Sweet Obsession: Windy City Kink, Book 1 (2 page)

“Your attack was weak and sloppy,” Nozumo Sensei told him.

Jack grinned. “I’ll practice more now that I have this room.”

“It is a beautiful room,” Sensei said. They each turned and bowed as they stepped off the mat. “Your entire home is beautiful. But it feels empty.”

Jack shrugged and grabbed a towel hanging on a hook to wipe perspiration from his forehead. His body buzzed with endorphins, his muscles burning pleasantly. The unique sense of calm he got from the martial art spread through him. “I’m getting there. It’s a big place. It will take a while to furnish it.”

“I thought you hired some fancy designer.”

“I did. She just did the living room and dining room and kitchen though. And the master bedroom. I bought some stuff for my office myself.”

The twenty-eighth floor, thirty-four hundred square foot condo in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood had more rooms than he knew what to do with.

“I actually didn’t mean physically empty,” Sensei said, following him to the huge kitchen where Jack pulled bottles of water from the Sub-Zero refrigerator that matched the cupboards. “I meant spiritually.”

Jack handed the older man a bottle of water and gave him a look, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “So you’re saying I’m spiritually empty?”

Sensei held his gaze, unperturbed. “The journey never ends.”

“Do
not
call me grasshopper.”

“You mock me, but I know you respect the foundations of Aikido. You are not spiritually empty, but you still have some work to do on qualities such as humility.” He lifted one eyebrow.

Jack shrugged. “Okay, I can be a little arrogant once in a while.”

“Self knowledge is important.” Sensei nodded. “I just meant that your home is missing a sense of soul tranquility. Peace, harmony and purity.”

“I’m at peace.”

“The western word for that is…bullshit.”

Jack laughed.

“It feels empty, as in lonely.”

Jack pursed his lips. “I’m not lonely.” He wasn’t. Not exactly.

“Of course you aren’t. Now, show me this rooftop patio you spoke of.”

Sensei was the only person in the world who knew the real Jack, right to his core. The only person he shared certain things with. He’d met Sensei soon after moving to California, when Jack’s head had been epically fucked up and he’d been looking for some way to learn self-defense skills. And, if he was honest, a way to kick some ass. But Aikido had turned into so much more than that for him, and Sensei’s influence had been profound. He’d taught Jack patience and self-discipline, taught him to apply the basic tenants of valor, truth, honor and loyalty to his life outside the dojo. Sensei had been there for him, more of a father than his alcoholic uncle had ever been, even though Uncle Denny had taken in him and Emma, his little sister, after their parents’ death.

If it hadn’t been for Nozumo Sensei, Jack wasn’t sure he’d have survived.

Jack led the way across the wide expanse of gleaming hardwood, through a set of French doors into a corner room with windows on two walls, and then out another door onto the rooftop patio. Beyond the edge of the building, the lights of Chicago’s downtown skyscrapers sparkled in hues of blue and gold and white against a deep purple sky. His new condo had downtown and lake views, and he loved them both. The cityscape never failed to energize him and inspire him, while lake views served to calm and center him.

They stepped out onto the patio, and the frigid March wind blasted them. Sensei stood there and looked around the dark space, at the barren concrete and brick wall that edged it, and the small clay pot containing a dead palm tree. He turned with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose there’s potential here.”

Jack smiled. “Oh come on. There’s unlimited potential. It’s a blank canvas.”

Sensei nodded. “True. For the right artist. Someone with vision.”

“I have vision.”

Sensei gave him a sly smile. “That you do, Jack. That you do.” He turned again and walked to the left, to take in the lake view even though it was dark. The wind tossed his black and silver hair. “You’ve come a long way.”

Jack followed, nodding. “I know. And I know how much I owe you for this.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“You helped me know myself,” Jack said in a low voice. “And believe in myself. And that’s the greatest gift of all.”

“You give me too much credit. You’re the one who fought back. You set goals and you worked hard for them.”

A strange wistful feeling rose up inside Jack. “But you know this isn’t my real goal, don’t you?” He swept an arm out. “This expensive condo. The Jaguar. The trips. The parties. The business success. These aren’t the goals.”

Sensei turned compassionate eyes on him. “Western culture is built on greed and egotism.”

“Do you think I should give all this up? That I should live in a shack?”

Sensei smiled. “Of course not. The outer trappings aren’t what make the man. You can live in luxury as long as you remember who you really are and where you came from.”

Jack nodded somberly. “But you know this isn’t what I’ve been working for.”

“I know.” A hint of worry flickered in Sensei’s eyes. “You think the outer trappings will prove to people that you are worthy. But it’s what’s inside you that truly matters.”

“I know that. But it’s not just having all this. It’s what I’ve done to get here, what I’ve accomplished.”

Sensei nodded. “Yes. I just hope…”

“I know. You’re worried it won’t happen. You’re worried about me if it doesn’t.”

“You are a strong, determined man, Jack. I believe in you. But people change.”

Jack knew what he was worried about. Jack had had his own doubts over the years. But he had to believe. One of the many things he’d learned from martial arts was patience, but even he couldn’t wait forever.

“I’m ready,” he said. His gut clenched.

Sensei gave him that look, the faint smile and the penetrating gaze that could see inside him. “Only you can know,” he said. “Let’s go back in. It’s colder than a penguin’s pecker out here.”

Chapter Two

“How was the date on Friday?”

Sasha looked at Kevin blearily over her Monday morning cup of coffee. She and Kevin hadn’t crossed paths all weekend. He’d been in bed by the time she got home Friday night. They’d both worked part of Saturday and had gone different directions Saturday night, which in Kevin’s case meant he hadn’t gotten home until Sunday, and she’d gone to her parents’ place for Sunday dinner.

“Never mind
my
date—
you
must have had a good one Saturday night.” She lifted one eyebrow and sipped her coffee.

“Meh. It was okay.”

“Who was she?”

“Some chick I met at the gym.”

“Oookay. That doesn’t sound like the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

“Probably not.” He grimaced and rubbed his stubbled face. Damn, he was gorgeous. And yet…nothing. No flutter. No heat. Just affection.

“I have to go,” she said, rising to put her mug in the dishwasher. “I have that meeting with a potential client this morning.”

“Ah. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She was both impressed and not impressed that this client had his assistant call and book the appointment. He must be a busy man, which probably meant successful and hopefully rich enough to want a big landscaping project done, but anyone who was sincerely interested in their property and gardens would be investigating and calling landscape designers himself. Wouldn’t he? Unless he was super
duper
rich in which case, hell yeah, she was on her way. She assumed there was no wife in the picture, or if there was, Sasha imagined a pampered trophy wife.

She’d dressed with this meeting in mind. Sometimes if she was going to be at a job site she wore jeans or, in the summer, shorts and boots, because she often jumped in and helped dig a hole for a tree or move some rocks. But today she wanted to look professional, so she wore a pants suit—low-rise, wide-legged trousers and a fitted jacket, all in navy blue, with a snug white T-shirt beneath. Today she went with heels, since she didn’t care if Mr. Rich and Busy Businessman was short or tall or gave a damn about her towering over him.

The address she’d been given should have clued her in about his financial status, since it was a Gold Coast high rise with an impressive, elegant lobby. She entered through brass and glass doors and walked across a floor of different kinds of stone laid in an intricate pattern of beige and taupe. The stocky, gray-haired security guy smiled at her as she approached the desk. “Hi,” she said. “I have a meeting here in number twenty-eight hundred. With Ines Moges.”

“Sasha Bandel?”

“That’s right.”

“You can take one of those elevators. Enter this code in the keypad. It will be car A.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the paper from him, entered the code into the keypad and waited for the elevator, studying the loveseat and two armchairs on a patterned carpet. A low dark wood coffee table centered the arrangement and end tables held ceramic lamps. Her gaze fell on the art on the wall, a large painting by a local artist she had met through her parents. It had to be worth a small fortune.

The elevator was equally luxurious, the doors oak, the interior mirrored at the back, the sides papered in creamy embossed wallpaper. The doors slid silently shut and oddly, there were no buttons whatsoever inside the elevator. It went straight to the twenty-eighth floor and the doors opened directly into the foyer of the condo.

She stepped out cautiously, looking around for Ines and blinking at the incredible residence. A long narrow foyer with a suede-upholstered bench along one wall led into the condo unit. The elevator doors slid closed behind her and she took a couple of steps, her heels clicking on Brazilian hardwood.

“Hello!” she called.

She continued down the foyer toward a light-filled room and paused at the entrance to the living room. The wall in front of her was nearly all windows—huge, square windows framed with dark wood, set apart by square columns of white, looking out over Lake Michigan which was a stunning blue this clear, crisp day. On her right was a large dark wood dining table circled with chairs, and on her left a curved white couch fit into the far corner, flanked by end tables. Two beige tub chairs faced it with a low coffee table between them.

“Hello!” she called again, to the seemingly empty apartment. “Ines? I’m here. It’s Sasha Bandel.”

Footsteps sounded from a hallway on her right and she turned, a professional smile in place. But the woman she expected to appear didn’t. Instead, a man emerged from the hallway.

Jack.

Every molecule of air left her body, leaving her dazed and breathless. Her heart skipped a beat and then leaped into a rapid percussion in her chest. Heat swept from her hairline down her face and chest, all the way to her toes.

“Sasha,” he murmured. “You’re here.”

She blinked. “I…I don’t understand. Ines…”

“Is my assistant,” he said. “She booked the appointment with you.”

She could only stare at him. It had been twelve years since she’d seen him. Not counting the photos she’d seen of him on the Internet. (Not that she Google stalked him or anything.) But the pictures didn’t show the full scope of how he’d changed in twelve years, from a tall, lanky eighteen-year-old boy to a mature, imposing man. He was still lean, but his body had filled out, his shoulders broader and more muscled than she remembered. He might even have grown another inch or two above six feet. It wasn’t just his substantial physical presence that made him so imposing though. He now radiated an air of control and authority that made every nerve ending in her body tingle.

He leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms folded. He wore a black golf shirt of a heavy, expensive-looking knit fabric that hugged his shoulders but hung loose over his flat abdomen, and light beige pants. His dark, almost black hair fell across his forehead and his deep-set dark eyes studied her the same way she was looking at him.

“I didn’t realize…”
He
was the wealthy businessman who was too busy to make his own appointments? She seemed to be at a bit of a loss for words.

“I asked her not to tell you who you were meeting with.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

He straightened and moved closer. “Because I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

She shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t have.” She took a step backward. He came closer still. “I should go.” She turned back to the elevator but the doors had closed. She searched for a button but saw none.

“No, wait, Sasha. Let’s talk.”

She gaped at him. “Let’s
talk
?” After what he’d done to her, after the way things had ended between them, after how just seeing him made a hot wave of shame wash over her, he wanted to talk? “I don’t think so.” She slapped her hand on the wall, trying to find a way to summon the elevator.

“Yes, talk.” The firm command in his quiet voice made her pause. She didn’t look at him though, her gaze fixed on the carved oak elevator door. A shiver ran over her skin. “Come on, Sasha. Come in and sit down and let’s talk business.”