Malcom had begun work on renovating the warehouse some years ago and then stopped when he met his wife. She hadn’t been so enamored with the idea of living in the warehouse district. He had thought it would be nice to have his apartment and dojo together so he’d bought the building. He met his wife four months later.
She was very happy it had taken Malcom four months to meet the woman he had fallen madly in love with. That meant he’d worked on the warehouse. She had a makeshift bathroom and a really good bedroom space. Her kitchen area was the most finished of any room. She had a sink, counter, stove and small fridge. Malcom had started with a kitchen and bathroom, paying most attention to the fact that he liked to eat properly because he worked out so much.
“You have a hose for a shower.”
Of course he would notice that.
“It’s still in the building phase,” she admitted. Since he was talking now, she assumed there was no one ready to jump out and murder her. She trailed after him, moving quickly to catch up.
He was in her bedroom, looking carefully around him. His gaze took in everything, the bed, the small safe on the floor beside the bed and her beat-up chair. She refused to be embarrassed. She’d found the chair at a thrift store and it was comfortable. Ignoring him she went to the safe, opened it and shoved her tip money inside.
The bedroom had three walls. The fourth was open to the warehouse floor. Straight ahead was her heavy bag hanging from the ceiling, a mat and a speed bag. She’d spent precious dollars on her equipment but felt it was a necessary expenditure.
“Nice workout area.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, trying not to look too proud. He took up her entire bedroom area. Before she thought it was a lot of space for a bedroom, now it seemed small.
“I like to work out.”
“It shows when you’re in the dojo.”
He wandered out of her bedroom area and into the workout space, his hand moving over the heavy bag. A stroke with his open palm. Almost a caress. Her heart fluttered. They had one thing in common – clearly he liked to work out as well.
“Malcom is a good instructor.” He made it a statement.
Catarina was uncertain how to respond. “I think so. He certainly has helped me learn fast.”
“You’re a good student. I’ve watched. He tells you something once and you’ve got it. You listen and you don’t get upset when he critiques you.”
“I pay him a lot of money. I don’t want him to tell me how good I am, I want him to tell me everything I’m doing wrong so I can get better.”
“Unusual,” he commented, and moved around the heavy bag. His gaze took in her neatly shelved equipment, the gloves and the small weights. “You’re really serious about learning.”
“I wouldn’t spend the money on it if I wasn’t.”
“Why the gun?”
She stiffened. The gun was hidden beneath her pillow. He wasn’t looking at her and his voice was casual, but she knew it wasn’t a casual question.
“Cat.” Now he did look at her, one arm still circling the heavy bag. “Why the gun?”
She swallowed. Tried to shrug. “Woman alone in large warehouse.”
“Can you shoot?”
“Yes. I practice just like I do my self-defense.” That much was honest.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” she denied, a blatant lie this time. “I’m careful.”
His eyes cut to her. Looked inside her. Saw too much. She looked away first. “I’m safe, Ridley. And I really do appreciate you taking the time to walk me home and check out the warehouse, but everything’s okay now.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t take his eyes from her. She pressed her lips together. Even with the warehouse as large as it was, he took up space.
“You have bars on your windows. You have a gun. You spend money you don’t have on self-defense lessons, and Malcom told me you’re working on weapons training as well. Knives, arnis sticks. Is someone threatening you?” There was a hard edge to his voice.
She spread her hands out in front of her. “I don’t know you.”