Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
The Wild Rose Press www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2008 by Kelly McCrady
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Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
CONTENTS Dedication Praise for Kelly McCrady Trademark Acknowledgements ****
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Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. Martial Hearts COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Kelly McCrady All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Contact Information:
[email protected] Cover Art by Nicola Martinez The Wild Rose Press PO Box 708 Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706 Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2008 Published in the United States of America
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Dedication To the Circle Girls—especially Patti Ann Colt, Carrie Lofty, Diane Drew, Isabel L. Martens and Cathleen DeLong—and our Hot Kiss Contest [Back to Table of Contents]
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Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
Praise for Kelly McCrady On Sweet Cicely: McCrady writes a really cute story with a funny protagonist. Cicely is a woman we can relate to. More I say! ~Lavender, The Long and Short of it Reviews Likeable characters and an interesting storyline ... a short but sweet story that I enjoyed reading. Ms. McCrady shows a lot of talent and promise with her debut book. I look forward to reading more of her work! ~Jennifer Y., Jennifer's Random Musings Opening up with a terrific voice, Sweet Cicely gave me an immediate picture of Cicely. Ms. McCrady has penned a great tale that has you remembering your own 'off days' and wishing the best for Cicely. A delightfully funny read! ~Black Orchid, Cocktail Reviews [Back to Table of Contents]
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Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
Trademark Acknowledgements The trademarked terms Escape From Doom, Color Code of Awareness, Cycle of Considerations and Dimensional Stages of Action appear by permission, property of KENPO2000. All rights reserved. [Back to Table of Contents]
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"Get him!" "Shoot him!" April Martin pelted across the sun-baked park meadow, dandelion stems slapping her legs, squeezing the trigger of her cheap plastic pistol. Her attempt proved fruitless, a pathetic dribble of water spitting from the end of her weapon. Children swept past, aiming at the man they pursued. One teen had a larger gun she envied. Lithe and brown, Austin Li spun. He landed neutral to April and the mob of children, in a left fighting stance. Sandal-clad and bare feet skidded to a halt on wet grass before a massive squirt of Austin's water-filled tube hit his attackers. Shrieks and giggles erupted from tiny bodies. Another jet of icy water spattered April's chest and belly. She whipped her arms to cover her face and ducked away, screaming. Crowing victory, Austin allowed his karate students to hang off his arms. The whole amoeba of activity trundled back to the spigot by the picnic shelter for more water. Try as she might, she could convince none of them to trade guns with her, the only other adult in the water gun fight. Soaked and transparent, her t-shirt became the second restriction she shed in the game. She peeled it away as she had her adult decorum. The kids were already chasing their beloved Mr. Li through delicious-smelling barbecue smoke across the hot packed crabgrass. He'd removed his shirt before playing. 9
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Her lack of the same foresight to keep her clothing dry added irritation to her dim view of her weapon's inability to squirt anyone. She spread her wet shirt on the corner of a picnic bench and re-tied her ponytail. Then she re-filled her pathetic pistol. Now she was wet and helpless. Thank goodness she'd thought to apply sunscreen before donning her bikini, or she'd be at the sun's mercy as well. Not entirely a bad thing, being shirtless. Austin wore it well. She hoped her halter bikini, red with white stars above, blue denim boy-shorts below, complimented Austin's tight, smooth, muscled chest and navy trunks. A charge tickled along her arms as she jogged toward him. They could make a good match, both appearing patriotic and summery. Hendricks Wayside, a park nestled beneath the bridge of the same name on Oregon's McKenzie River, hosted the karate school picnic every summer, but this was her first time attending. Four months earlier, she had joined the school, and through willingness to listen and pay attention, she progressed on schedule from white to yellow belt. She also became close to a few people. "There are no men and women here. Only martial artists," her instructor said during one of her first lessons. That was true enough when practicing standing skills such as kicks and punches. But in July they began a unit of grappling— groundwork and wrestling that put a petite young woman at a decided disadvantage. A handicap she hadn't minded when the kids' instructor, Austin, joined the adult classes on Monday nights. And some Wednesdays. 10
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Splat! The stream off ice-cold water across her torso brought April's meandering thoughts back to the picnic. Austin stood on the far side of the swarm of armed children, the grin on his square face framed between dimples. Legs pumping, April circled the frenzy. Twenty feet. Ten. Five. Aim. Squelch. Austin ducked, laughing, and turned his Super Soaker on her again. His shot caught her across the back despite her attempt to spin away. She gasped. A sting pulsed through her skin. Although she hadn't heard the announcement of lunch's readiness through the adrenaline of the water fight, the children had. They scattered like piranha sensing blood in the water and regrouped by the food. Austin tossed her a grin and waved her toward the picnic shelter. Long lines had formed along the food-laden tables. April dropped her water pistol into the bucket by the spigot and joined in the line. A jumble of potluck side dishes tempted her palate—salads, salsas, chips, pasta, rolls, sliced melon—along with the hot dogs and burgers provided by the school. Sodas nestled in ice-filled coolers. April glanced over her shoulder at a second table piled with pies and cakes, cookies, brownies, pudding, and fruit bars. Smells on top of smells wafted to her nose from the uncovered dishes. Savory, sour, sweet. Bliss. Paper plate in hand, she loaded up, one eye on Austin where he trailed on the opposite side of the table. 11
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Smiling and laughing, he joked with a teen girl and her mother. At times April wondered if there was anyone he did not instantly accept, if he ever showed quiet reserve and reflective sobriety. Perhaps gregarious people saved that for trusted soulmates. Glancing at other women clad in sensible t-shirts and shorts, she tucked her arms against her wet bikini, underdressed compared to every other grown-up in line. Hanging her breasts out for all to see was not her normal mode of dress. As with any potluck, if April didn't grab some on her first time through the line, an interesting dish might be gone when she came back. She arranged a tiny bite of everything onto her plate. A glance toward Austin showed no such caution for picnicware's holding capacity. He had heaped perhaps three different items from the potluck, dumped barbeque chips on top and attempted next to balance a hot dog on top of that. In one hand, the other clutching a soda. She stepped forward to receive her burger and lost sight of him. The crowd settled and ate, the children briefly quiet. Families gathered on blankets and at picnic tables. April took a seat next to Marietta Gomez, the school's nineteen-year-old secretary and her frequent sparring partner in class, and pulled in her elbows to avoid bumping the lady on her other side. If her hair would stop dripping, her back might have a 12
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chance to dry off. A breeze skittered through the shelter and she shivered despite the heat. "You got the worst end of that Super Soaker," Mari said with a wink, mopping up poppy seed salad dressing with a roll. "Austin is known for his wicked aim." Hearing his name sent a flutter through her heart. "I did get in the way of his gun. But I got him back." "Yeah, with a wimpy, leaky pistol." Round, friendly, and a few years younger, Mari Gomez was the first friend she'd made in the school. Mari had begun her journey to black belt when she was eight—for her, karate was second to breathing. "I plateaued pretty bad at blue belt," Mari had once told her, "I hung there for like, three years." April had done the math. At their school, assuming a belt exchange every three months, reaching Mari's level would take a minimum of seven years. She held no doubt Mari would earn her black soon—she was fast, precise, and hit hard. Mari's black belt journey would be interrupted, however. In a few short months, she would have to take time off to have the baby. When that happened, April would be adrift. "Hey, everybody, look up here a minute," Joe Stevens, one of the adult instructors, called. "Now is the time in our picnic—while you're all too full of dessert to move—for Stupid Instructor Tricks." A collective groan rose from the direction of the barbecue grill, where several instructors grouped. April looked to Mari, hoping for a clue. 13
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Mari snorted, and said in a low voice, "I don't think so." "That's right, everybody," Joe continued, "it's our talent show, where you get a chance to see that your instructors know how to do something other than karate. Sort of a fallback career option. You know, like me and talking. Mari, why don't you get up here and show us what you got?" He grinned, gesturing for her to take the stage, a clear area of grass between blankets. Pointing to her belly, Mari shouted instead, "I made fingers and toes today. Top that." Laughter tittered across the picnickers. Several of the mothers clapped. Mr. Poppard levered himself from his folding chair and performed some sleight-of-hand tricks. April marveled at how he moved, once on his feet—nimble, smooth and quick. She'd heard he had practiced Kenpo for thirty years, and his dedication to his art showed. Tireless children scrambled in between the adults in the shade. April watched them run to climb an ancient maple and remembered being a kid, unable to pay attention to boring adults. Distracted by the children, she started at the caterwaul of a harmonica hammering the air. She whipped her head around to the player. The vision of Austin, eyes closed, strong hands cradling his mouth-harp, sent a vibration down her spine into her gut. His lips kissed the instrument like a lover. Air punched straight from his tight stomach out through the Hohner organ, morphing into a powerful blues riff. He 14
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worked the harp through its minor note wail, hard and soft, grouped and singular. In awe, April listened, breath halted. She gained a new appreciation for blues music. He played for half a minute then lowered the silver bar. Applause greeted his finish, whistles piercing the staccato beat. Ducking his head and grinning, he tucked the harmonica into a pocket. His hair had dried into rough, dark spikes, and he'd replaced his shirt. April's gaze followed him as he went for another brownie. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't married," Mari said, sotto voce. "Why?" "Man who can play like that's gotta be good with his tongue." Electricity shot from her toes to her middle at the thought of his talented mouth working magic on her private instrument. "You're evil." Mari grinned. "Mrs. Gomez! Mrs. Gomez!" Several children clustered in front of Mari. "When we gonna play some games?" "Gimme a minute to get up, guys, okay?" Mari rolled her eyes. April was sure the kids thought they were helping their instructor up when they pulled on her arms. With a grin, Mari herded the kids to the sunny, open field, where she and her preteen helpers organized a water-balloon pass. 15
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Other picnickers moved from their perches to stroll to the water's edge. April followed. The river slid past in dappled sunlight—silent, clear and cold. The sun glinted off ripples in the pebbled shallows, icy water the ideal nursery for the young fish flitting into view. Flattened slabs of granite thrust from the river channel farther from shore, creating deceptively swift eddies of deepening water. April saw several teen students wade unsupervised out to the rocks upstream. She waded in, ignoring the heat on her exposed flesh. She hadn't reapplied her sunscreen after the water fight and was about to earn a burn, but someone responsible should be nearby. The current around the rocks was stronger than it appeared. Her toes numbed, and then her shins. As she stepped deeper, the splashes on her dry skin smacked like snowballs. Her sandal slipped on an algae-coated rock, dunking her above her shorts. She shrieked from the cold. "Careful." Austin waded past her. She hadn't heard him behind her over the rush of the water. He offered a steadying hand then helped her cross the few remaining yards of thigh-deep current to the rocks the kids had claimed. Walking took too much concentration. April had trouble enjoying his hand in hers, though the view enchanted her. He'd removed his shirt again and sinewy muscles rippled under tight, smooth, tanned skin. 16
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Climbing out of the water first, he smiled and guided her up the slippery surface. He pulled with one arm and slid his other hand along the bare skin of her back below her bikini strap. Cold water? What cold water? Amid teens shouting to each other over the rush of rapids, she and Austin remained an island of calm. At least on the outside. River water dribbled down her legs, tingling her senses. She mourned letting go of his hand and allowing him to move to the other side of the group on the gray slab island. The river swept past. The kids played king of the mountain until long after they were soaked. Austin joked with them and jumped about like one of the teens. April smiled freely, watching their antics. The sun moved across the afternoon sky, burning her all the while, she was sure. Eventually they had to go back, had to leave this tiny paradise and return to pedantic lives. She longed for an excuse to be near him. **** Across the mat from April, Austin Li wrestled with one of the blue-belts. Faces red, expressions determined, their muscles strained. Each man struggled for an advantage. Austin pinned the other man then switched positions before his opponent could find an opening for escape. "April." Mari waved hands across her view. "Pay attention, girlfriend." 17
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"What? Oh, sorry. My turn?" She focused on Mari and launched the appropriate attack, in slow motion, for Monday night's defense technique. Agile despite her pregnancy, Mari rolled April to her back and squashed her into the canvas. They traded places, but April's gaze strayed to the show on the other side of the mat. Mr. Li joked with the teen boys who attended the adult class then wrestled another to the floor. How do I get you alone? She pressed her chest into Mari's, placing her knees and elbows in the proper side-mount position, but her mind was across the room. Mr. Poppard watched and offered advice on her technique, his comments centered on something she already knew and usually performed better. Concentration evaded her. Austin Li was an instructor, and teachers in most schools of any type could not date students. He was a black belt; she'd been yellow for a month. Though he also was a student of Kenpo, learning from the more experienced black-belts, he was well above her level. They were not equals in any way, except perhaps in age. And maybe availability. Short of asking, she had no way of knowing if he was interested. She would feel like an idiot forever if he rejected her. Quitting or changing schools did not appeal to her. She enjoyed the camaraderie and the friends she'd made. If he didn't share the same regard ... she couldn't switch nights— he practically lived at the school. Neutral territory. They would have to meet in neutral territory. But where? He might consider any request to meet 18
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outside the school a date. Sadie Hawkins be damned, displaying her interest in such a brazen manner wasn't in April's lexicon. "Line up." Mr. Poppard's voice echoed off the ceiling. Tension in her gut eased like a sigh. Her hour of "dummy" practice had ended. Arranging themselves in three rows, she and the other students stood in rank order and faced their instructor. She stood in the third row with the lower-ranks, aligned tonight behind Austin. The teen boy between them was invisible. Mr. Poppard glanced toward the dry-erase board on the wall. "A few announcements tonight. We have a Parent's Night Out coming up next Friday, for those of you with wee ones to dispense with for the evening. Drop them off and Mrs. Gomez will keep them entertained for you until eleven." A light murmur ran through her row. "Sparring gear is still on sale, so get stuff while it's hot. "Remember, any of you who find yourself struggling with a particular aspect of Kenpo and would like individual instruction can sign up in the office. I think Mr. Li and Mr. Stevens both have time on their hands. Anything else?" He looked at Mari, who shook her head. April's thighs burned from standing with her knees bent, but her mind hummed. An idea formed. "Okay. Attention." They walked through the salute and salutation to close the class for the night then shook hands in rank order, thanking each person by name. 19
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By the time she got to the front of the reception line, April had formed a plan. A bold plan. A jumping-off point that scared her worse than bungee-jumping. She shook her graying instructor's hand. "Thank you, Mr. Poppard." "Thank you, April." "Thank you, Mr. Stevens." "Thank you, April." "Thank you, Aus—Mr. Li." Flames charred her cheeks. "Thank you, April." He gripped her hand in a firm but pliant handshake, brown eyes meeting hers. Let go. Move down the line. "Thank you, Mari." "Thank you, April." And so she shook hands with every student. At the end of the chain, they applauded each other and bowed off the mat. Butterflies tumbling in her stomach, she rushed upstairs to change and hurry home. Tomorrow, she'd be back. After work on Tuesday, heart skipping like a dancer in Swan Lake, she pushed open the door to the Kenpo Karate school. Glare from the late afternoon sun flashed across a row of parents' faces. April recognized a session of Little Dragons, their four- and five-year-old faces flushed. Their attention strayed to her entrance, earning a few reprimands from Mrs. Jameson to keep eyes forward. The instructor repeated her demonstration of a heel kick off her rear foot, and tiny gi-clad bodies struggled to imitate her movements. April nodded shy hellos to the parents and flicked her gaze to the office to find Mari at the desk. She cut between the 20
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adults and the back corner of the mat where the Kenpo Kids class, seven- to eleven-year-olds, awaited their turn. They knelt like black-belts along one side of the mat, backs straight, hands on knees. Most of them, anyway. They'd sorted into cliques, leaning across each other to gossip as well as belt-level order would allow. April reminded herself some of these innocent-looking kids could kick her butt. The August heat was well into the eighties, the air inside the school even hotter. Her cotton nursing scrubs breathed well, but at five-thirty in the afternoon, the heat still stifled. April longed for a cool drink of water. And the most challenging part of her visit was yet to come. Mari waved a hello under the phone receiver. Her dimpled smile soothed a balm on April's nerves. She obeyed Mari's gesture to enter. "I swear our building is possessed. Have you been upstairs yet?" Clad in a black instructor's gi tied with her brown belt— below her baby bump—she fanned herself with a notepad. "It's tons cooler up there. What brings our newest yellow belt here outside of class?" A sudden lump warbled April's first attempt to speak. She cleared her throat. "I'd like a private lesson. I sign up with you, right?" "I can't this week, but let me check the schedule—" "Oh, not with you." She gave a negative wave of her hand, fingers blurring in the fluorescent light. Heat crept up past her collar. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I mean, does Mr. Li have any appointment time?" 21
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A smile and stare met her discomfort. "I think he can squeeze you in." Mari pulled out the schedule book and peered inside. "You want Thursday at eight, or next Monday?" Thud. Start again, heart. "Thursday will be fine." "Anything I should note you want to work on?" "Grappling. Escapes, really. The guys are afraid of squashing me, I guess. I wanted more ... useful instruction I might need on the street if I ever—" Mari laughed, brushing highlighted brown hair out of her eyes with a carefree swat. "Grappling. Got it. Twenty-five, please." She stretched out a hand for April's bankcard. While the machine printed her receipt, they chatted about the picnic—the food everyone brought, wading in the river, sunburned shoulders. Austin Li appeared through the open back door of the office and plopped two file folders onto a shelf behind Mari. April jumped, heart pounding like that of a girl caught gossiping by the object of her affection. Oh, wait. His bright black eyes crinkled with a smile, hard muscles shaped with a red Swat Team gi-shirt. "Water was cold, wasn't it?" Her breasts tingled at the memory of his hand on her back. Aside from feeling the cold on his own skin, there was one other way he might've guessed the water temperature. Let the ground open up and swallow her now. Her gaze flicked to Mari, who threw Austin a "shut up" look. "April wants a private lesson with you," Mari said. "Better be here Thursday night." 22
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A sparkling grin crawled onto his square Asian face. He hooked his hands on his black belt. "Excellent. Eight o'clock." He skated his gaze up and down. "I'm all yours." Would that were true, sir. Shoving her bankcard back in place, she asked, "Will you be in class tomorrow night?" "Nah. Going fishing. I'll be back Thursday, though." She fidgeted with her wallet, sinking feeling numbing her from throat to fingertips. "I look forward to it." "Me, too." Outside the office, Mrs. Jameson shouted to the Little Dragons class and led them through the end of class salute. April couldn't bring herself to break eye contact with Austin even though she knew he had the next class and needed to move. Mari rolled her eyes skyward and backhanded Austin across his thigh. "Dude! You have class in like, one minute. Get upstairs." He jumped, tearing his gaze from April. "Going. Going." With a wink, he ghosted through the back door and called to his young students to hustle. **** Sports bag in hand, April skirted the adult class and climbed to the deserted second story studio. Vintage goldenbrown pile, a change from the thin blue utility carpet on the stairs and lower level, still managed to spring under her feet. She closed the women's dressing room door and pushed aside the simple maroon privacy curtain hanging between the door 23
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to the studio and the single, communal room. Mari was right: The air conditioning did work better on the second floor. Even the tiny windowless dressing room provided a respite from the heat. Wacky HVAC. She marveled at how the school did not stink of stale sweat like a gymnasium, despite the number of sweating bodies slamming to the floor on two mats, upstairs and down. The freshly vacuumed scent tickled her nose, however, hinting of artificial assistance. Walls covered in diagonal pine paneling, a sign of the studio's age, reminded her of the vacation cabin her family used to rent in the mountains. Sitting on the floor to open her bag and change clothes, she glanced at the photos on each female instructor's section of wall. Mari had once been a skinny teenager, blue belt looped around her blue and white gi. Her instructor's certificate in her maiden name swam among photos of a generation of students and their teachers. April dropped her gaze to the floor while she undressed. The same penny she'd noticed before her first lesson four months ago sat lodged in the corner between carpet and wall, among the tiny dust bunnies the vacuum couldn't reach. Driven to pick up any stray coin she found, she'd left this one be. No one else had taken it. The penny remained, Lincoln's dusty jacket a testament to the honesty found here. She ran through her preparation checklist. Socks off, yes. Hair in tight ponytail, yes. Sports bra adjusted to keep the girls contained, yes. Thin t-shirt to hide the girls in case studly instructor ripped open her gi, definite yes. Athletic cup on, oh yes. 24
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Tight physical contact with several men aside, wearing a cup had to be the strangest experience of taking karate. The cup was designed to protect the bladder and pubic bone against a blow from the front. On a man, that seemed sufficient, the cloth sling pulling other tender parts upward into the hard plastic shield. With some of the kicks and hits she took in class, she'd already had reason to be glad to wear one. She glanced sideways into the mirror. The thing stuck out from her body like a codpiece. Weird. Definitely not sexy. She tied the stiff yellow belt over her white gi, the knot turned to the right in the traditional indication of female student. She stretched her legs and hips until she had no further excuse to remain in the dressing room. With sweating fingers, she re-opened the curtain and the door. Cool air under the fluorescent lights caressed her cheek. She heard the water bottle vending machine downstairs clunk. Regular classes had ended for the day, and laughing voices echoed through the building. Sunset's pageant showed through the windows overlooking Main Street, the sky her favorite shades of orange. Streetlights glowed with their first vermillion burn as she approached the canvas mat and knelt, hands on her knees. The mat's stuffing appeared to be making a run for it, tiny corners of ancient foam peeking from beneath the taut canvas. There was no way to tell how deep the foam was behind the wooden façade surrounding the mat, but she suspected the padding extended only a few inches, supported by a lattice of wood slats underneath. 25
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After glancing at the clock, she closed her eyes and paced her breath. The stairs creaked, and behind her she sensed the vibration of a man walking. "Ready?" He bowed onto the mat, clipboard pinched in one hand. Gripping tight fists to her thighs, her feet sweating, she stood. As required by discipline, she cleared her mind then bowed before stepping on the mat. Didn't help. Naughty thoughts came rushing back. She followed Mr. Li to the front of the room. The mirrored wall behind him betrayed to her the anxious flush of her cheeks. Riveting her gaze on her midsection instead, she assumed a proper horse stance—fisted hands tight on her hips, palm up, knees bent, toes forward—and waited. He set the clipboard aside and faced her. "Attention." "Yes, sir." She stood straight, feet together, arms at her sides. "Meditate." Stepping out to the side with her left foot, hands forward, eyes closed, she again attempted to center her thoughts on karate. On the back of her eyelids, his red and black gi looked freshly laundered, neatly creased. Her heart pounded in her ears. Above the vacuumed smell, the citrusy musk of the man in front of her spiced the small gap between them. Had he worn cologne? For her? "Okay," he said. "Salute." They danced together, hand motions mirrored in the traditional salute taught to honor the instructors. Used to performing this salutation in a group, she found that honoring 26
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Mr. Li alone played across her jittery nerves in a way that had little to do with karate. They each stepped forward and their outstretched fingertips touched. A tiny laugh escaped her as they continued the motions, pulling cupped hands back to their bellies before stepping to the left to form the triangle, then the fist and sword, the prayer hands, shield, and back to attention. The warmth in her cheeks increased. She had begun the salute too close to him. He must have known she had—why hadn't he moved back? He lifted the clipboard between them like a shield and cleared his throat. "Grappling?" "Yes, sir." "Any move in particular?" Yes. I want you in my guard. Missionary position. "I'm not good at escaping the..." Frustrated with her memory loss, she laid her hands across each other, mimicking a 69. "The face-squashing one, sir." A shrug rippled across his muscled shoulders. "Doesn't matter. We'll start with escapes you'd be likely to need." Relief eased through her—she might not have to suffocate tonight. Executed with proper pressure, the position gave her a throbbing headache. Not exactly the romantic interlude she'd dreamt. His eyes narrowed. He met her gaze, leaning forward on his toes. "Mrs. Gomez said you're concerned with using this on the street. Are you worried about a particular situation? Do you work nights at the clinic?" 27
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Shaking her head no, she gave a nervous laugh. "I try not to be out after dark, but that's five o'clock in winter. I work and I take night classes, obviously. As a woman, I ... selfdefense is important to learn. Beyond what we need to advance in rank." He nodded, a smile playing across his lips. "I wish more women understood that. Before we get down on the mat, let's approach this verbally a bit, talk about emotional fitness. When you find yourself facing a dark walk to your car, what do you think about?" Mouth dry, she wiped slick palms on her white gi. They were supposed to wrestle, not talk. "Where an attacker might be hiding? I try to park in a well-lit spot. Before I leave the building, I have my keys in my hand. I look around as I walk, not at my feet. Then there's coordinating unlocking the car door, getting in and locking the door again before something happens." "Sure, sure. But how do you feel during your thought process?" "Scared. Waiting for the day someone tries to make me a victim." He loomed over her without moving. Fascinated, she watched his posture. The teacher melded with the man, his stern look disquieting. He appeared almost ... possessive. "Emotional fitness has to do with turning around a situation to give you the power, not your attacker. It all starts with your attitude. Put yourself in the dominant, winning position no matter the circumstances. Guy comes at you with a club? Great—he brought the targets and the weapons!" 28
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She giggled. The joy in his expression when he mentioned taking out a bad-guy struck her funny-button, like watching a kitten wiggle its behind to pounce on a dangled feather. He frowned. "I'm serious," he said, eyes dark. "Long hair like yours, pretty face, small frame—your attacker expects you to be easy prey. He'll think twice if you turn and look him in the eye. Sum up your targets before he's close enough to do damage." Her heart pounded. He'd said she was pretty. "First line of defense is to create distance. Sometimes one well-placed kick is all you'll need. "But if that fails, you want to know how to escape." He rested one hand on his hip, and gestured with the clipboard. "I know regular class doesn't give you the practice you need for self-defense. Two-hundred pound married men have trouble throwing a girl your size to the mat with any conviction." She followed the clipboard with her gaze while he waved it as though he'd forgotten it was in his hand. "I still get squashed a lot." He shrugged again, and set down the clipboard. "Hazard of our occupation. All right, on your back." Gulp. She followed his gesture and lay on the mat, arms and legs tight against her body—not splayed open to accept him the way she dreamed. "I hope this doesn't sound too wimpy," she said, "but my back got sunburned Saturday and my shoulders are sore." 29
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
"That's just part of your environment." His eyebrows rose. "Is an attacker going to come at you when you're feeling your best every time? Probably not." Mr. Li straddled her hips and crouched above her, holding off his weight. "Standard attack for Escape From Doom is with my hands on your shoulders, but that won't always be the case. A variation for you." He moved his hands off her shoulders to either side of her head, pinning her ponytail. For a moment she struggled to think which way to roll. Decision—toward the pinned ponytail. She marched through the technique in her head while she executed the maneuvers. Use both hands to grab his gi by the shoulder. Pull. Thrust hips up. Throw leg. Roll. Canvas mat and cotton gi worked together to grind her sunburn with friction. Ouch. "Good!" Inches away from her face, white teeth flashed in a grin contrasting his Asiatic tan. Faster than April could react, he counter-rolled, putting her on her back once more. "Try it this way," he said. Instead of both hands on her shoulders, he grabbed her gi with his left, right hand poised to punch. Off balance. Three-legged table. She bucked to her left and rolled. He grabbed her arm and pinned her face to his chest. How to wedge out now? Her mind whirled. His heat penetrated the red cotton-duck shirt into her forehead. She wanted to sprawl forward, press herself into his chest, maybe snake her tongue along that tiny patch of bare chest below her cheekbone. His skin was smooth ... how did it taste? Concentrate. Horse pinch—use a horse pinch. Where? 30
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
"You still want to protect your face," he said, his breath moving the tiny hairs that had escaped her ponytail. "Look at my belly button." Oh, can I? His voice so near, so intimate within her space. Gulping, she snaked her fingers down between them, feeling the bulge of his cup across her wrist. Fingers to thigh and... "Yah-ha!" He jerked, laughing, and let go. Using pointy elbows to her advantage, she found the nerve on his leg and wedged his thighs open. She tried not to focus on what lay at their apex. Up on one foot. Two. Leap back, cover out. Mr. Li massaged his inner thigh where she'd pinched. "Got a healthy bit of flesh." She hoped her weak smile covered the desire racing through her veins. Her heart pounded. "Sorry." "That's what I want from you." Excuse me? "I want you to fight back. I want you to mean it." He sat up, hands resting on his thighs. "Let's try more variations." For forty-five minutes, Mr. Li pinned her down and encouraged her to escape, giving pointers and tightening his hold each time. She winced whenever he found her sunburned shoulder blades, but rolling on the mat and grinding her gi into tender skin hurt more. He taught her eye pokes, finger pulls and choke holds, all more specialized than what she'd learned in class. Not a large man, a scant four inches taller than she, he was lean, muscular and outweighed her by a good sixty 31
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
pounds. The effort needed to push him away from exactly where she wanted him—on top and between her legs—grew frustrating. Their athletic cups banged together. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto the mat. Her breath dragged into lungs squashed flat by his last hold. The next time they traded places—after she performed a laborious bridge and roll—he hesitated, lying on his back. Proud of a correct top mount, she rested on his chest. Her breasts pressed against either side of his face. Blood rushed south into her torso, leaving her dizzy. Thank goodness four layers of cloth separated them. Breathing hard, he allowed her to straddle his groin— allowed because he could escape, and had, several times. His cup settled into the hollow behind hers, the hard knob fitting her without satisfaction. She shifted slightly and his eyes widened, his hands going to her knees. "Sorry," she murmured. Goosebumps raised along the trail of his hands. Flattened and gentle, his palms stroked across her thighs and knees. "No problem." His tongue snaked forward, the tip wetting his bottom lip before he grabbed her gi at her shoulders and flipped her over. He lingered in her guard. "Tired?" he asked. She looped arms around his neck and legs around his waist, smiling. "It's getting harder." "Yep." Lightning-fast his elbows dug into her thighs, pinching nerves, opening her like a clam. He swung his legs over hers and pinned her with another top mount. 32
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
Oh, God. Escaping had become an odious chore. So far, he hadn't shown any sign that her touch affected him at all the same way as her body weakened from his nearness. Unfair. His arms stroked along her breasts. She bucked and shrimped to the side, pushing on his leg and hip, her grunts sounding more like moans. His sweat mingled with hers, salty and hot, his man-scent stronger, her reaction urgent. I need to get my legs free. I need to wrap around him. I need to... With her legs, she gripped his torso and thrust him away with her pelvis. The view—hot Asian man between her legs— sent chills along her spine. Too soon, he broke their tableau to reposition. He cupped her hips in strong male hands, lowering her gently to the mat, his gaze locked to hers. Their hour was up. They stood again and approached the mirror. "Good," he said. "I'd be afraid of you in a dark alley." A thrill of pride swept from chest to fingertips. Praise works for me. They stepped through the salute to end the lesson. His eyes twinkled. This time he jumped an exaggerated half-step back and missed her fingertips. "Thank you, sir." They bowed off the mat. "Just think about what you'd be willing to fight for. Good lesson. Get changed. Mrs. Gomez will lock up after you leave." He jogged down the stairs to change in the men's room. 33
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
Her body followed his thumping progress, an ache growing with each step he took. After all that, he could just leave? She closed the dressing room door and parted the curtain, hands shaking. Peeling off her uniform and cup, she wrinkled her nose at her sopping wet panties, certain the moisture was not all from exertion. His muscled frame under and above, hers for a full hour ... she hadn't tried as hard as she should have to escape. In a light shirt and cotton workout pants, ready to shower once she got home, she exited the room to a darkened studio. Reaching back, she turned out the dressing room light. A change in air pressure, a rustle of clothing caught her attention. Something moved in the darkness on her right. Her awareness of danger rocketed from la-la oblivion to red launch, a strangled scream cut off in the throttle of fear. She backed up, avoided tripping on her shoes and halted with her feet spread and hands outstretched, feeling clumsy. Not a terribly good ready stance, never mind a fighting stance. Only her realization that the shadow was Austin allowed her heart to resume, pounding sense and blood back to her brain. A shaking hand pressed to her chest, she stepped nearer. "Stop." She did. "Color Code of Awareness. Right now. Where are you?" "I was in white just now then you scared me. I'd guess light orange, now—curious." Her eyes adjusted to the indirect light spilling into the upstairs from the exit. 34
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
Austin stood facing her with feet apart, his face serious, hands on hips. "Cycle of Considerations." He pointed to the Kenpo chart on the lit stairwell wall. "I'm already controlling attitude, environment and distance. Dimensional Stages of Action. I'm in contact phase. If I pinned you right now, I'm bigger, I'm stronger. What weapons do you have?" Afraid to look away from him for outside clues, she made a fist, a hand sword, waved one foot. Prickles climbed the back of her neck, her gut cramping with uneasiness. Was he threatening her? "And your voice," he said. "We're not alone here. Yell. Scream. If you did, what would happen?" Her heart pounded in her ears. "Mrs. Gomez would come upstairs." "And if she found me taking advantage of you, she'd kick me across the room—then make sure they took away my belt." After a couple seconds, he chuckled softly and took a half-step back. Tension in her shoulders eased, and her breathing returned to normal. Just a part of her lesson. "Do you do that to everyone? Jump out like that?" His voice softened. "I scared you on purpose, but better that I startle you here than some guy in the parking lot. I wanted to see your reaction to genuine fear. That's a hard one to practice, so that's why we drill the basics over and over." He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "You did well. I want you to be comfortable with the thought that at any time, you have the opportunity to take 35
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
back the fight. The hard part is learning to consider the nine elements in exact order." Shadows hid his expression, but his posture was relaxed. And he lingered, not seeming anxious to leave her presence. Bolstered by the half-light, and by his praise, she decided to take a chance. She straightened her posture and licked her lips. One flip of her hair then she dove in. "Then I suppose we'd better go through the whole chart on the wall. What's the attitude?" "I have your attitude," he said, head tilted to one side. "You're coming on to me. My attitude? I like it." Bolder now for having her interest expressed aloud, she propped her hands behind her hips, chest thrust forward, and continued. "Our environment is here, alone in the darkened top floor of the school. Dimensional Stages of Action puts you at contact phase, but me.... "She moved closer, swaggering her hips in a gentle roll. "I want penetration, followed by manipulation." Aware he'd gone into a right ready stance—feet apart, his left foot slightly behind his right—she stepped to the left side of his forward leg. Snaking her arms up, she pinched the side of his neck with the blade of her forearm. He leaned toward her and she swept his leg. He relaxed in her arms and she lowered him to the floor, proud her base was strong enough to support him. "That was good," he said, smiling. "You let me do that. I didn't have your right arm pinned."
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Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
"Of course. I know the counters. That's position and maneuver." He trapped her left leg with his arm. "Now what can you do?" She laughed. Inside, she sang with his friendly attention, her heart giving a flutter. His playfulness is all mine now. "I can still kick you with the other one." "Try it." She aimed a ball kick at his groin but stopped the kick before contact in case he'd taken off his cup. His wrist hit the back of her left knee and she toppled, landing on her butt. The carpeted floor was not as soft as the mat. "Hey!" "See, that wasn't your best choice of target." He lifted his head off the floor, still on his back, and chuckled. "You okay?" Eyes narrowed, she mashed her lips together, deciding. She crab-walked forward and straddled him, sitting on his chest and pinning his biceps with her knees. The contact felt very different in her thin workout pants, without her cup. His dark eyes widened, full of wildness. The light from the stairs illuminated his expression—lips parted, teeth together. "Let's go deeper." His voice was lower, huskier. "Next is angles, right?" We aren't alone, remember? But, yeah. Let's. Speechless, she nodded. He lifted his knees and pinched her ponytail between his shins. Her head followed his knees back down, her back arching. Propping herself on her hands, she gave little resistance when he grabbed her knees and spread them. He blew through the fabric on her tender skin. She gasped. Heated shivers ripped up her spine and back. 37
Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
Sitting up, he lifted her with no effort despite their workout. He laid her gently on her back then shuffled to his knees. Her breasts brushed against his chest when she knelt to meet him. No doubt he wanted her, but why stop where he had? The unfairness lit within her a combative burn. He snaked gentle hands along her arms to her wrists. He held her arms out to her sides. Mere inches away, his warm breath washed over her. "Now, if you were a danger to me," he said, "I could cover out from here, control distance, get out of your line of attack." But instead of acting on his instruction, he lowered his face to hers. His arms moved to cradle her back, hands splayed. His kiss brushed her cheek, her jaw, her mouth. She murmured against his lips. "What would be the fun in that, Mr. Li?" Heart pulsing, she met his kiss. Her tongue massaged the warm lime spice of his lips and he opened to her. She pushed, he pushed back, she breathed in, he breathed out. Bodies in synch, their tongues echoed the evening's wrestling match. Shivers and warmth swirled up her spine across her shoulders and down to her center, the firmness in his kiss holding her up. His sparring style was gentle, firm, dedicated. He would make love much the same way he fought. And she couldn't wait to take him down. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Martial Hearts by Kelly McCrady
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