“I deemed it so.”
“Or because I’m f**king Sensei Black?”
Ronin smirked. “That too.”
“I know I’m supposed to respect the teacher/student line when we’re in the dojo.”
“But?”
“But all I can think about is you tying my arms with that nylon resistance strap and f**king me against the wall.”
“For that obvious insubordination, I’d give you ten lashes with that strap before I bind you and f**k you.”
Amery hid her smile behind her water bottle. “I apologize for putting such raunchy thoughts in your head, Master Black.”
“Class dismissed, Ms. Hardwick.”
“Does that mean we can . . . ?”
He made that low growl. “Not here. But I’d better find you on your knees in my practice room in an hour to make the raunchy images you put in my head a reality.”
Her pulse spiked.
“Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
He stopped in the doorway and turned to give her a slow once-over. “Don’t bother showering. You’ll need another one by the time I’m through with you tonight.”
A shiver worked through her. She couldn’t wait.
• • •
A few days after Chaz apologized, Emmylou had shown up at Amery’s loft after hours, with a bottle of whipped cream vodka and two bags of Amery’s favorite Lindt chocolates.
The conversation had started out surprisingly awkward. Emmylou had apologized for listening to Tyler and not recognizing his true motives. But then she’d admitted Tyler wasn’t the only one who’d expressed concerns about Ronin and his business connections. One of Emmylou’s clients had seen Ronin leaving Amery’s business when she’d come in for a massage.
She’d assumed Ronin was Emmylou’s massage client and proceeded to tell her about Ronin’s connection to Thaddeus “TP” Pettigrew, the mogul who owned half of Denver. The source swore that several years ago Ronin had dealt with the vagrants, dealers, and squatters at several abandoned buildings in the Platte River Valley District. Once the commercial and residential buildings had been cleared of undesirables, including existing tenants who put their buildings up for sale, TP bought up a huge chunk of the area and applied for urban renewal funds.
Not exactly illegal, but it sounded suspicious given Ronin’s hard stance on ethics in and out of the dojo.
Emmylou’s source, a real estate broker, swore it was common knowledge but no one had shared details on exactly what Ronin had done to force people out. But rumors ran rampant.
So despite Emmylou’s apology, Amery had a sense of disquiet about the information. Especially since she knew Ronin and TP were friends and they’d left the Colorado Sports Banquet for a private business discussion. She’d tracked down a few articles on TP, and the more she read, the more disparaging the pieces were on TP’s questionable business practices and the organizations he supported. Being associated with TP often resulted in a tainted reputation—guilt by association. So why would Ronin subject himself to that?
Maybe he didn’t have a choice.
Amery continued to worry that she wouldn’t have a choice but to let Molly go. What sucked was she had no one to discuss her business issues with. Chaz couldn’t keep a secret. She’d considered talking to Emmylou, but with Amery being her landlord, admitting her financial struggles might send Emmylou looking for a different place to set up shop, and Amery depended on her rental income.
Shaking herself out of her reverie and needing a break, she wandered into the massage studio and paused in the office doorway.
Emmylou glanced up from her laptop. “Heya, girlie. What’s shakin’?”
“Not much. I’m making a Target run and wondered if you needed anything.”
She set her zebra-striped reading glasses on her desk. “You need me to keep an eye on your side while you’re gone?”
“Nah. Molly is here holding down the fort.”
“Cool. I could stand to pick up a few things myself.” She grabbed her purse and rounded her desk. “Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all. But no teasing me about my love of sour green apple Icees.”
Emmylou tapped a finger on Amery’s lips. “Anything that turns your mouth bright green and makes you look like you just sucked off a Martian is always subject to ridicule.”
Amery hip-checked her on the way out the front door. “I oughta make you ride in the back.”
“You miss me yankin’ your chain. So, what’s up with this emergency run to Target? Is BOB out of batteries?”
“BOB is a cliché. My vibrator is named WON.”
“WON?” Emmylou repeated, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “As in Don Juan?”
“Nope. It’s short for Want Orgasm Now. WON.” She grinned. “I put an accent on it to make him sound more sophisticated.”
“Bet poor WON has been gathering dust. I doubt you use him when you’ve got your sexy stud around.”
“Except for when Ronin uses WON on me,” she muttered. She glanced across the roof of the car to see if Emmylou had heard that, but she’d checked her ringing phone and gestured that she needed to take the call.
Amery slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, welcoming the cool air blowing on her heated face. The memory from last night with WON once again under Ronin’s control rolled through her like a violent summer storm filled with lightning, thunder, tornadoes, and hail.
The car jiggled as Emmylou climbed in. “Sorry about that. Two injured Rockies players need immediate massage therapy sessions, so I had to shift my schedule for tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t immediate mean . . . now? Today?”
“It would if they were in town, but they’re on the road, so luckily it means tomorrow.” Emmylou’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you all flushed?”
Wet daydreams courtesy of Ronin Black. “Because I’ve been sitting in a hot car waiting for you.”
“Then let’s hit it, sista.”
Horrible traffic meant it took twice as long to reach the Super Target in suburbia.
They each grabbed a cart and separated. Amery stocked up on fruit, produce, Noosa yogurt, deli fixings, and frozen entrées for one. Then she tracked down the remaining household items on her list before heading into the health and beauty section. Face wash, hair products, mascara, and lip gloss added to her cart, she cut down the feminine products aisle.