Aim For Love (11 page)

Easy, hell. It was all she could do to keep her eyes shut. She felt the heat of him as he moved to kneel in front of her.

“I’m going to tap your body, Sabrina. While I do it, see if you can keep your mind clear. Or focus on a scene or thought that gives you pleasure.”

She felt his fingertips on the top of her head. And tried to call up any scene other than the image of him kneeling so close to her.

“Afterward I’ll show you how to do this,” he said in a barely audible voice. He tapped the top of her head. “Concentrate on focusing on a pleasurable scene, an image that makes you feel safe.”

His arm brushed the side of her head as he moved closer. The aroma of sandalwood wafted to her, a scent she was coming to associate with him. But more than that, she sensed him. Male.
Mate
. The thought shocked her, and she opened her eyes. His chest was inches from her face. He must’ve sensed her movement, because he removed his hands.

“You’ll have to concentrate, Sabrina.”

She liked the way he repeatedly used her name. Maybe it was a Japanese custom. Or maybe it was just his way. She tilted her head and looked up at him.

“Let’s try that again.” He gestured his fingers to his eyes and closed them.

She shut hers and took a shaky breath. Her pulse sped as he touched the top of her head. He began to tap in a rhythmic pattern, slow and steady. He moved his hands to either side of her head, his fingers touching just above her temples, and continued the gentle tapping. Her thoughts dropped away as she listened to the rise and fall of his breath and the sound in her head as he tapped.

She floated then and found herself on a white blanket in a field of wildflowers. Animals appeared and circled the perimeter—a brown bear, a lion, a striped skunk. But they were a gentle presence and she wasn’t afraid. She lay back on the blanket and was cradled in billowing softness. A dragon arrived and paced the ground just beyond the blanket, as if it were guarding her or keeping negative forces at bay. She watched in awe as it circled, once, twice, and then she found herself drifting off again.

“That’s a good beginning.”

Kaz’s voice startled her.

She opened her eyes.

He stood down near the stream, a slight smile curving his lips. Her first thought was that he should smile more often. It eased the rugged planes of his face and lit his eyes. Questions rolled into her thoughts, and with them came a creeping sense of embarrassment. How long had she been drifting? What had he done? What had she said? What had
she
done?

He raised a finger to his lips. “Just sit for a moment. We can talk on the way back to the house.” He turned and knelt to trail his fingers in the flowing stream.

But she couldn’t stop her thoughts.

It was as if they’d backed up during her time away.
Away
? She looked up. The sun was lower in the sky. How long had she sat there? She took a breath and crossed her arms. The pain was there, but not excruciating. She closed her eyes and felt an odd but welcome sense of peace flood in with the darkness.

The sound of leaves crunching beside her broke the soothing spell. Kaz held her rolled-up sling in his hand. He’d donned his pack.

“That’s it?”

“Until tonight.”

He led the way back to the house. She couldn’t remember when her body had felt so right. Before Natasha’s film, for sure. Maybe long before that.

But the peace she’d felt with her eyes closed didn’t hold up as she watched Kaz walking ahead of her. His movements stirred her, stirred her deeply. She slowed her steps and let him get a little farther ahead, hoping that distance might calm the unsettling feelings coursing in her. But as she followed him, she found that distance didn’t help at all.

When they reached the house, he stopped at the porch steps.

“You might want to rest,” he said as he removed the backpack and set it on the porch. “I have some work to do out here for a few hours. We can go into town for dinner around six.” He shrugged. “I’m not much of a cook.”

“I’m not really tired. Perhaps I could help you.”

He handed her the sling. “What we did back there”—he looked toward the path—“uses energy. More than you might think. Don’t let yourself be seduced by the simplicity. I’ll see you at six.”

And he strode off, leaving her standing at the foot of the steps.

Once in the guest room, she eyed the bed. It looked more enticing than she’d imagined. Without undressing, she lay across it and settled her head against the pillows. She should’ve asked Alex more about what it was that Kaz had done to help him. She’d thought there’d be exercises, stretching, some variation of the torture she’d endured with physical therapists over the past month. Some sort of samurai martial arts movements, at least.

As she relaxed she heard the faint sound of singing. The velvet-smooth male voice and simple song lulled her and stayed with her as she drifted toward sleep. Simplicity wasn’t the seduction she’d have to guard against. But then again, maybe she didn’t need to guard at all.

Chapter Nine

Kaz leaned from the waist and toweled the water from his hair. After working with Sabrina, he’d stayed longer in the orchard than he’d planned. But spring was always like that, bringing more work than any one man could do. It was a hell of a time for his parents and brother to fly off to Japan. And a worse time for Roberto and his crew to be away for three days to celebrate his cousin’s nuptials.

Weddings. He’d never been to one. A guy from the Triple-A team had invited him to his last year, but it’d been during the harvest and halfway across the country.

He slipped on a clean shirt and tucked it hurriedly into his jeans. Unlike most of the guys he played ball with, who typically wore polo shirts, he favored button-front shirts with collars.

He checked the time on his phone. He really didn’t have time for dinner in town—he needed to finish up the farm’s federal tax returns and get them to their accountant. But he couldn’t expect Sabrina to eat instant noodles. And honesty required that he admit to himself that he wanted to spend the evening with her.

He was still shaken by the reaction he’d felt as he’d worked with her down at the stream. Every time he touched her, the balanced, controlled energy he normally commanded was eroded by fantasies that shocked him. He’d bitten back the urge to take her in his arms, to kiss her, to know her, to touch her in ways that would make her cry out his name in the heat of passion. He’d managed to channel the surge of energy, to focus, to concentrate on helping her heal, but it had taken all the willpower he could muster. No wonder she was a star. Beauty like hers probably made everyone who laid eyes on her want her. Only years of discipline kept images of her from swamping him as he’d soaped up in the shower.

But his reaction puzzled him. It was as though his body was reading energy streaming from her and had no interest in listening to his mind. That rarely happened. If his grandfather were alive, he’d train it out with him on the practice field.

But not having his grandfather to spar with, to train up his concentration, was no excuse.

He’d told Alex he’d
help
Sabrina. Giving in to the urges of his body wasn’t on his list of therapies and practices. That wasn’t the honorable path. If he couldn’t keep a handle on his urges, he’d have to stop working with her.

But that option was unacceptable.

He’d agreed to a mission and he’d damned well see it through.

He went downstairs and found Sabrina curled up with a book in his father’s library. She wasn’t wearing her sling.

She held up the book with her uninjured arm.

“This says that samurai swords are made in furnaces that reach two
thousand
seven hundred degrees.”

“Fahrenheit. Yes.” He clipped his words. As his eyes traced the scooped neckline of the thin cotton dress hugging the curve of her breasts, the fantasies of stripping her naked weren’t easy to banish.

“And the strongest are made from river sand and charcoal,” she said. “Making a sword from sand—it’s hard to believe.”

Sword making was a safe topic, one that surely would keep him on track.

“The iron leaches from the sand as it melts in the furnace. It combines with the carbon from the charcoal to form the steel.” He took in a breath as she lifted her hand to her neck, resting her fingers in the dip of her collarbone. Resting it precisely where he’d like to plant a kiss. His fantasies kept rolling right in, and he again shoved them back. “But few swords are made that way today. Those made by the master described in that book are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“I’d like to see those clay furnaces, see the masters blowing though the long tubes and breathing life into the fire. It sounds otherworldly.”

“It is.”

He tried not to imagine Sabrina wet with sweat near a furnace, her clothes clinging to the curves of her body. He really needed to get a grip. “It’s also hot, exhausting work,” he said, drawing up an alternate image of the furnace tender. “The
tatara
tenders can lose ten pounds in two days from sweat alone. I have a video I can show you. My brother shot it in Japan last week and put it on his website. But we should get going; the café closes at eight.”

Kaz tried to remember the last time he’d sat across from a woman and had dinner in town. Maybe before Nariko had left for LA. And with Stacy the night of their junior prom. A night he preferred not to remember.

Their table was in a quiet back corner. Sabrina ordered a glass of merlot.

“Make it two,” he said to the waiter.

She tore off a slice of the still-warm sourdough bread the waiter had brought and lifted it to her nose. “This is the real thing.”

Sabrina breathed in the world as if it were made for her pleasure. Pleasure was something Kaz had spent little time pursuing. Training for the season and getting the farm in shape took all his energy and focus. That is, until she showed up.

She winced as she reached for the butter. If he didn’t do anything else while she was with him, he’d make sure she could make simple moves without pain.

“I feel like I’ve walked onto the set of an old western,” she said as she glanced around. “The wooden façades of the storefronts, the old boardwalks in front of the buildings.”

“Warn me if a gunslinger walks in.”

She wrinkled her nose. “How about a tall guy who looks like an out-of-place attorney and his rather short sidekick?”

Kaz turned.

Martin Erickson sat at a table near the door. Kaz was pretty sure the shorter man with Martin was Tuco Ortega, the same man he’d seen with Martin the day he’d come to town to pay the taxes. And he’d seen the guy a day later when he’d gone to Roberto’s to deliver the payroll.

Martin spotted Kaz and nodded.

“Friend of yours?” Sabrina asked.

“No.”

She leaned her head in her hand and took a couple of darting glances at the other table.

“The shorter man looks like he’d play the role of an underworld boss—the immaculate clothes and the fight-scarred face. But that would be a cliché, wouldn’t it?”

“Let’s hope so.”

Sabrina raised a brow.

Kaz had noticed the tension between Roberto and Ortega, but Ortega had gone into the house before Roberto could introduce him. Unfortunately, Sabrina’s observation fit. Too well.

“I’m fascinated by casting,” she said. “Some people say that if a film is well cast, half the job is already done. But it isn’t a job I’d be good at.” She tore off a piece of bread, but didn’t reach again for the butter; pain had a way of limiting actions. He passed it to her and felt the warmth of her grateful smile. “I can read people—sometimes,” she added, “but I can’t ever quite imagine how they might look to others. Or on the screen.”

Martin rose from his table and approached them, eyeing Sabrina.

“Tokugawa—out for a night on the town?”

“Evidently.”

“May I?” He gestured to one of the free chairs at their table and didn’t wait for a response before seating himself. “I’m Martin Erickson, a neighbor,” he said as he held out his hand to Sabrina. She offered her left hand.

“Sabrina.”

“Yes, I know. I’m a fan. We haven’t had anyone as lovely as you in Valley Cross since Kaz’s sister left for the big time in LA.”

Sabrina wriggled her hand free and put it in her lap.

“I spoke with your father last week,” Martin said, turning to Kaz. “I offered him a fair price for your back forty.”

“We’re not selling.”

“Your father seemed interested in my offer.”

The bell over the café door jingled, catching Kaz’s attention. As did the woman who walked in. It’d been five years since Kaz had seen Stacy, but time hadn’t erased the memory. Or the conflicted emotions that seeing her shot through him. She didn’t glance his way as she joined the other man at Martin’s table.

“My dinner guest has arrived,” Martin said as he rose from his chair. He nodded to Sabrina. “I hope you enjoy your visit—you’re in good company,” he added over his shoulder as he returned to his table.

Sabrina sipped at her wine. “You’re selling your land?”