Call To Engage

It never failed to make her smile that she felt as if she were opening her eyes to a rainbow. Colors glinted from every corner. The walls were a soothing teal, the low-slung couch sapphire blue. Drapes framed the floor-to-ceiling window in shimmering shades of emerald and amethyst. Pillows in a myriad of shapes, sizes and colors scattered like jewels over the couch, pouring onto the floor. A couple of topaz beanbags rounded out the seating around the low, surfboard-shaped ebony table.

On the far side of the room, partitioned off by a curtain of beads, was a hanging bed covered in white, with more pillows strewn over the surface so it looked like a fluffy cloud amid all the rest of the color. She had a few antique pieces here and there, a tiny kitchenette opposite the bed, with the only door other than the front one opening to a dollhouse-size bath.

The studio was unquestionably small. Cozy, she liked to call the space. It was actually the attic level of a renovated three-story Victorian. The polished wood floors creaked, and the plaster walls tended to let in the cold in the winter and the heat of summer.

Ava loved it.

Her mother hated it. It’d taken Ava a year or so to decide whether she loved it out of spite, a bit of rebellion against a domineering mother who considered her own opinions pure gold. Eventually, though, Ava had come to accept that the space simply suited her, and the whys didn’t matter. She considered that a sign of maturity.

Rising with a lithe move, Ava stretched her arms high overhead. Grasping each hand around the opposite wrist, she twisted from one side, then the other, pulling air all the way into her toes and greeting the sun rising outside her window.

She prepared for her day with Mack’s offer playing through her now-clear mind. It was tempting—so tempting—to say nope, she didn’t want commitments and responsibilities cluttering up her life. But the fact that she was automatically angling for the easy route told her that she shouldn’t.

She needed to consider the partnership seriously. Beyond the money, what it would cost? Was it worth the risk? How big of a difference would it make in her life, and could she be just as happy without it?

Ava gathered her gear for the day. Her duffel, with street clothes and a change of workout gear. Her iPhone, earbuds, charger, wallet. A new bottle of shampoo to replace the almost-empty one in her locker. Car keys, although she walked to work in good weather.

She capped the protein smoothie in her insulated mug and added it to the duffel, then crossed to the door. Hanging there on the wall by the heavy polished oak was a oval silver beveled frame, not more than three inches tall.

It didn’t hold a photo, but instead a swatch of pale blue fabric and a tiny lock of hair, shades deeper than her own nutmeg brown.

Ava kept most of her previous life exactly where it belonged—in the past. She’d locked away the memories, buried the emotions, let go of the reminders.

Except for this.

Her talisman. To remind her that while things might be simple now, she’d once held a life that made every complication worthwhile.

Dominic Prescott.

Her darling baby.

There was no buffer that could dim the pain of waking up one morning, surprised that the four-month-old had slept through the night. Riding high on her first full night’s sleep since his birth, breasts full to aching, she’d all but danced into the nursery to nurse her baby.

But he wouldn’t wake. He wasn’t breathing. He’d never opened those gorgeous eyes again. Other than the hysteria, Ava didn’t remember much after that. Not her husband finally coming home after three frantic days of trying to reach him. Not the doctor’s pronouncement. Not the funeral. Not the multiple people who’d tried to comfort her through a pain that couldn’t be assuaged.

SIDS. Sudden infant death syndrome. A clean, tidy term for the end of her world. A hideous loss that had blown her already-fractured marriage all to hell.

The only way she’d been able to survive was to leave it all behind. The perfect home she hadn’t chosen. The smothering attention of her controlling parents. Her charming prince of a husband who’d been too busy battling the world’s dragons to give a damn.

It had taken months of therapy to pull her out of the depths of depression enough to function, and another year to work through the guilt and hatred and self-blame. But, eventually, she’d accepted that her old life was over. Gone in a blaze of misery.

From those ashes, her new life had formed. The only thing she allowed herself to bring was her love for Dominic. Her sweet boy.

Ava pressed her fingers to her lips, transferred the kiss to the frame.

Then, chin high, she pulled her bright mood around her once again, grabbed the bag of granola she’d made the night before and headed out the door.

Five minutes later she stepped through a rustic grapevine arch into the lush bounty of greens and golds. Not as big as the Napa Community Garden, this plot served Chloe’s small neighborhood.

“Good morning,” Ava called when she spotted the blonde crouched low between rows of flowering tomato vines.

“We’re having fresh strawberries for breakfast,” Chloe declared in lieu of a greeting. She rose with a smile, tipping the basket to show off the bright red fruit. “And a couple of nectarines, a sprig of grapes and, mmm, the first pears of the season.”

Her stomach growling in appreciation, Ava gestured to the rest of the bounty. “And the cabbage, beets and cucumbers?”

“Juice bar,” Chloe declared, stuffing the vegetables into a cotton bag. “I’m trying a couple of new recipes. Want to be my tester?”

Ava eyed the sad-looking spears of asparagus and, remembering how long it had taken to rinse away the bitter coating of the last recipe she’d tested, shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”

Ava pulled the granola out of her tote while she waited for Chloe to gather the rest of her ingredients, her bullet journal and a fist-size ring of keys.

Nibbling on the oat-and-almond mixture as her friend turned off the hose, Ava checked the time on her cell phone. Six forty. Leave it to Chloe to be right on schedule.

Granola in the summer, bran muffins in the winter, fruit year-round. Thanks to the near perfection of Northern California’s weather, they shared this routine of breakfast to-go and a morning walk to the gym whenever their schedules meshed.

Chatting about everything and nothing between bites, the two women strolled along the riverside promenade that fronted downtown Napa on their way to the gym.

“The guy would have been irritating if it wasn’t so funny watching him try to stay on the yoga ball during planks,” Ava said as she wound up her story about a know-it-all first timer who’d tried to take over her core class the night before. “He finally quit trying to instruct the rest of the class on proper form the third time he went down on his head.”

“Bet all that giggling gave everyone some extra core work, too.” Chloe laughed. “But, hey, speaking of irritating? That creepy guy, Rob? The one who drives that gas-guzzling monster truck and calls every woman he meets a doll? I heard he’s given up trying to hire you as a personal trainer. He’s decided to go the massage route instead. He’s one of those guys that think getting naked on your table will turn the tide. Like you’re gonna see a woody and jump on. You know, to ride it like a pogo stick.”

Ava wrinkled her nose. “And yet I manage to resist.”

“Speaking of pogo sticks...” The blonde gave Ava a playful look. “I have the perfect guy for you. He’s a banker, which is like, totally uptight sounding. But he’s not, really. He used to jam with Bones in this jazz band, and he’s pretty fit. Not gym fit, but he plays B-ball with the guys every weekend so he’s not a slob, ya know?”

“Nope.” Ava breathed in the cool morning air, reveling in the simplicity of it all.

“Don’t say no. Just listen—he’s a nice guy. He drives a BMW, has good personal hygiene and likes Bourne movies. He mows his mom’s lawn even.”

“Nope.” Wondering if she could get an extra yoga session in before her afternoon classes, Ava tried to remember her massage schedule. She knew she had morning clients but wasn’t sure if she had someone booked at eight or at nine. She wished Mack would move to a computerized system. Then she could sync it to her phone, change it on the go. It might be worth considering the partnership offer for that reason alone.

“Ava, you’re not listening,” Chloe complained as they left the riverfront promenade, crossing the street toward a row of redbrick shops.

When they passed the bakery, Ava breathed in the yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread and promised herself she’d stop on the way home for a small round of sourdough.

“I listened. You want me to date a lawn-mowing, mother-loving, BMW-driving banker. Why, I’m not sure, so if you mentioned that part you’re right—I wasn’t listening.”

“Because he’s hot. He’s nice. And you need to date. If you don’t, you’re going to dry up inside. You know the rule about muscles. Use them or lose them.” Chloe added an arch look at Ava’s hips just in case she missed the point about which muscles were in question.

“I’ve got a Bikram yoga class this evening. Don’t worry—I’ve got it covered.” She offered a sassy smile. “Moist, hot air and a lot of Kegals. See, that way nothing dries out or withers away.”

“You’re killing me.” Chloe sighed before stepping into the small health-food store. She came out again, adding a bag of flaxseed and tube of honey to the vegetables in her bag, and picked up the conversation as if it had never stopped. “So, are you going out with this guy or not?”

“Not. I’d rather spend the time figuring out what I want to do about Mack’s proposition.”

“Proposition? Do tell,” Chloe insisted, leaning closer with a naughty smile.

“Not that kind of proposition.” Ava rolled her eyes at Chloe’s lash-fluttering attempt at innocence. “As if you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I’ll admit to hearing a thing or two about Mack’s plans to take on a partner.” With her usual exuberance, Chloe waved to shopkeepers and tourists alike as they picked up their pace. “With his travel schedule heating up and all those competition guys wanting him as a trainer, he’s gone as much as he’s here. So having someone he trusts on board would take a lot of worries off his big ol’ shoulders.”

“Uh-huh.” Giving Chloe a narrow look, Ava waggled her fingers in a tell-all gesture. “Spill it. What else have you heard?”

“Rumor is that you’re top of the list, but I think he’d consider Joe Peters or Con Barton if you turn him down.”

Oh. He had names lined up? Ava’s teeth snapped together at the realization that she didn’t have a lot of thinking room with those guys on the list. They were both solid trainers, and Con used to own a gym back east before following his wife to California.

“Hmm,” was all she said.

Chloe pursed red lips and considered Ava carefully. “I think you’d be a great boss, if that matters. Are you considering it? I mean, seriously considering. Not just pacifying Mack by thinking about it but planning to say no.”

Good question. “I don’t know.” Ava tapped her fingers on her thigh a few times, watching the river as a pair of kayakers found their rhythm. “It’s a big commitment, and it’d mean I have to get serious about things like schedules and time frames and budgeting my energy.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know,” Ava said again. “I guess that’s what I have to figure out. I teach enough classes and have enough massage clients to cover my bills, and I can pick up extra classes here and there if I feel like it. Commitment is a big step. Right now I can just go with the flow.”

Of course, she kept throwing commitments into the flow, things like class competitions, black belt testing and new massage classes to increase the range of treatments she could offer clients. But those were all on her terms. It would be different if the schedule were etched in stone. Or at least carved in wood.

Wouldn’t it?

“Only dead fish go with the flow,” Chloe pointed out, her face perfectly serious.

Ava had to laugh. Leave it to Chloe to sum it up perfectly. “Well, I guess I’m still swimming, so I might as well consider it.”

By the time they strode into the gym, Ava realized she wasn’t just considering it. She was seriously considering it. She loved this place, she thought as they worked their way through the early gym rats toward the locker room. She really did. She appreciated the scent of exertion, the pounding music accompanied by swearing grunts and easy chatter.

“Are you sure you don’t want to meet the banker?” Chloe asked, eating the last of the strawberries while Ava stashed her bag in her locker. “He really is cute.”

“Nope. My schedule is full,” Ava replied. “Tonight I’m trying that new Bikram yoga class. Right now I’m heading to the supply closet for a dozen nunchakus for weapons training in this afternoon’s taekwondo class. And at some point I have Mack’s proposition to consider, remember?”

Chloe shook her head, her dreadlocks sweeping over the hemp straps of her beige tunic. “I tell you about the hottest guy you could ever meet, and you turn down a date because you claim you’re going to be busy stretching yourself into a pretzel in an oven filled with sweaty people. Then you receive a career-changing offer and you’re going to count out a bunch of sticks on chains so you can teach pajama-clad Bruce Lee wannabes?”

“Don’t be silly,” Ava shot back with a delighted smile. “I’m going to put my gi on first.”

* * *

WHETHER IT WAS twelve hours down, or simply getting his first dreamless night in months, Elijah woke feeling great.

Rested. Refreshed. Alive.

One way or another, Mack had always been there for him. He’d taught Elijah to drive in his Honda, had stood by him when Elijah had pissed off the family with his choice to join the Navy and had given him the sex talk at the tender age of twelve. Of course, Mack’s version had been more along the lines of birds and birds than birds and bees, but Elijah had been a smart kid. He’d made the translation without too much trouble. Mack had helped guide Elijah after his dad had died, then a dozen years later had gotten him through the darkest time in his life.

Elijah didn’t expect his cousin to fix his problems now; he was a big boy. He’d fix them himself. But it would be nice fixing them here.

With that in mind and ready to get started, Elijah rolled out of bed. He snagged his jeans from the floor, fishing out his cell phone to check the time: 8:05 a.m.

Elijah tugged on his pants, then strode out of the room in search of hot coffee and his cousin. He found neither. But as he wandered the apartment, he did find a note propped against the coffeepot.

Sorry! Got called away to step in as referee for a big match. Gotta follow the money. You chill here, take it easy, rest up. We’ll talk when I get back. I know I got things to explain. Get your massage—you’re booked for 8:30. I’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, coffee is ready to go, just push the red button.

Elijah read it twice, but no amount of cryptology training was making Mack-speak any clearer. So he took the last part to heart, pushed the red button and noted he had enough time for coffee and a shower.

He was still feeling good when he stepped out of the apartment. Damned good.

It wasn’t pride that made Elijah take the stairs down to the Fit Wellness Clinic. It was a desperate attempt to work the stiffness out of his leg before someone started pummeling it.

Located in the same building, the clinic was as unisex and comfortable as the rest of the gym, with wide glass doors opening to the street and a juice bar along one wall. The narrow hallway leading to the treatment rooms was guarded by a display counter showcasing fitness gear, energy bars and insulated bottles. Sitting behind the counter was a pretty blonde who looked like she’d gotten lost somewhere between deciding if she wanted to be a hippie or a sex symbol. Her dreadlocks were tied back from her face with a wide magenta hairband, her shirt appeared to be made from hemp and her lips were painted bloodred.

Elijah approached her with a wary smile. “Hi. I’m booked for an eight-thirty massage.”

“You must be Bruce Banner.” Her smile was appreciative. “Mack said you were a big boy.”

“Is that what Mack said?” Not as big as the Hulk, though. Figuring there was no point trying to explain his cousin’s joke, Elijah shrugged.

“You’re in room one. Go ahead and go on in. Strip down naked and get comfy on the table.” She inclined her head toward the first door on the left. “You let me know if you need any help.”

“You the one who’s going to come work the kinks out?” he asked.

“I wish. But you’re down for an injury rehabilitation massage, and we only have one person qualified for that.” Her sigh said that person wasn’t her. “Your therapist will be with you in a few minutes.”

Therapist. Elijah grimaced. He’d had enough of that. But he didn’t figure anyone rubbing his burn-scarred flesh was going to ask what was going through his head. They’d be too busy holding back their gasps of horror.

He stepped into the massage room, letting the door close behind him as he checked it out. The therapists must have free rein on their decorating choices, because this was not a room done by Mack.

The colors were soothing, cream and tan with splashes of black and red to keep it from being boring. There was an Asian feel to the art and statuary, with delicate coins on a red string hanging in one corner and chimes in another. But the star of it all was the massage table. Bigger than most, it looked sturdy enough to hold an elephant and was set at its lowest height, telling Elijah that the massage therapist was probably a woman.

Cool, he grinned.

He wouldn’t mind being rubbed down by female hands. Something that his recovery had put on the no-fly list for the last few months.

He stripped down, neatly folding his clothes and stacking them on the chair. Comfortable with his nudity, he reached for the ceiling, stretching out muscles still tight from yesterday’s drive, then climbed under the sheet.

Maybe that was his problem, Elijah considered as he propped his chin on his fists and began systematically relaxing his muscles. He started with his toes, breathing deep, relaxing each digit before moving on to his ankles and calves.

Maybe all he needed was a good lay. A hot ride to clear his pipes, knock loose the kinks and get him back in fighting condition.

His eyes drifted closed as he felt a few of the tighter knots loosen in his thigh. Seemed like his body was all for that idea.

About the time he’d breathed relaxation into his shoulders, he heard the door open. A familiar scent tickled his awareness, teased his senses with both desire and dread.

“Sorry I’m running late, Mr. Banner. Bruce, is it?” There was humor in the friendly words and a hint of doubt. “I hope my delay didn’t upset you.”

Elijah didn’t have to turn his head to know who had just walked in. Like her scent, he’d know her voice anywhere.

Fuck.

He was going to kick Mack’s ass sideways.

He forced his expression to clear before he turned on the massage bed, propping himself on one elbow and offering as close to a friendly smile as he could manage.

“Hello, Ava.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“ELIJAH?”

Elijah Prescott?

Her emotions ricocheting between denial and delight, Ava tried to think straight. Her fingers itched to reach out, to touch that gorgeous face, to caress that warm skin. To see if he was real.

But all she could do was stare.

Then, in her next breath, her initial surge of joy-filled pleasure died a fast, ugly death as memories flashed in a painful cacophony of images. White lace and teddy bears. Gold rings and baby bottles. Basic black and a tiny coffin.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, stepping away from the table as if breathing his air would suck her back into the past.

“I thought I was getting a massage, but clearly I was mistaken,” Elijah remarked in that deep, easy voice of his. Once that unflappable calm had comforted her, had made her feel safe and secure and even, yes, on occasion, had turned her on.

Now it made her want to storm over to that massage table and kick him.

Hard.

“Why are you here?” she asked again. “Here. In Napa. In the spa. On my massage bed?”

“Yours?”

Those sharp bottle-green eyes angled around the room. Not a flounce, flourish or bit of fluff to be seen. She didn’t need his arched brow to tell her that he didn’t think she fit this setting.

Good. The woman he’d known didn’t fit here. Ava took comfort in that. But comfort wasn’t much of a cushion against the shock of seeing Elijah Prescott again.

Her gaze shifted from the intensity of his face to check out the rest of him. A mistake, she realized when her eyes roamed the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms. It was bad enough that she could barely form a coherent sentence or think straight. The last thing she could afford to add to that was lust.

She tried to look away, but her eyes wouldn’t cooperate. God, the man was built. Not gym fit, but weapon fit. She’d forgotten that there was a difference, and in ignoring the former had blocked out how deliciously tempting was the latter.

“I’m in Napa visiting my cousin. I’m in the fitness clinic,” he continued, “because Mack insisted I get a massage. Now how about you fill me in on the details of how this came to be your massage bed?”

It wasn’t the demand in his voice or the absolute assurance in his expression that she’d do exactly as ordered that snapped Ava out of her stupefied fog. It was realizing that she was about to obey. Chin high, she pulled on her best bitch face and threw out a snotty—albeit pretty lame—insult.

“Well, well, what do you know? You’re one of those guys who can’t handle a woman giving them a massage,” Ava taunted. “Like, what? Just because you’re some big, hard-bodied sailor boy, a woman can’t be a professional and do her job? Are you a misogynist, Elijah? Is that what’s wrong?”

The words were as empty of truth as they were ugly. But they had the desired effect.

“I’m fucking naked,” he snapped, shoving into a sitting position and making her mouth water when the sheet slipped down his chest to pool in his lap. “That’s what’s wrong.”

“I’ve seen you naked before. Quite a few times, as a matter of fact.” She rounded her heavily lashed eyes as innocently as she could. “I have pictures if you need a reminder.”

“I’m aware of the past, and remember every naked moment, thanks all the same,” he said dismissively. Then his frown deepened. “What pictures?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ava laughed, a real laugh this time. For a man who’d never had any issue walking around in his altogether, he sure had a puritanical streak about some things.

“I’m taking that as my cue to get dressed,” he said. At her questioning glance, he added, “I assume I’m not getting that massage. Unless you want to set aside your touted professionalism and use this opportunity to get your hands on my body again, of course.”

His brows arched and his smile slid into wicked as he gave her a long look up and down. Ava pretended that look didn’t send tiny thrills of desire sparking through her system. God, she was doing a lot of pretending today.

“No, thanks. The last thing I want to do is touch you,” she lied, trying to make the words sound uninterested instead of breathless and filled with regret.

Elijah didn’t seem to care either way. He simply stared with an intensity that seemed to see right through her secrets and into her soul.

“What?” she finally asked, forcing herself not to brush self-consciously at her hair or tug her simple black tee to make sure it was in place.