“I’m good, thank you.” They’d entered a large meeting room lined with windows and a U-shaped conference table in the center. Another guy stood when she came in.
He looked . . . mean. Bald head. Tattoos decorating his arm from wrists to elbows. Tattoos peeking out from the V in his T-shirt. His eyes were the lightest blue—almost translucent. He wasn’t tall—not as big as Ronin and definitely not as big as Knox—but he was built like a cement block. Solid. Probably solid muscle. She guessed he was somewhere around her age.
“Ms. Hardwick, this is Deacon McConnell.”
Deacon also offered her a slight bow before extending his hand. “Ms. Hardwick, it is a pleasure.”
Oh, wow, he had a honey-thick Southern drawl that softened his I’m-a-badass vibe. She smiled at him. “Please, both of you, call me Amery. And I have to ask, what is your official title, Deacon?”
“Yondan. Fourth-degree black belt.”
“Technically my official title is Godan, which is fifth degree black belt,” Knox said. “Students call me Shihan as a sign of respect since I’m the second-highest belt rank in the dojo.”
She pointed to the screen on the wall. “I hope you’re not expecting a PowerPoint presentation?”
“To be honest, we weren’t sure what to expect.”
“So neither of you knows why I’m here?”
They shook their heads.
“Sensei Black approached me last week about creating a new logo for the dojo. He indicated he’s needed to do that for some time.”
Knox grinned. “Hot damn. I’m happy to hear that.”
Deacon nodded.
“Bear in mind I have limited ideas because I am waiting for more input.”
“Which they’ll be happy to provide,” Ronin said behind her.
She jumped and whirled around. “You have got to stop doing that to me, Master Black.”
“Ronin,” he murmured.
“But we’re in the dojo, aren’t we?” she murmured back.
“Technically? No. So relax.”
Knox and Deacon seemed to be watching them very closely.
“I see you’ve met Knox, my second–in-command, for lack of a better term. And Deacon, my third-in-command.”
Amery seized the chance to learn more about Ronin. She looked at Knox. “How long have you been associated with Black Arts, Shihan?”
“Since I was discharged from the service five years ago.”
“And you, Yondan?”
“Three years.”
From what she’d read about dojos and the student’s loyalty to train with one master for years, and sometimes decades, she’d expected both of these men to have been with Sensei longer.
“While we’re informal, please call us by our first names,” Knox said.
Ronin pulled out a chair for her. Then he parked himself right beside her.
Damn hard not to get flustered. Especially since the man wasn’t giving her any space. He was dressed like Knox and Deacon in a white T-shirt and white gi pants. None of them wore shoes. What had they been doing before she showed up? Working out? Sparring? Rolling around on the mats beating on each other? Why did that image make her heart pound?
“Problem?” Ronin prompted.
Her cheeks flamed. Stupid lily-white skin. She fake-coughed. “I might need some water after all.”
Amery expected Ronin to appoint either of these guys to get her a drink. But he grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar fridge and handed it to her.
She really wanted to roll the plastic bottle over her hot face, but she uncapped it and drank. Then she smiled. “You guys will want to come down here because my ideas are on the computer.”
Knox and Deacon crowded behind her. At some point Ronin had draped his arm over the back of her chair. Now he was so close she could smell his scent: sweat and laundry soap. She could feel the heat of his thigh muscle pressing against the outside of her leg. Then his fingers would absentmindedly drift across her shoulder.
The man had thrown her completely off her game.
Take control. You don’t want to look incompetent.
“I’ll run through it once as a slide show and then we can stop on individual images to see if anything pops out at you.”
She wasn’t expecting them to chatter, but their absolute silence unnerved her.
Knox spoke first. “I like images three and seven.”
“Those are polar opposites. One has clean lines. The other has Japanese influences.”
“Probably why I like them both. Any chance you could marry those two styles into something bolder?”
Amery started clicking on the keys, designing on the fly. Taking suggestions. Adding, discarding.
An hour of collaboration later, Black Arts had a great new logo. They were so pleased with it even Deacon said, “Fine job.”
Then Knox and Deacon left the conference room.
“You are very good at what you do, Amery. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’ll confess I hoped it’d take a lot longer. That way we would have excuses for long lunches.”
She gave Ronin an arch look. “So you need an excuse to see me?”
Annoyance flashed in his eyes. “No.”
“Good to know. Do you want to give me a list of all the promotional items you’ll need updated? I can set up the orders with the printer and make sure everything fits—”
Ronin grabbed her by the back of the neck and stopped her jabbering with a long, deep, wet kiss. By the time he pulled back, her body shook. Inwardly. Outwardly. And Ronin took great satisfaction in his effect on her. He didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. He just leaned in to kiss her again.
The next kiss was lazy. A sensual exploration. He caressed the side of her face while he fed her kiss after kiss. Then he cranked up the intensity. She finally understood what it meant to be weak-kneed—and she was sitting down. If Ronin kept this up she’d slide into a big puddle on the floor.
The door opened and Knox said, “Ronin, do we have—oh, shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to barge in.” Then he was gone.
Amery turned her head and rested her cheek on his. “Guess your second-in-command knows we’re . . .” Whatever this is. She’d wait to hear what term he used to explain it.
“I won’t hide the fact that we’re seeing each other. The only place it might be an issue is in the dojo during class.”
“I’m not dropping out,” she warned. “Molly needs this class, and the only way she’ll stay in it is if I’m around.”