Aim For Love (6 page)

“Give it a go? LA’s not going anywhere last I checked.”

“Okay.” She fingered the vine he’d carefully tied to the lyre-shaped espalier. “But only three days, Alex. And then I’m heading back to LA.”

Chapter Five

It wasn’t a dungeon, but at the moment it felt like one to Sabrina.

She sat on a bench in the gym that Alex had built eight years before. He’d loaded the room with every possible machine, weight and gizmo to keep him in shape during the off-season. Though she preferred hiking, or riding her horses on the network of trails that led out from Trovare, on terrifically stormy days she’d come down and use the treadmill. Some days they’d be in the gym working out together. She couldn’t help but admire the dedication and excruciatingly long hours he spent preparing for baseball season. And the pain he endured but never talked about. Every year he threatened to retire, and every year the game he loved lured him back.

She shivered against the chill in the air. The gym was tucked alongside the entrance to the wine caves, and the temperature remained constant—good for the wine, but chilly on her body unless she really concentrated on working up a sweat. She surveyed the carefully arranged room. Barbells, free weights, physioballs, ropes and weight machines lined the stone walls. The gym looked like a set from a big-budget
Rocky
film. Or the setting of a dark erotic thriller.

Before shooting
Exigent,
she’d never looked at a room or a location through the eyes of an actor. Now she had to stop herself from seeing every room or building as a set.

Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs. Kaz appeared, filling the arched doorway. The lights behind him cast his shadow out and across her.

“You’re punctual,” he said.

Guarded, my ass
. The guy was downright cold.

“I do my best.”

He stepped into the room. “Look, you don’t have to do this.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the weight tower. “You have a choice. I’m not into forcing anyone to do things against their will.”

Choice
. A small word that bore such power.

“I trust Alex,” she said.

“Yeah, well, so do I. That doesn’t mean you have to work with me.”

“He’s sure you can help me. A gut feeling, he said. I trust those feelings.”

A smile played across Kaz’s face, or maybe it was the reflection of the light in the mirror on the far wall, because in a second, it was gone.

“Let’s take a walk.” He picked up a tangle of webbed ropes from the floor.

“What about my shoulder? You asked me to meet you down here to work on it.”

“This walk will be all about your shoulder.” He did smile then, in full. And when he did, his face changed. His eyes lost their flat, almost steely quality and danced with life.

He slung the ropes over his shoulder.

“I’d rather start you off in the light. See you move. You can tell so much about a person when you see them move.”

She didn’t budge. It was one thing for a director to tell her to move this way or that to create an effect, but to have someone study her—to parse her natural movements?—that felt invasive and way too personal.

He must’ve noticed her hesitation because he held out his hand. Of course he noticed. He was here to notice. He was here to help her heal her body. He was…calling up feelings she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore.

“Just walking today, Sabrina, and maybe a little rope work.”

His voice had a soothing quality. She liked the sound of it. His tone was measured, almost mesmerizing. And his accent was distinct, part British English—although she couldn’t place what region—part Asian—although very slight—and part southern California with flat
A
s and clipped consonants. His accent suited his somewhat formal way of speaking, but the British element puzzled her. Maybe he’d attended prep school in England like some of her friends. Other than his game stats, which she’d picked up from a quick Internet scan, she really knew little about him.

“Perhaps afterward you’ll feel comfortable allowing me to touch your shoulder and check your spine,” he said, drawing her back from her thoughts. “So much of what happens in the shoulder comes from the spine.”

Her
spine
? She’d never thought much about her spine. She found herself suddenly standing straighter. And recognized that she was stalling.

It struck her as odd that she’d had sex with a few men, men she’d once thought she’d loved, had spent whole nights moving her body along with theirs, but in this moment, as she looked at Kaz’s outstretched hand, she felt as if he were inviting her to cross over into a world far more intimate. And one far scarier.

He tilted his head and dropped his hand to his side. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to coax, didn’t try to reason.

He just stood there.

She was eye level with his thighs. Through the fabric of his jeans she could see the definition of his muscles.

Geez, what in the world was she doing sitting there like a ninny thinking about his thighs?

Maybe her lack of sleep and the nightmares had scrambled her brains more than she’d suspected.

“It’s a lovely day for a walk,” she said as she rose from the bench.

He nodded, ever so slightly, and smiled even more slightly. He motioned to the hallway.

“I’ll follow you.”

It could’ve been comical.

It would have been if her mind wasn’t racing with competing thoughts. At every step up the stone stairs, she was aware of Kaz’s eyes on her. On her behind. No, he’d said her
spine
. But he couldn’t see her spine; she wore a bulky hoodie. She’d walked how many hundreds of miles in her lifetime? She knew how to walk, how to climb stairs, but she found herself wanting to adjust this move, that step up, that transfer of weight. And some rascally part of her—some distinctly feminine part—called out for her to throw in a little swing of her hips.
That
wasn’t going to happen.

By the time they reached the main foyer, she was exhausted. Thinking about every move before making it was tiring. She was already considering what she’d extract as payback from Alex. He’d set this up. He must’ve known how damned focused his buddy was. Alex would pay.

She whirled to face Kaz. “Do
you
think about every move before you pitch?”

A puzzled look crossed his face. The question was an extension of the conversation that she’d had with herself all the way up the stairs, but he couldn’t know that.

“I think with my whole body, not just my mind.” She opened her mouth to question him, and he put up a finger. “I’ll show you. But first steps first.”

He opened the main door. “After you.”

If he had smiled then, she might’ve punched him. He must have known the torture he was inflicting. But as she crossed the drawbridge and descended the steps to the cobbled driveway in front of Trovare, it occurred to her that maybe he didn’t. Maybe for him exploring and examining movement was just a part of everyday life. But it wasn’t
his
moves under scrutiny. She felt like a racehorse at an auction yard.

She looked back at him. He was staring. Not at her. At the drawbridge.

“It looks authentic.”

“It is,” she said, relieved to have his focus off her. “My father found it in a ruin in Périgord, most of it anyway. The wood was rotted, but the metal bits are all original.”

He stepped up beside her. “Does it keep the hordes out?”

“Until you.”

That
wasn’t what she’d meant to say.

He laughed, but his easy reaction didn’t calm the flaming in her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said and meant it. “You came here at Alex’s request.”

“But not yours.” They stepped down onto the cobbled drive and headed toward the vineyard. “At least you’re not being overly nice.”

“I’d think having people be nice was a good thing,” she said, not liking the defensiveness in her voice.

“Nice can be excruciating, all the mincing around and shallow smiles. I prefer honesty.”

“I warn you, nice is my go-to mode,” she said. It was true, but admitting something so personal suddenly sounded ridiculous.

Her mind raced—sorting, sifting, considering his words. She’d never thought of niceness as a dangerous handmaiden of dishonesty.

He stopped and pivoted toward her. “I doubt that what we’re about to do will make you feel like trotting out the word
nice
.”

The words were politely said, but they sent a shiver down her spine. And there she was thinking about her spine again. His eyes held a glint of what? Not derision.
Challenge
. A strange thrill wove through the tension tightening her chest.

With a wave of his arm, he motioned toward a path that ran through the older areas of Trovare’s vineyard.

She lifted her chin. “You go first.”

She’d had enough of the uncomfortable feelings that sizzled in her when he watched her from behind. There was no denying the power he exuded. His intense focus extended from him like a search beacon and touched everything in its beam. Maybe Alex was right. With that sort of power, maybe Kaz could help her unwind the knots in her body, diffuse the pain, move her closer to being ready to play her part.

She stepped behind him and tried to match his long strides as he set off toward a cluster of oaks in the south vineyard. He moved with sinuous grace, the muscles of his legs and along his broad shoulders working in a balanced rhythm. She’d seen many athletes’ bodies—she’d watched hundreds of baseball games and seen the players up close when Alex brought his teammates to Trovare. But Kaz moved differently from any of them. He moved like…like a tiger stalking prey, every movement graceful but alert, almost prowling.

She tugged at the edge of her shirt and picked up her pace.

The ropes slung over his shoulder moved in time with his strides. She imagined what a man like him could do with ropes, with power.

Alex might trust Kaz, but everything about her brother’s friend set her on edge.

Kaz stopped near the largest oak, untangled the webbed ropes and tied them to a branch.

Then wordlessly he walked to Sabrina and unstrapped the sling from her shoulder and dropped it to the leaf-scattered ground.

“Let’s see you move,” he said as he stepped back.

She froze.

“Move, you know, as in motion.” He offered the faintest hint of a smile.

“Um…perhaps you could give me a clearer direction?”

“This isn’t Hollywood. Just move.”

She ignored the dig about Hollywood and stepped one foot to the side and then followed it with the other.

He pressed his lips together.

“Sabrina, this isn’t a test. Here… Follow me.”

He bent his knees and swung his hips from side to side. “Start with this. I want to see your hip movement.”

Color flamed in her cheeks as she crouched and self-consciously shifted her weight and moved her hips. His gaze was more intense than any lover’s she’d ever known. More intimate. More…invasive. She rocked her hips again, but couldn’t look at him. Adrenaline riddled through her as she shifted. She knew how to move, but having him watch—it was too much.

She straightened. “I don’t see what this has to do with my shoulder.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not sure yet, either, but—”

“Then maybe we could just move right to the shoulder part.”

He smiled. A Cheshire Cat friggin’ smile if ever there was one.

“Are you enjoying torturing me?”

“We haven’t really started, but no,” he said as his smile faded. “I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable. But discomfort can be a key aspect of healing. Maybe it’s a good sign.”

He moved to stand beside her. “Lift your uninjured arm, slowly, like this.”

She copied his move and raised her arm.

“Slower,” he said in a near-hypnotic tone. “Do it again. And this time, be aware of your ribs as you move.”

She did as he said and tried to concentrate on her ribs. The breeze wafted his scent to her. Exotic. Cedar or sandalwood. And a citrus undertone. And under that—

“Movement is the language of your brain,” he said.

She snapped her attention back to her movements.

“Every action creates trillions of connections. If you move without awareness, no new paths are created. Like a plow furrowing a field, the old patterns just become deeper and more entrenched. Habitual movements can lead to loss of strength and flexibility.” He tapped a finger to his head. “Not just in your body, but also your mind.”

He raised his arm and motioned for her to copy him again.

“This time, be aware of any feeling in your stomach as you raise your arm. Don’t judge the feeling, just notice it.”

She raised her arm, concentrating on her belly. But it was impossible to ignore the fire that was kindling lower on its own accord. She dragged her attention back to her arm and then tried to focus on other feelings in her belly,
any
other feeling. But every time she looked at him, the slow burn in her core jumped a few degrees.

“If you move and focus your attention,” he said in the same mesmerizing tone, “even a simple movement can change your body, alter your mind, enrich your soul.”