Amery watched as his features softened. And dammit, the vulnerable side of him softened something inside her.
“I’ve been training in martial arts every day for as long as I can remember. And by training, I don’t only mean the physical side, but the psychological aspect, the spiritual aspect, and the long-held traditions that are part of the discipline. Living the philosophy really kicked in when I sequestered myself at the monastery.”
“On a spiritual level?” she asked.
“To some extent. I immersed myself in training. Over the years I’d worked with swords, knives, sticks, every weapon at my disposal. To be honest, I wasn’t particularly skilled at any of them. I excelled at the hand-to-hand drills and utilizing pressure points to disable an opponent. So the idea of learning the ropes, so to speak, didn’t excite me.” He paused. “It surprised me when a rope in my hand felt natural and I picked up everything quickly.
“By the end of my second year of training, at age nineteen, I equaled my teacher in skill. He enlisted help from another rope master. His specialty was . . .” Ronin’s eyes met hers. “Shibari.”
“Did he demonstrate on you?”
Ronin shook his head. “He had three female companions he ‘lent’ to me. They were knowledgeable and vocal about what did and didn’t work in my tying techniques.”
That crazy punch of jealousy hit her again. “These women had no issue being lent out to you by their master like some kind of f**k toys?”
“I didn’t f**k them, Amery. I bound them.”
“Oh.” But she couldn’t let it go. “Were those his rules? Or their choice?”
“Are you asking me if I would’ve f**ked them if they’d wanted it?”
Amery raised her chin. “Yes.”
He twisted a hank of hair around his fingers and tugged her closer for a quick kiss. “No. They were strong with supple bodies and completely unashamed of their nakedness. During that time—I didn’t treat them like women, but as objects I could bend to my will. To my vision. That’s when I understood I needed the beauty and artistry of shibari and kinbaku in my life as more than just tying a woman up like a package. I wanted the intimate connection.”
This was a much deeper look into him than she’d expected to get from him tonight. Amery reached for his hand. It was the first time she noticed his knuckles were raw, red, and scraped up more than usual. “What happened?”
“I worked out harder this week than what I normally do.”
Knox had mentioned that to her. “Why?”
Ronin twisted his hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth for a soft kiss. “I was on edge and needed a way to channel my frustration besides taking it all out on my students.”
“So you . . . ?” she prompted.
“Hit the heavy bag. A lot.”
“Ronin. Why didn’t you wear hand protection?”
“I did.”
She closed her eyes. Images of him methodically beating the shit out of a heavy bag, his face placid as pain exploded from his hands, twisted her stomach in knots. “Does it hurt?”
“What? My knuckles?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve had worse.” He paused. “Do the marks and scabs bother you? Would you rather I didn’t touch you until they’re healed?”
Amery opened her eyes. “It bothers me that you’ve been hurting.”
“Being in pain is the story of my life. These hands have been broken, bruised, bloodied, scabbed, and scarred. I’ve hurt people with these hands.” Ronin dropped his head and stared at his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. He curled his fingers in and then stretched them out. “When I realized I had a knack for ropes, I wanted to find balance between using my hands for pain as well as beauty. I wanted to create something beautiful, even if it was as fleeting as pain. I’ll never be an artist in traditional mediums, but with a rope in my hands and a vision in my head, I become an artist.”
Amery let his words flow through her and it set something inside her free.
This man was beauty.
She dropped to her knees in front of him.
Ronin’s surprised eyes hooked hers.
She took his right hand in her left, threading their fingers together until their palms met. Then she brought his left hand to her mouth, letting her lips drift across his ravaged knuckles. She pressed kisses on the back of his hand, the joint of his thumb, and the tips of his fingers. Then she pressed his hand to the side of her face. “I think your scarred hands are beautiful. Will you use them to create that rope artistry on me?”
“You really want that?”
“I really do, now that I understand it. Now that I understand you.”
“You undo me, Amery.” He stroked her cheek with the ragged pad of his thumb. “I should be on my knees before you.”
She melted.
Ronin stared at her, his face again devoid of expression and it scared her.
“What?”
“Do you know why I took an interest in you that first night you showed up at my dojo?”
Hoping to lighten things up, she tossed off, “There’s another reason besides you recognizing my natural untapped abilities in martial arts?”
Ronin smiled. “Besides that. Although you missed class this week and you will be required to make up the session.”
“In private? With you?”
He shook his head.
“Shoot. Anyway, tell me why you took an interest in me.”
“Because of this.” He tugged the shirt down, below the ball of her right shoulder and traced the raised flesh of her scar. “How did you get this?”
She glanced at the white lines an inch apart that ran parallel for two inches up her biceps and the thick line at the top that connected the two lines. “The summer I turned eight my parents sent me to stay at my grandparents’ farm. After living under my parents’ iron rule . . . I went a little wild. Got a little reckless.”
“Your first experience with no boundaries?” he said wryly.
“Something like that. Anyway, somehow I ended up in the bull pasture and those mean motherfuckers chased me. When I reached the fence, I dove through it, scared to death of being gored by a bull. In my haste to escape, I got caught up in the barbed wire. I twisted and jerked until I freed myself. I didn’t realize how deeply the barbed wire had gouged me until I felt blood running down my arm.
“At that age I was more worried that my grandma would be mad I’d ripped my shirt than that I’d injured myself. Long story short—I covered the wound with duct tape and that stopped the bleeding. But I hadn’t gotten it clean, which made it itch, so I picked at the scabs and ended up with a scar.” She looked at him. “Why? Are you into scars?”