Moira Rogers: Zola's Pride

She closed the door and threw the deadbolt. “The children are my favorite. They haven’t learned to be afraid yet.”

“But they’re aware.” They’d recognized him as out of place.

“New Orleans is safer. Not safe.”

Another thing that hadn’t changed in the years he’d been gone. “My half-brother still lives here.” Better to get that out there, to let her think it had influenced his decision to come back, even if it wasn’t true. After all, he hadn’t dragged ass into John’s restaurant past closing time, asking for help.

No. He had come to her.

She brushed her fingers over the light switch, leaving the dojo lit only from the broken light slanting through the blinds on the front window. “Yes, I remember.” Her footsteps took her toward the stairs, as if she expected him to follow. “I enjoy his cooking.”

Surely John would have said something if Zola had taken pains to introduce herself. “Have you met him?”

“Of course.” She hesitated, then turned while balanced on the first step, putting her eyes level with his. “I told him only that I’d met you during my travels, and that I’d considered you a friend. He never indicated he knew otherwise.”

Because his brother had never been a meddling bastard, and it was a dozen kinds of wrong for Walker to regret it now. “John’s the quiet type.”

“Mmm. Some say the same of me.” A smile played at the corners of her lips. “So. Do we spar?”

So that was what had her in such an all-fired hurry to get upstairs. Walker acquiesced with a shrug and one raised eyebrow. “If you think you can handle me.”

Laughter was her only answer as she spun and launched herself up the stairs. He had to follow at a run, and barely ducked a swing when he made it into the open room above.

He circled out of reach, keeping a sharp gaze on her center of gravity. “That wasn’t quite fair, honey. Cheap shots are beneath you.”

“No such thing.” Her weight rested nimbly on the balls of her feet, and she swayed a little, smiling. “Never start a fight you don’t intend to finish, no?”

“The cardinal rule,” he agreed. “But you know dirty fighting exposes weakness.”

“So does friendly banter.” She darted forward, a feint obvious enough to be easily avoided. “Play with me, Walker.”

He kicked off his shoes and rushed her once. Instead of meeting her straight on, he pushed off on her shoulder, using the momentum to spin them both around. She went with it, flowing into the turn so fast she whipped around in a tight circle and nearly struck his back.

He broke away and let her come at him, ready to pin down her technique. She didn’t have one; she had at least a dozen, drawing on elements from various martial arts so quickly, so fluidly, he could barely catalogue them.

There was more than a little capoeira influence in the way she moved, especially when she crouched to avoid a blow and immediately retaliated by bracing her weight on one arm and launching into a meia lua pulada. Her legs kicked through the air, spinning so fast they almost blurred, and he barely dodged.

Walker managed to get her on the mat, but she hooked her feet under his legs and threw him off immediately. He landed with a thump on the mat, and she sprang up in another flurry of kicks.

Walker rolled and swept her feet from under her. She went down again—barely—and he threw one leg over her and wrestled her wrists to the mat above her head. “Should we count it off?” he panted.

“I don’t submit,” she snarled, but something other than anger laced the words. Desire. Heat. A heat reflected in her eyes, in the way her body twisted beneath him, not so much testing as teasing. “It has been too long since I fought for survival. I am becoming soft.”

He only wished that were true, that she’d reached a point—found a place—where she could afford to let go a little. “You’re tough as nails and you know it, Zola. I’m just stronger, that’s all.” Stronger but stupid, because he couldn’t help responding to the soft press of her body.

“I’m faster. Speed should balance strength.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper that invited him to test more than her strength. “It would have, too, if the lion didn’t wish to be caught. She does not have my pride.”

Blood thundered in his ears as sense memory overtook him. He’d had her under him like this before, a mostly innocent situation that had turned to painful awareness in a heartbeat. She had kissed him that time, the awkwardness of the advance eclipsed by her eagerness—and by his own desire.

Memory clashed with adrenaline and the feel of her body against his, and Walker’s dick hardened. He would have rolled away, but that hot invitation in her eyes kept him motionless. Riveted.

The world upended in a surge of sleek muscle. She moved fast, rolling them in a tangle of limbs that ended with her straddling his hips, hands planted on either side of his head. Echoes of that same memory were reflected in her eyes, along with wariness. “If you want that innocent girl, you won’t find her here. I’m a grown woman.”

He hadn’t wanted to want that innocent girl any more than he wished to complicate Zola’s life by desiring her now. “I know who you are.”

“No, you don’t.” She nuzzled the line of his jaw and back toward his ear, her cheek smooth against his face. Her breath blew warm over his earlobe just before her lips brushed his skin, an electric contact. “If you stayed, you could learn. All the things you used to know, and the things you never discovered.”

The most dangerous issue of all was how Walker wanted to respond to the sweet temptation of her offer. He could stay. He had—

No idea what the fuck is going to happen, he reminded himself coldly. He’d be risking her heart again if he promised something he couldn’t deliver, though his body didn’t care. It yearned toward her, desperate to augment his memories with a thousand things he’d never felt. “Zola.”

She closed her teeth on his throat with a purring growl.

Heat streaked through him, and Walker flipped her without thinking. He pinned her hips with his and almost returned the sharp, instinctive caress. Instead, his mouth descended on hers.

He hadn’t known he was going to kiss her until he did, his tongue parting her lips before slipping into her mouth. He’d missed this the most, but instead of trembling under him like she had all those years ago, she bit the tip of his tongue with a needy little snarl and kissed him like she’d forgotten how to do anything else, teeth and tongue and desperate gripping hands, pulling him closer.

They didn’t know each other anymore, but that could change in a moment. A heartbeat. And it would be all too easy to lose himself in her.

Walker tore his mouth from hers and struggled for control as he panted against her bare shoulder. “We have to stop this.”

“Alec will be here soon,” she said, and it might have sounded more like agreement if her body wasn’t still hot and pliant under his.

He rocked back to his knees, scrubbing both hands over his face. “Are you hungry?”

A rough knock sounded from below before she could answer, and Zola sighed and rolled away. “That will be him.”

Resenting the other man’s intrusion was ridiculous, especially since he’d only come to help. Walker rose, his body still painfully tight. “Later, we need to talk about this.”

“We’ll see.” She came to her feet in one graceful movement, hands already smoothing her disheveled clothing. Erasing any visible sign that he’d touched her, though it would take days for his scent to fade from her skin.

It pleased him more than it should have.

Another impatient knock rattled the front door. Walker bounded down the stairs two at a time and dragged it open to find a tall, imposing wolf with dark hair, dark eyes and a dark scowl that faltered when he dragged in a deep breath.