“There you go.” It was still dark in the basement, but another pass of the flashlight beam revealed a switch on the wall.
She didn’t realize Dom had gone for it, too, until they crashed into one another in the dark. Fiona’s face collided with his chest, squashing her nose and knocking her flashlight away.
“Sorry,” he murmured. She felt his warm hand grip her waist to steady her. “Are you all right?”
She peered up, just making out his rugged features, his square jaw and high cheekbones, in the soft, yellow light of his flashlight. His eyes were in shadow, but she could tell he was looking at her.
Her gaze automatically went to his mouth, and she licked her lips.
What would it be like to taste him? The thought flew at her from nowhere, but the absurdity of it didn’t keep her from leaning forward, drawn magnetically as if by some—
Something small and dark was inching across his throat. Fiona screamed and jerked out of his hold. “S-spider! Spider!”
Dom reached up, brushing the little creature away.
“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” Fiona cried, shrinking back. She cringed, her skin crawling.
“It’s gone.” Dom flicked on the light switch. The harsh bluish glare of the compact fluorescent blinded her momentarily. “Arachnophobia?”
“No. Well, yes. Let’s get out of here.” She pounded up the steps, careful not to touch anything.
When they reached the kitchen, Fiona kept shaking her hair.
“How about some tea?” Dom offered slowly, watching her nervous twitching with concern. “I’ve got this great jasmine green tea. It’s very good for soothing nerves.”
She gave her head one last shake before folding her hands and nodding resolutely.
“Sorry I screamed in your face,” she said, once they’d settled down with their little clay cups of tea. “I hate spiders.”
“I figured.”
“No, I mean, I really hate them.”
“That’s okay. Fear’s a good thing. It lets us know we’re alive.” He said softly, “Don’t tell anyone, but…I’m afraid of mice.”
“Mice?” She raised an eyebrow. “What’s so scary about them?”
“I just can’t stand all those squeaking noises, and their little pink tails…. And don’t get me started on rats!” He shuddered.
“I’d brave a vat of mice and rats over a tank of spiders any day.”
“Let’s make a deal then. I’ll get rid of all the spiders in your house if you get rid of any mice that show up in mine.” They laughed together.
Hearing about each other’s quirky phobias opened a door that Fiona forced herself to step through.
“I want to apologize,” she blurted, before pride could stop her, “for the way I’ve been treating you. Not just today, but from the moment we met. It’s just that…seeing Sean come home all roughed up…” She spread her hands helplessly. “I just blew up, and you were unfortunate enough to be in my line of fire. It wasn’t the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood. Not at all.” Her apology loosened the knot in her gut.
Dom leaned forward. “Listen…it’s not my place to tell you how to raise your son. But I was bullied a lot as a kid, too, so I know what he’s going through.”
“You were bullied?” She had a hard time imagining anyone picking on him.
“You don’t have to be small or weak to be a victim. Just different.”
Sadly, Sean was all those things. “Try to understand. I don’t want Sean fighting. I don’t want him to think fists will solve all his problems. His father…” She hesitated. “My ex-husband wasn’t very tolerant or patient. He brought a lot of anger and violence into the house.”
In an instant, Dom’s expression turned dark and fierce. Fiona nearly inched away from him. “Did he hurt you? Did he hurt Sean?” His voice was low, dangerous, almost a growl. The hairs on her neck rose.
“No, no, Mitch wasn’t like that. I guess you could say it was verbal and emotional abuse.” But she refrained from admitting she had always been afraid he would snap one day and take his threats further.
“Sean’s had enough of that kind of fear in his life,” she went on. “I know the situation with those bullies is bad, but…” She trailed off. It was frustrating feeling so powerless, so inadequate, so incapable of protecting her son, the one person who mattered to her most.
“Let me teach Sean,” Dom said.
“What?”
“You said he’s been kicked out of Saturday fun camp. Sensei Miwa has a youth beginners’ class at nine in the morning on Saturdays. Bring him to the class, and I’ll keep an eye on him for the rest of the day while you work.”
“Absolutely not,” Fiona said, alarmed by the suggestion. “I barely know you.”
“You live across the street from me. And you work across the street from the dojo. Sensei Miwa will be on-site at all times. Sean’s perfectly safe.”
“I thought I made it clear I don’t want him learning how to fight.”
“He’d be learning self-defense,” Dom countered in his calm, resonant voice. “I can show him techniques to disable his opponents long enough that he could get away. It would be good for his self-confidence.”
“Look, I appreciate your offer, but Sean is my—”
“Do you think you can protect him when he hits thirteen? Fourteen? Seventeen? Twenty?”
Fiona breathed deeply, counting to ten and letting the tension drain from her. “I know you have ideas of what might benefit Sean, but this is something I need to work out on my own.”
Dom’s concerned expression told her he wasn’t going to push it, even if he also seemed to be sizing up an opponent.
“Promise me you’ll talk to him about it, at least. And that you’ll think about my offer,” he said.
As if. How could she possibly trust Dom with her son if she couldn’t trust herself with the man?
CHAPTER FOUR
A WEEK AND A HALF AFTER Dom’s arrival in town, mixed martial arts suddenly became the latest craze and Salmon River’s favorite sport. Fiona hadn’t realized just how well-known Dominic “The Dominator” Payette was until she started hearing his name on the lips of every customer at the bookstore.
From them she learned about his upcoming championship title match, and about the three exhibition matches he’d lost in the past few months. It was more than she really wanted or needed to know about her neighbor, but the details trickled in as steadily as the boys—and girls—who came in, wanting to learn more about the mixed martial arts hero.
“I guess I’d better stock up. I’m nearly out of books about MMA,” her boss, Marion Leeds, said as yet another parent and child walked out with a book about mixed martial arts. She flipped through a volume, grinning at the pictures of shirtless men grappling together. “That’s one heck of a sport.” She fanned herself.
“I’d hardly call punching and kicking someone until they bleed a sport,” Fiona said. To her, fighting was fighting, and self-defense was just another