Ronin smiled. “Thank you for the compliment. But I’m just a guy, Amery. A guy who works too hard and plays too little. And after meeting you?” His heated gaze roamed over her face. “I’m more than ready to play.”
His deep velvety voice dripped with promises of sweaty, combustible sex. And her panties started getting very, very warm.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“No. I have a hard time finding a date.” Now, why had she admitted that to the hottest guy she’d ever met?
“You are a beautiful woman. But I’d venture a guess to say if you’re hanging out in gay bars with your friends, then you’re batting zero on the dating front because of your choice of venues.”
Since both Chaz and Emmylou wore their sexual orientation like a banner, his insight about them wasn’t shocking after one meeting. But his supposed insight into her was wrong. Dead wrong. And she told him so.
“I’m never wrong.” Ronin cocked his head. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“How?”
“Pick a bar around here where young urban professionals hang out after work. I’ll bet you get hit on at least six times. In an hour.”
“There’s no way to prove it,” she argued. “I could just tell you I didn’t get hit on at all and you’d never know.”
He picked up her hand. “But I will know because I plan to be in the same bar. I’ll keep track of how many men hit on you. You just have to be your beautiful, charming self.”
His thumb was drawing tiny circles on the base of her hand. Sexy circles. Gentle, yet insistent. Would Ronin kiss that way? Starting out slow and then unleashing the heat that burned in his eyes?
“What were you thinking about just now?”
She guzzled half her glass of water. “What’s in this bar experiment for you?”
Ronin brought her hand to his mouth, pressing soft kisses from the edge of her wrist to the fleshy skin below her thumb. “I get to look at you for an hour, which you know I like. And when the time is up, I get to be the guy you’ll leave the bar with.”
Amery gave him a skeptical look. “You won’t have a bunch of your friends there as ringers, pretending to be interested in me?”
“First of all, I wouldn’t do something so dishonorable. Second, I want you to see all the men that flock to you when you’re not surrounded by gay camouflage.”
She laughed. “Okay. You’re on. But I have two conditions.”
“Which I’ll allow you to mention but I do not have to abide by, since the experiment was my idea and the rules are mine to make.” He smiled serenely. “But please, go ahead and tell me your conditions.”
“I want to hear your backstory.”
“Didn’t you read my bio on the Web site?”
She had, despite the fact that she’d only read it to see if he’d listed any personal information. “Yes. But that’s your official bio. It’s not the same. So tell me.”
The food arrived, putting an end to the discussion.
While they ate Amery wondered if Ronin would skirt the subject again.
But he started talking without prompting after he finished his burger. “My father was stationed in Japan when he met my mother. They married, against my grandfather’s wishes. Since my father was in the air force, we moved a lot. My dad trained in jujitsu and started taking me to class with him when I was three. Long story short, after my father died, we moved to Japan.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight. Even though I’m a quarter Japanese on my mother’s side, I didn’t fit in anywhere besides the dojo. By age twelve I’d enrolled in a school where the main focus was jujitsu. By age sixteen I knew I’d found my calling. My grandfather refused to pay for advanced training, so I found an old master who agreed to swap training for my help with his business.”
“That’s very Karate Kid.”
“I swear I’m not making this up. I trained with him for two years. When I turned eighteen I joined a . . .” He said a Japanese phrase. “There’s no word for it in English. The closest description is a sort of monastery.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”
“No. I spent four years there. It was a humbling and inspiring opportunity that I’m grateful for to this day. Upon my return to the real world at age twenty-two, I had to choose citizenship since Japan doesn’t allow duality. I chose the U.S. Within four years of living here, I’d earned the money and built the reputation to start my own dojo.”
“Wow. That’s way more exciting than my story.”
“It is what it is. Now what’s the second condition?”
“I want to know if you’re serious about hiring me or if it was just a way to get me to go out on a lunch date with you.”
“I’m serious about having you design a new logo. But I also wanted a lunch date with you.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Always.” Ronin bent his head closer to hers. “As far as the logo is concerned, I’d like a bolder design that speaks of Japanese jujitsu, not the Brazilian method that’s become so popular.”
An edge had crept into his voice. “I take it you don’t approve of that method?”
“Brazilian jujitsu is the preferred form for MMA fighters and I have no issue with the method. Just the guys who claim to have training in it. Few of the dojos around here have a qualified leader. They add the term ‘Gracie method’ and students flock to their classes. I’m traditional in that I train students to master techniques and learn control, not only to fight.”
Everything about his physical charisma compelled her. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at her, she could see the fire dancing in his eyes. She watched the agitated muscle popping in his jaw and how his full lips flattened into a thin line. All subtle movements that she might’ve missed if she hadn’t allowed his magnetism to pull her in. A section of hair fell across his cheek and she had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from brushing it aside. “Were you a good fighter?”
“I don’t have TKO stats, or an official win-loss record, or a medal or a winner’s belt. But I did make a whole bunch of money fighting, and that allowed me to start Black Arts.”
“And that was the endgame for you? The only reason you fought?”
Ronin seemed surprised she’d moved so close. He reached out and followed a section of her hair from her scalp to the end where it rested against her breast. “You’re the first person to ask me that in a very long time. It’d be tempting now, even fourteen years later, to say I only fought to earn my place so I didn’t have to fight anymore.” He stroked her hair again and the blunt edge of his fingertip grazed her cheek. “But the truth is, I like fighting. I like matching my skill against another opponent. In class, we work the techniques, but we’re always careful not to hurt the students. But on the mat during a match? Pain isn’t a concern. The fighting is raw.”
The gentle way he touched her hair as he spoke so nonchalantly about violence gave her a surprisingly intimate peek into this complex man. “Do you still fight?”
“Four years ago a Brazilian jujitsu practitioner publicly questioned my credentials and openly mocked me for claiming I’d studied in Japan and that I was part Japanese. Normally I don’t bother with martial arts politics, but when he brought it into my house? Making those claims in front of my students? I couldn’t let it slide.”
“Is that why you’ve got security at the front door?”
“Partially. He did just walk in with twenty of his students and disrupt my classes. I had no idea if they’d brought weapons, so I took preventive measures after that incident to provide better security for my students.”