match with fascination. It reminded her of a complex bird mating dance—erratic but full of patterns. The fighters roughly took turns charging at one another, accompanied by a guttural shout—the woman’s was particularly fierce and unhinged-sounding. The other would then either evade with a display of agile footwork or the fight would blossom into ferocity as one or both threw a punch or kick or a combination thereof. The white uniforms became a blur of aggression until one of the fighters submitted and dodged out of the other’s range again. Their feet danced ceaselessly, poised to attack.

She couldn’t be sure, but Libby suspected this was a good match. Reece was at an advantage with his reach—he was literally a foot taller than his opponent. But the woman was quicker and her strikes sounded just as stinging.

Colin appeared at Libby’s side again, barefoot and dressed in the requisite uniform—loose white drawstring pants and a tunic-style top. He too had a black belt with his name embroidered on it, though it lacked the stripes that Reece’s had.

“Impressive,” Libby said, pointing to it.

“And dusty. I earned this when I was nineteen—don’t expect too much from me and I may
not disappoint you.” He sat down to stretch as Libby turned her attention back to the action.

A few moments later an egg timer rang, just as both fighters were clearly tiring. They disentangled from a mutual assault at the chime and took a step back from one another, bowing. This formality done, they tugged their hand guards off and high-fived, opponents transformed into partners.

Reece walked over, waving with one hand as the other pulled his head gear off with the sound of ripping Velcro. His hair was matted and sweaty and his face red, but he seemed pleased.

“Looking good,” Colin offered. “Who won?”

“Who do you think?” Reece replied, nodding over at his partner as she pulled her helmet off, the frightening little would-be assassin reduced to a flush-faced Korean woman wearing a tired grin. Colin gave her a half-hug as they approached.

“Hey, Col. Watch it, I stink.”

“I like girl-stink. Sang, this is Libby. She’s
an American
,” he added in a loud whisper that suggested Libby might be a bit slow or untrustworthy.

“Hey, Libby. I’d shake your hand but I’m all slimy.”

“Nice to meet you.” Libby could see from the two ends of the belt that fell below her padding that Sang had the same number of stripes as Reece.

Sang turned her back to Reece. “Would you help me with my corset?”

He began loosening the laces that kept her chest guard in place. “Sang is the current women’s national tae kwon do champion in her weight class, and two-time Olympic competitor,” he said grandly.

“And I used to kick Reece’s ass when he was ten,” she added.

Reece nodded. “And still does. You need a lift later? We’re here another hour.”

Libby felt a stab of jealousy at how easy his rapport was with this woman. Libby always got him in a state of agitation. Her own fault, she reminded herself.

“I have to head out,” Sang said. “My man’s got a pizza coming. But you boys have fun. I’ll see you Sunday, Reece?”

Colin interrupted. “Karaoke, Sang. Eight o’clock? Come on, Sang—sing. Sing, Sang, sing!”

“You’re cute, but no thanks. Two drinks and I’d be like a strangled cat up there. It was great to see you, Col. Come for sparring soon. I miss wailing on you. It was nice to meet you,” she added to Libby with a wave of her helmet before bowing to the
dojang
and disappearing.

“Karaoke?” Reece asked. “Again?”

Libby felt her usual mischievous energy return with the other girl’s exit. “Every Thursday, Reece. You lucked out last week.”

He sat and began stripping the padding from his shins and knees and arms. “I’ll leave you two to it, I think.”

“Oh, come on,” Libby pleaded. “You can document me again. It’ll be so much fun. And I won’t embarrass you, I promise.”

“Favor for a favor, Reece,” Colin added. “I’m letting you pummel me senseless, don’t forget. Isn’t that worth a couple hours of proper entertainment? Plus just look at Libby’s face.” He pointed, and Libby made her eyes large and innocent and jutted her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.

Reece rolled his eyes. “God, that’s grotesque. Stop it now and I’ll go. You had me at ‘pummel’… And this is for you, not me, incidentally.” He turned his back to Colin, who began dismantling Reece’s chest guard.

For the next hour Libby sat, hugging her knees and leaning against the mirrored wall. Reece and Colin didn’t fight but instead took turns walloping each another in a series of drills. One would hold a large, thick rectangular pad in front of their torso or side, and the other would execute a series of punches or kicks at it, over and over. There was also a smaller pad shaped a bit like a ping-pong paddle, which one would hold at various heights as the other aimed precision kicks, body spinning or hopping or charging to slap it in one direction or another. Libby tried helping with this, but Reece’s back-fist was so fast and hard it sent the paddle flying across the studio and tweaked her wrist. She decided not to chance another injury from his professional skills. Plus, watching was fun. She so often saw Reece working under duress, and now seeing him doing the thing he seemed to enjoy most in the world felt oddly intimate.

“Higher,” he directed as Colin held a paddle aloft.

Observing him in his element, Libby could finally appreciate Reece’s abundant self-control, the utter mastery he had over his body. She entertained an idle fantasy in which he came to her rescue down a dark alley, disarming a hulking, faceless attacker and kicking the crap out of him in a dozen perfectly choreographed ways. Sadly only one of the Nolans had yet come close to such an act of chivalry.

Colin was no slouch either, as a fighter. Reece had speed and compactness on his side, his body like a spring—tight and poised to react in an instant, lightning fast and deadly accurate. Colin had power too, but of a more relaxed variety. He had more grace than Reece, if a six-foot-two tattooed cyclist with a death wish could be considered graceful. His kicks were
prettier
than Reece’s, or perhaps they were just easier to see, being slower. Watching him made Libby smile, as if she were being let in on a joke—Colin didn’t need a steel U-lock to take a man down.