All Claire Ferris wanted to do was translate old Japanese literature.
All Kentaro Ikuta wanted to do was play American baseball.
All the media wanted to do was talk to him.
Can Claire and Kentaro overlook their differences to learn to talk together and fall in love?
Barnes & Noble.com
"Excuse me," she blurted out in English then repeated, "Sumimasen."
Ikuta turned. He stood, his T-shirt wadded in his hands before his midriff, unconcerned that he was bare-chested. Claire was surprised an inch long gold cross dangling from a chain around his neck then realized she had fallen into the trap of stereotyping Ikuta as a Buddhist. Thoughts about his religion flew out the window though, as she noticed his slacks were unbuttoned, the fly half-zipped.
"I seemed to have made a wrong turn," Claire said easily in conversational Japanese. She hoped he didn't see the deep flush she felt covering her face.
"I will show you." Ikuta moved past her to guide her to the doorway. Claire followed. Her eyes watched the broad back she had studied before. A closer inspection showed a flawless, rich, tan surface which looked like satin. It was all Claire could do not to reach out and touch him. Just the thought of doing so made her feel hot in the cool locker room.
When Ikuta came to a halt, Claire almost collided with him, faintly disappointed that she was able to catch herself. They were at the front of the locker room, the doorway evident.
"I must have turned wrong here."
"It is easy to do."
"Domo arigato." Claire started to move to the door.
"Sayonara." Ikuta departed back into the bowels of the locker room.
Claire pushed open the door and exited into a quiet corridor. She leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. What had she promised to do?