A Little Too Hot

Chapter Twenty-Two

AFTER TOSSING AND turning most of the night, I wake up early, and no matter how hard I try to go back to sleep, I can’t. I finally give up and slip out from under the sheets. I go to my window, looking out over the city below as it wakes to a new day, just as the door to the bathhouse swings open. Blake steps out in gym shorts and a T-shirt with a towel hanging from around his neck. He tosses the towel on a lounge chair and strips off his shirt, then dives in. And then he swims like a pro, muscles rippling under taut skin.

Is he working out? Does he work out every morning? I’ve never been up early enough to notice, but that would explain the body.

I watch him for longer than I mean to before ripping myself away from the window and slipping on a pair of shorts under my sleep shirt. I follow my nose to the coffeemaker.

Coffee—the sweet nectar of life. Just focus on the coffee, not the scorching hot half-naked guy in the pool.

I close my eyes and take a long swallow, then refill my cup. And I focus on my coffee until I’m standing in front of the window, focusing on Blake. As he pulls himself up to sit on the pool edge, defined pecs and biceps flex under black tribal ink that wraps around the left side of his torso and over his shoulder, stopping just above his elbow. He stands and turns to grab his towel, and I miss my mouth with my next sip, dribbling coffee down the front of me.

“Damn,” I hiss, setting my mug on the table and grabbing a napkin to dab at the stain on my shirt.

The French doors downstairs open, then close, and I brace myself for Blake to appear at the top of the stairs. He doesn’t. And the next second, I find myself slipping silently down the stairs to the floor below. I stop short of the corner and poke my head around. In the middle of the room, near the pool table, Blake is moving through the air as if gravity doesn’t exist. He steps and turns, kicking and punching through a Kankû-dai, never once losing his balance or his focus.

His hair is tousled, as if he toweled it dry, and he’s unshaven. The look totally works for him. My eyes trail down his cut abs to a dark blond happy trail that disappears under the low slung waistband of gym shorts that are still damp, clinging to his lower body in a way that leaves little to the imagination, and leaves little doubt that he’s perfect in every way.

I close my eyes with a shudder as I recall the way my body fit perfectly into the curve of his, and the way his body responded when mine was pressed against it.

When the shudder passes and I open my eyes, I find he’s stopped moving . . . and is staring at me. It’s only then that I realize I’ve moved out from behind the wall and standing on the bottom stair, in full view.

“Sorry,” I say, feeling my face warm. “I’m just . . .” What? Stalking you?

“Drinking problem?” he asks with a nod at the coffee stain on my shirt.

“Oh . . . um, yeah,” I say, flicking at my shirt absently. “I sort of spilled . . .” While I was drooling over you.

He turns to the pool table and grabs his shirt, tugging it over his head, and that drool worthy body disappears behind brushed cotton. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” I swallow and step off the stair into the poolroom. “Has anyone heard from Jonathan?”

He lowers his gaze, and before he even opens his mouth, I know the answer. “No, Sam. I’m sorry.”

I breathe in deeply, trying to keep the panic at bay. “Do you think Ben will hurt him? Because of me?” As I say it, I realize at some point I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this is my fault.

He rubs a hand over his wet hair, and his biceps and shoulder muscles ripple under intricate black lines. “I don’t honestly know. He’s capable of just about anything.”

I tip my head back and blink away tears.

“Come on,” he says, and when I look at him, he’s moved over, making room in the middle of the floor for me.

“What?”

“Kankû-shô? Or do you know Kankû-dai?”

I step toward him. “I’ve seen Kankû-dai, but I’ve never been taught.”

He smiles. “It’s your lucky day.”

My eyes migrate against my will to his chest, and I force them back to his eyes. “You’ll teach me?”

“If you want.”

I move to where he is. “I want.” God, I want so much, most of it out of my reach. I want Jonathan back. I want Ben to not want me dead. I want the last few months to have never happened. But this is something I can have.

He nods, and his eyes hold mine for a long moment before he takes his position in the middle of the room. “Technically, it’s more advanced, but if you’ve been doing Kankû-shô for a while, it shouldn’t be hard to pick up.”

I lean against the pool table. “Show me.”

He stands and bows, then starts through his kata. I watch, mesmerized by his strength and control. When he finishes and bows again, and I’m both speechless and breathless, and I haven’t even moved yet.

“Your turn,” he says.

I nod, because I’m not sure I can talk. He bows, and I manage to get my act together enough to straighten up and stand at his side. I bow.

“So, first is the rising sun,” he says, spreading his legs and lifting his arms slowly as he breathes in, elbows bent and palms forward.

I shift slowly into rising sun as I inhale, mimicking his position.

“How’s the shoulder?”

“Fine.” And it’s not a lie.

“Good. Then it’s two quick gyaku zuki. Left, right,” he says, sinking into a crouch and demonstrating a quick reverse punch in each direction.

I repeat his movements.

“Stay over your base.”

I glare at him. “If I wasn’t over my base, I’d be on my ass.”

A smirk plays over his mouth, then vanishes. “Next is a front punch followed by a quick forearm block, right then left, then a back kick right.”

As I reproduce his quick movements, he comes around behind me.

“Remember, these are defensive strikes,” he says, laying his hands on my hips. “Stay balanced and exhale with the blow. Try it again.”

I do and his hands tighten on my hips.

“You’re screwing up my balance,” I tell him, spinning in his arms.

There’s a long minute where neither of us moves, but then I find myself leaning forward without even meaning to. Damn, he smells good.

“Don’t, Sam,” he says low, closing his eyes. But he doesn’t pull away.

He’s tense, every muscle coiled tight. His hands are fisted at his sides, his body ramrod straight as he fights with himself. I lean in a little more, so we’re as close as we can possibly be without actually touching. Heat radiates off his body in waves, and I close my eyes, taking it in.

He tips his forehead down to mine. “I have to focus, Sam,” he says through a tight jaw, fighting to control the shake in his voice. “If I’m going to help Jonathan and take Arroyo off the street, I can’t compromise this case by going where we’re headed.”

He says this, but he still doesn’t pull away.

So I do.

Because the most important thing right now is finding Jonathan.

I spin for the stairs before I do something stupid.

“Sam! Wait,” he says as I start to bound up them.

I stop and turn back.

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, blowing out a breath. He lifts his eyes from the floor and looks at me from under long blond lashes. “We got word from Arroyo’s defense team. They want to interview you.”

I come down a step. “Interview me? Can they do that?”

He nods. “It’s common practice, but our attorneys will be there with you. They’ll make sure everything’s on the up and up.”

A band tightens around my chest as I come down the last step. “Will Ben be there?”

“Not at the interview, no.”

“But he’ll be in court when I testify.”

“I’m afraid so.” He leans on the back of the sofa. “It’s going to take some fortitude to do this, Sam, but I have faith in you. I know you want to help Jonathan and that girl.”

“You really think what I know is going to help?”

“The victim was wearing the clothes you described when he was found. No one saw him alive after he walked into Arroyo’s office. We’re still hoping for trace, but I believe what we have is enough to make our case.”

“Then what happens? After I testify, and you’re done with me? Will you just send me home? Will Ben leave me alone?”

His lips purse. “We won’t know that until we see how it all turns out. There are programs for people in your situation. It’s something you should consider.”

A wave of shock sweeps through me, leaving me numb. “You mean like witness protection?”

He nods slowly.

I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, God.”

He’s right in front of me. I can feel him there before he even speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that, but taking Arroyo off the street is important. Really important. And you’re the only hope we have of making that happen right now.”

“He really has that girl?”

“I believe he’s responsible for her disappearance, yes.”

I lift my face and look at him. “And Jonathan?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know, Sam.”

I need to think,” I say, moving to the French doors to the pool. Blake lets me go and I wind down the path and drop onto the end of one of the lounges. My dragonfly is there, on the edge of the pool. He keeps me company while I cry.