Skin (6 page)

She was lost in bemusement as he crunched and lifted and flipped and did it all over again. She was exhausted just watching him.

Then she watched a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, and she went into action. She stared from where she stood and zoomed in as many stages as she could go, trying to capture that single drop as it stood poised on the pulsating cords lifted along his temple. Then it dropped.

She couldn’t stop. She moved as close as she dared, clicking away as his jaw twitched and clenched and that chin firmed and the cheekbone locked down.

“He’s something,” she murmured to herself.

Then realized he’d stopped and was staring at her.

She lowered the camera, tilted her head slightly, and asked, “Is there a problem?”

He stared at her as if she’d asked a seriously stupid question, then shook his head and silently went back to work.

She was left wondering what she’d done, or what he’d thought she’d done.

*

Really? She thought
he was something. That was intriguing. Tinkerbelle just might be interested. Except he wasn’t sure she even knew what she was doing. She certainly hadn’t appeared to recognize that she’d spoken her thought out loud. Most women he knew would never be so honest.

And he suspected she hadn’t meant to be.

Sure, she was comfortable around a camera, but he had to wonder if she’d ever been around a man – not a boy but a full-grown, adult male – because she certainly wasn’t acting like it. For someone her age, she appeared damn innocent.

At first, he’d managed to block her out as he got into the swing of it. He loved setting a rhythm and working his body through the paces. It felt good. It felt natural. It felt right.

And he managed to get through most of his warm-up until she fixated on his face. What the hell was she doing? She’d been quiet, taking the odd picture before she had suddenly gone click-happy, her fingers moving at a speed he could only guess at. Then she’d moved closer, and he understood she’d locked onto his face. And she appeared to be studying his forehead. It completely disconcerted him when he realized a drop of sweat had fallen from his brow to the padded floor and she dove after it to take a picture.

What was that about?

Why would she even think to focus on such a thing? He always worked up a sweat. Had she been taking pictures of his shirt as it slowly soaked up, too? He wanted to make a sarcastic remark then figured he better not bring attention to it – just in case she hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t imagine what interest any of this would have for her, but she appeared enthralled. He closed his eyes and pushed his body through several more reps. The whirling click quickly became background noise. Then he stopped and rested. His body thrummed with energy, and fatigue had hit the muscles – that was a good thing. He stretched his arms up over his head and sighed gently.

“Feel good?” Her voice held an odd note. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was sending out mixed signals. He also couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she had no idea what she was projecting. Or what she thought she was projecting.

She was like Tinkerbelle in the innocence department, too. He had to wonder if she could be, but her age and university status made it hard to believe. She wasn’t model beautiful, but those huge, haunted eyes were enough to bring any man to his knees. It certainly brought out his protective instincts.

Another guy could easily use her as a punching bag. He’d assumed from her original trepidation around him that that had been her problem, but the camera had completely changed her.

It fascinated him.

He also assumed it was a surface change only, and that if he made a move on her, she’d bolt like lightning in the opposite direction.

There was a part of him really wanting to push the issue, too. Make her fess up to being as terrified as she really was. He knew it would be a shitty thing to do. He really wasn’t that kind of guy, unless he was fucking pissed.

Then everyone was that kind of guy.

S
he understood she’d
done something off, but for the first time in a long time, she was able to brush it away. She was doing something she loved with a subject that was fascinating. Even better, this activity was encouraged, necessary even.

A part of her wanted to squeal with joy. She’d wanted to take pictures of people for a long time, but there were rules and regulations and laws and…of course who she’d been interested in taking photos of versus the ones who were willing weren’t the same, either.

Kane fascinated her.

And he was male. In the beginning –
was that only last night?
 – he’d been imposing, scary, and forceful. She knew he could break her in two within seconds. She’d done a mess of self-defense courses and she’d have an edge if he tried anything, but there was no doubt that strength won out.

She’d spent the better part of the day capturing who he was, and although those fingers clenched into fists and his jaw clenched into stone, there was an element of control to him. As if he was afraid he’d cross the line…one day…but hadn’t yet.

Not for the first time, she wondered at his story. Curiosity ate at her, but she didn’t dare ask. Everyone struggled with personal boundaries in therapy. Some stories were meant to be told, others were told in parts, and even more would never see the light of day.

Hers was in the middle category. They used to be at the end. Progress.

In Kane’s case, he was a cop back in university to finish his degree so he could move up and do more. There was an awareness, an alertness to everything going on around him at all times, as if he never rested. Never relaxed his guard. When they were at the coffee shop, there’d been a softening in his gaze a few times. She tried to capture it, but she wouldn’t be able to tell if she’d succeeded unless she could take a closer look on her laptop.

The first time, he’d been looking across the harbor at a group of colorful sailboats drifting by, their sails billowing in the wind. A lazy afternoon on the water. There’d been something wistful in his gaze. She hoped she’d caught it, and also hoped she’d caught what she’d understood of him in that moment – the dreamer in him.

As they’d been getting ready to leave, there’d been an older couple walking on the street. They’d been holding hands. She’d instinctively taken pictures of the couple, although she had hundreds already. It was her dream future. She wanted to grow old together with someone special. She couldn’t think of anything nicer than to sit on a veranda with her partner, together in rocking chairs, enjoying the passage of time, full of memories of their life together.

She’d caught sight of Kane’s gaze on the same couple as they walked away. Sure, there was a bit of wistfulness there, but his gaze held more than a hint of regret for something just out of his reach. She’d been unable to resist taking several shots. A man like him had to have had a full and rich relationship history, but chances were also good that something had gone wrong with one of them. And that whatever had gone wrong was the major reason he was here.

There was a fury inside this man, but not against everyone. She definitely felt like it was directed at one particular person, most likely at his last relationship.

Or possibly…at himself.

As she sat there waiting for him to walk around and cool down from his last set of exercises, she wondered what could have gone so wrong as to send him to this place. It wasn’t exactly AA therapy, but it was a specialized type of session for those who needed a different approach. As she hadn’t been able to see the benefit for herself and had needed Jillian, her best friend, to point out how this could be her answer, she wondered who had shown Kane this next step in his journey.

Because he didn’t look like he could see it for himself – especially not here and now.

She was due for a one-on-one session with Jenna this evening. She had to admit, she was looking forward to it. She had something to say, some new insight into her life, her mind, her way of looking at the world. And as much as she didn’t want to dwell on Kane, some mention of her inscrutable partner was inevitable. She didn’t want Jenna to know there was a definite physical attraction to Kane but thought the therapist would be able to figure it out within a few moments of Tania opening her mouth.

And that would be embarrassing.

She could feel her cheeks heating up at the thought of trying to explain herself. Now her friend Jillian would be screaming for joy, and she was tempted to text her friend and mention the hottie partner, but that would also start a long string of questions demanding answers.

And she didn’t want to go there right now.

Or ever.

This was special, kinda like the first stirrings of long-dead hormones. Tania had tried to find other men attractive, but one couldn’t force something like that. She didn’t know why now. She couldn’t submerge the constant need to look Kane’s way and see what he was doing; the need to wonder about his story, his life, or any number of other issues going on. That awareness…that heat…that instinctive knowing where he was at any given time.

This was new for her, and she felt rubbed raw, super-sensitized to his presence. He must know. Maybe he could sense it. How humiliating. She felt like an overgrown teenager with awakening awareness of him.

She knew it had to be the circumstances. The setting. The project throwing them together in close proximity. It couldn’t be real. She shook her head.

She smiled, feeling a release of tension across her shoulders.

This was just a moment in time. A passing thought.

“What’s up?”

Startled, she looked over at Kane, now with a towel around his neck and wiping the sweat off his red face. He’d been working out while she’d been lost in thought.

She hopped to her feet. “I am so sorry. I was daydreaming.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head to study her. “About what?”

Willing the heat to stop its rapid climb up her neck, she stood up and fiddled with her camera. “Just life. The issues that brought me here. Things I want to take away from here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Glad you’re getting something out of this.”

“So are you.” She grinned. “You’re getting fit.”

“Ha.” He dropped the towel. “I am fit. There’s no
getting
in this equation.”

“Yeah, well, it seems to me you missed one rep on that last round.”

He stared at her in mock outrage. “How would you know? You were sitting there like some kind of decoration, daydreaming. I’m the one working out here.”

“And you’d better get back to it and make up your set,” she said smoothly. She lifted her camera. “And this time, I’ll be sure to catch every grunt and muscle movement.”

He froze, a look of horror on his face. “You don’t have audio on, do you?”

She laughed. “Nope. Just kidding. But I run a mean camera, which means I’ll catch every little trick you try to avoid getting your full workout.”

Good-naturedly, he returned to the huge set of weights and, starting with his right arm, he lifted a barbell she’d never be able to lift with two hands and started bicep curls.

She grabbed her camera and went to work herself.

When he stopped the next time, she noticed a change in his attitude. The look on his face. She bent closer, not quite understanding but wanting to – at least from behind the camera. It was as if he was exhausted but determined to continue. To force his body past this wall.

She didn’t understand the will to do this. Why? Why would anyone, male or female,
want
so much physical pain and do yet more damage? She didn’t understand how muscle building worked at this level. She understood it had something to do with creating tears in the fibers and having your body rebuild bigger, better, stronger.

But at this point…no, way earlier…she’d have walked away.

Instead, he was heading into this next set as if this was now…finally…serious business! As if everything else was a warm-up to this.

She leaned closer.

His face twisted with concentration, and his gaze flattened – those don’t-mess-with-me cop eyes she’d seen flickered in the dark-chocolate depths. And he reached deep inside and pulled those damn weights up again.