Lorelei James - Unwound

“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.

ONCE again Ronin was in the Crow’s Nest. No one thought anything odd about him being in there. He used to spend a lot of time up here.

He half listened as the students counted during warm-up exercises. His father had considered it a point of pride that Ronin learned to count to ten in Japanese by age two.

What would his father and his sensei say about the students upstairs counting to ten in Portuguese and not Japanese?

Not that he’d gone up to the ABC dojo and watched the Brazilian working with his students.

His thoughts bounced all over the place, and he worried about what his lack of concentration might mean as far as permanent damage.

The stairs squeaked and Ronin knew who had violated his inner sanctum before he saw her reflection in the dark glass. His body responded to her as it always did—heart rate jumping, shaft thickening. His primal male need to mark her seemed stronger than usual lately, which had made it doubly hard to ignore it.

Her hands slipped up his belly, and she latched on to his shoulders from behind. “I know something is wrong and I’ve tried not to push, but things aren’t getting any better.”