The Choice (7 page)

Hoping she didn’t regret this decision, she declined. “I won’t have them on when the bad guys come.” And she had to prove she could take it.

Cullinane shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She removed her sandals and set them out of the way. Expectation charged the mood of the room. She could all but hear their lips smacking at the prospect of her defeat.

It couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let it. Too much needed to be proven to these men, but more importantly, to Cullinane—and herself. She’d won against bigger men before. Bigger wasn’t always better, especially very muscular men who often didn’t have her agility.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, hearing Hiroshi’s maxim in her head:
If one acts without fear and with total commitment, a weaker person can defeat a stronger one.
The key was using his cockiness against him. Watching for the advantage, and letting him defeat himself. Drawing another deep breath and searching for the mind’s center as she’d been taught, she prepared herself to win.

When Jillian moved toward him, Cullinane noted the light of battle in her eyes. Resolve spoke from every line of her frame.

Damn, she was a hellcat—a warrior queen if ever he’d seen one. He’d never encountered a woman like her in his life. A moment’s regret flared that they’d met in these circumstances.

Then she softened her body into limber waiting, arms out to defend, and he readied himself for her first move. Reluctant admiration struck when he realized she was going to make him move first. Clever—she knew it was a mistake to be the first to commit, but he’d bet anything that she sensed how impatient their audience was and was betting that he’d move first to satisfy the bloodlust of the others.

But she was wrong. He’d proven himself long ago. His men could wait there until hell froze over, for all he cared.

Suddenly, she was inside his guard, moving to strike. He reacted quickly, turning her and flipping her onto her back.

Quick as a cat, she was back on her feet, eyes sparking, cheeks bright with anger. A snort of laughter from Fred didn’t help. To her credit, though, she didn’t lose her composure. She circled him slowly, looking for weakness, head held high and proud.

He moved in on her, only to have her foot meet his chest hard enough he knew he’d bruise. Before he could unbalance her, however, she’d danced away, eyes alight with challenge.

Arms in motion, he closed in sideways. Quickly she turned, sliding under his arm, delivering a quick liver kite. Stung, he whirled, grasping her arm and pulling her to him with one quick jerk, arm sliding across her chest to trap her.

In a motion almost too quick to follow, Jillian’s foot lifted. He barely had time to avoid Fred’s fate, and in jerking away from her, he gave her the room to wiggle free.

The mood in the room had altered. From jubilant anticipation of her speedy defeat, now he could feel from his men his own reaction. She was good. Unorthodox and wily...and skillful.

He knew in that moment that he’d better drop all hesitation or she’d embarrass him, too. She was sweating and breathing fast, but her reflexes were still good, her movements limber. He had to take her seriously.

A flare of triumph in her eyes told him that she knew she’d convinced him. He could stop the match now before he risked hurting her, but he’d better not, for her sake. His men resented her for embarrassing them in front of him. He’d better either defeat her soundly or suffer their same fate. To walk away with this unfinished would help no one.

And no freaking way was Cullinane suffering their fate.

Closing his mind to her gender, her size, to desire and everything he wondered about her, he settled deep within, to the part of him that moved on instinct, the animal that knew how to survive any situation. He wasn’t going to injure her seriously if he could help it, but for all of their sakes, he couldn’t let her win.

She’d issued the challenge; now she had to live with the results.

Circling one another slowly, her gaze as intense as he felt, they jabbed and kicked, neither getting a decisive hit. Then he reached out to grasp her and bring this to an end—

And found himself flat on his back on the mat.

Cullinane reacted quicker than she did, though. Her pause for the flash of a triumphant smile was one second too long. Before she could step out of range, he’d hooked one leg around her, dropping her to the mat. He loomed over her, the killing blow at her throat.

Around them the men recovered from the shock of her dropping him. Explosions of satisfaction echoed.

Cullinane only noticed the sudden stillness between them, intensely aware of her body beneath his. In a span of seconds, he’d gone from chagrin to anger to triumph, and his legendary control wavered. Age-old instincts awakened, her slim throat beneath his hand, her pelvis all but joined to his, her fierce will to fight him summoning his own aggression. Watching her eyes darken, a surge of lust rocketed through him. 

He knew, in that moment, that she could spell his destruction.

Jillian MacGregor was more than dangerous. And he was doomed, if he didn’t stay away.

Rocking back on his heels, eyes still locked on hers, he slid his hand from her throat, trailing it slowly over one breast. She held his gaze, her chest rising with unsteady breath, taut nipples outlined against her shirt. His hand burned like fire; his mind screamed for release—

He stood quickly. Walked away before he made the biggest mistake of his life.

The room was utterly silent.

* * *

Jillian stretched under the hot water in her shower, remembering the moments after Cullinane had left the practice room. Head held high, she’d risen slowly from the mat, refusing to let them gloat. As she’d scanned the room, she’d been surprised to see reluctant admiration from the men lining the walls. Even Fred, with his cast, had nodded.

She’d lost, maybe more than she could bear to think about, but she’d gained their respect. Now if only she didn’t have to think about those last moments with Cullinane.

Wincing at muscles she knew would be very sore tomorrow, she ducked her head under the water, hoping the impression of him would wash away, too. For those endless, naked moments, she’d felt what she knew he’d felt...a hunger too deep to forget.

She could still feel him over her, large hand at her throat, his fingertips burning a path across one breast. She’d wanted to part her legs and draw him into her, to drive her fingers into the long dark hair and bring his mouth to hers, to fight him and claw until he satisfied the need that built with every new encounter until she wondered how long before she couldn’t hold out anymore.

Jillian slapped both hands against the tile, shuddering at the image, the havoc it wreaked within her. It was wrong—
he
was wrong. She could not,
would not
, feel this way any longer. She turned her face full up under the pounding water, praying for it to wash away his imprint, to clear her fevered mind. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She’d never had a reaction like this to any man.

But Cullinane wasn’t just any man. A chill settled into her bones, a visceral fear that he could make her vulnerable, make her fail.

Flipping the control to cold, Jillian shuddered but didn’t step away. If it took shocking her into her senses, by God, that’s what she’d do. She’d worked too hard, struggled too long, to let foolish fancies hold sway.

It was only hormones. A simple, instinctive reaction to battle encoded DNA-deep, to celebrate life after risking death by joining bodies and celebrating life. She might not be immune to biological imperatives, but it didn’t mean she had to succumb. She’d known she risked much to challenge him—she’d simply mistaken the full extent of the cost.

Cold, rational thought, Jillian. No temper, no passion, no fancies. Admit that he makes your blood sizzle and move on.

Drawing the frayed ends of her control together, Jillian emerged from the shower and heard a knock at the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Alice, the housekeeper. Shall I come back?”

Thank God. A distraction. A human voice. “No, it’s fine, just give me a minute.” Hurriedly, she slipped on a thick terry robe, then walked to the door, toweling her hair. Reaching for the knob, she opened it to a small woman with black, curly hair and a smile.

“I’m sorry if this is a bad time. I came to tidy your rooms.”

“Sure, come in. Will I be in your way?”

“Oh, no. I work around people all the time.” With a cheery smile, the woman set down her carryall and pulled out a rag to start dusting the furniture.

Jillian wasn’t sure what to do with a housekeeper. Stay out of the way? Go back to her business? “Uh...I’ll be in there,” she said, pointing to the bathroom. “Let me know when you need me to move.” Then she paused and held out a hand. “I’m Jillian. You’re...Alice, did you say?”

Nodding, Alice seemed startled, then smiled and shook Jillian’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jillian.”

Her smile warmed Jillian. Such a little thing, but it made her realize how much she’d missed the little things, small talk, simple, genuine smiles. How did these people stand being cooped up in this place? They might as well be prisoners.

Eager to enjoy more, Jillian didn’t leave but rather, trailed behind Alice.

The woman glanced up. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, I was just—have you worked here long?”
Oh, brother. Cullinane’s probably made them all sign some secret pledge not to reveal anything to anyone.

Alice’s smile was strained, and Jillian wondered why. “Three years. It’s a very good job for me. I have four children and no husband to help me.”

“Do you live far away?”

“No, I live on the grounds, in an apartment above the garage.”

“Doesn’t it—don’t you get tired of it?”

Alice looked amused. “Of living in the countryside instead of the dump I could afford in the worst neighborhood in the city?” She shook her head. “No. My children are safe here, and they can attend good schools.” A slight frown crossed her face, then her eyes filled.

“Are you all right?”

Alice shook her head, reaching into her pocket for a tissue and blowing her nose daintily. “I’m sorry. It’s just that...”

“Please,” Jillian gestured to the chair nearby, “please sit down.”

“I shouldn’t— You can’t...”

“Can’t what? Can’t listen?” It was wonderful to think about someone else’s problems instead of her own. “Of course I can, if you’d like to talk.” She tried another tack. “It must be very difficult, being a single parent.”

Alice settled on the edge of the chair, tears spilling over. “Oh, yes. Yes, it is.” She looked stricken. “They’re wonderful children, don’t get me wrong.”

“How many boys and girls?”

Alice brightened. “Two boys, my older one, J.T., is twelve.” A shadow darkened her eyes for a moment. “Adam, my other son, is nine. He looks up to J.T. so much.” Again the sadness. “I have two daughters, Lily, who is seven, and Mary Beth, my little one, just turned five.”

And J.T. is giving you trouble.
“A boy of twelve...it must be difficult, having no father to help with him.”

“He’s a good boy, but lately...” Alice shook her head, voice lowering to a whisper. “I thought this place would protect him, but I’m seeing bad things now. He’s hanging around with some boys I don’t know, boys with smart mouths and no respect. They always wear the same two colors.”

“Gang colors.”

The woman’s eyes snapped to hers. “I was hoping I was wrong. Are you sure?”

Jillian could have given her chapter and verse on gang behavior. Much of her life had been spent in a universe where gangs reigned, but she could not risk any connections to her old life, so she merely nodded. “I, uh, I saw a television show recently, describing gang behavior. That’s what’s worrying you, isn’t it?”

Alice’s knuckles whitened, the grip of her hands was so tight. “I don’t—he won’t talk to me about it, and Adam... Adam will do anything he sees J.T. do. I don’t want to lose either one of them, and I’m so worried. I thought we’d be safe here, so far from the old neighborhood.”

“It can’t be hopeless yet.” She’d check out J.T., see what she could do.

Alice’s head rose, her eyes shining. “Oh, I know it’s not.” She wiped at her eyes. “After all, there’s Mr. Cullinane...”

“Cullinane?” What part did he play?

The woman nodded. “J.T. worships the ground that man walks on. I know Mr. Cullinane will help me.” Rising to her feet, she began to dust again. “I don’t know why I’ve talked so much. I’d better get this room done. Smiling shyly, she spoke over her shoulder, moving away. “I guess I’ve missed having other women to talk to.”

Jillian let her pass without protest. She was still reeling over the concept of Cullinane as a substitute father. Mr. Granite? She hadn’t exactly noticed the milk of human kindness gushing from his veins. Shaking her head, she wanted to tell Alice to get herself and her kids away from this place, away from a monster like Hafner.

Did she know who he was? What he did?

“Alice, perhaps you shouldn’t stay here if you think your children need to get away from bad influences around them. I know this place is nice, but room and board aren’t reason enough.”

Alice laughed, her laughter a clear, silvery tone that brought Jillian a smile. “Oh, I get much more than room and board. Klaus pays me very well for being his housekeeper, and he’s started a college fund for each of my children. I have so few expenses that I’m able to put away quite a bit of my salary for that purpose, and he matches, two for one, every dollar I put away. In three years, I’ve made a good nest egg for them.” Her smile faded. “And my brother depends upon me. I couldn’t leave.”

Her brother? Jillian’s head reeled from the thought that this kind, gentle woman was Hafner’s sister, that Hafner would do such a generous thing. Then her words sank in. Three years. Alice had been here when Belinda was here.

He’d murdered Belinda. How could Alice not see what kind of man he was? What did she think had happened to Belinda? Could she not know Belinda was dead? Jillian reeled. How could this be the same man? College funds for Alice’s children?