Undercover Bride. Kylie Brant
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minimized your talents in this area.”
The minimization, she was sure, had existed only in his presumption. She surprised them both by offering, “Maybe you’d like to get a closer look at my talents.”
Her words seemed to have left him momentarily speechless. She must be a little shell-shocked herself, to have issued the impulsive invitation. Maybe it had been his amusement, as if the talents he’d spoken of had little more than entertainment value. Perhaps she was seeking to solidify their relationship as it was; that of adversaries.
At any rate, he was about to demur; she saw it in his eyes. With a pitying look, she promised, “I won’t hurt you. I usually take it easy on a match opponent.”
The verbal blow landed square on his ego. His gaze narrowed. “I don’t.”
She shrugged, smiled at him. “Then I won’t either.” She kicked her shoes off again and waited, as he moved more slowly to do the same. While he was getting prepared, she moved to the corner and worked off some of her nerves by pounding on the body bag suspended from a chain.
“Hopefully you’re taking out your frustrations on that bag, and won’t have much energy left for me.”
She whirled and the bag swung back and bumped her hip. She didn’t notice. He was barefoot, had divested himself of his shirt and had rolled up his pants. Her gaze followed the line of his leg to the hint of calf muscle showing below the hastily rolled cuffs. Her eyes traveled upward to linger over his flat belly before fixing fascinatedly on his bare chest.
She swallowed. His tall body was rangy rather than broad, sinewy rather than bulky. A perfect V of black chest hair covered lightly padded muscle. It was impossible not to appreciate the picture he made. Objectively speaking, of course.
Her objectivity fled when her gaze landed on his face. The slightly amused smirk on his lips might be considered cute by some. She longed for nothing more than to knock it off.
He made a come-and-get-me gesture with his hands. “I’m ready if you are.”
She strolled over to the ring, and waited for him to follow. “Oh, I’m ready, all right.”
She eyed him as they circled in the ring, as each tried to detect the first hint of weakness in the other. In hand-to-hand warfare she had to use her weaknesses, as well as her strengths. If the opponent outsized her, she would have the advantage of speed. Against superior strength, she would still have agility. The only rule of combat was to never, ever fight battles she couldn’t win.
She was determined to win this one.
He moved in with a right jab aimed for her stomach. She ducked under his arm and spun, delivering a kick to his kidneys. She didn’t temper the force and knew it stung, even without the reproachful look he fixed her with as he rubbed the spot. “That hurt.”
This time it was she who smirked. “It was meant to.”
There wasn’t a smile on his lips, but his eyes gleamed. “Something tells me that you think you’re pretty hot stuff on the mat.”
“Something tells me that you’ve spent your share of time stretched out on top of it.”
He shook his head, a flicker of humor crossing his face. “Baby, I’m going to make you pay for that one.”
With a mask of renewed resolve on his face he kept moving, blocking her feint and right cross, jabbing out, catching her firmly in the shoulder. “Ready to stop yet? I’d hate to really hurt you.”
She bared her teeth. They continued to circle each other warily, waiting for an opening, searching for a vulnerability. She landed one more kick to his belly, and was almost downed when his foot shot out behind hers and he gave her a push that should have toppled her. She held on to his arm to regain her balance, then wrested it behind him. It was a trap. She knew it as soon as she moved; she didn’t need his husky laugh to tell her so. She should never have gotten that close to him. Nearness dissipated her advantage. Her mobility was threatened. She released him, clasped both hands, and drove her elbows into his rib cage.
Although his breath released with a satisfying whoosh, he had the presence of mind to grab her before she could spin away, and used his greater strength to wrestle her to the mat. Where he landed smack on top of her.
She used her elbows to wedge some breathing room for herself and forced herself to meet his laughing gaze.
“I didn’t dare tell you this while you were intent on knocking my block off, but I have a confession to make. I have to admit to experiencing a certain, ah…fascination at the sight of two scantily clad women fighting.”
“Sparring.”
“Whatever.” His teeth flashed and there wasn’t a hint of contrition in his smile. “I guess that makes me a pervert.”
“Well, it makes you male. Of course, the two terms aren’t mutually exclusive.”
His chuckle seemed to roll up from the pit of his belly. She imagined that she could feel every roll and pitch of it as it worked through his body. Every inch of his long length was pressed close to hers. Angles against curves, heat to heat. The pounding of her pulse no longer had anything to do with her exertion, and everything to do with their position. It was time to fight dirty.
She let her eyelashes flutter, and parted her lips. Her body softened against his. She didn’t have to feign her breathy gasps for air. She saw the instant the laughter faded from his eyes, to be replaced with primitive masculine intent. His knee pressed between hers, and his mouth descended slowly, his gaze fixed on hers.
And a moment later he stilled, his lips a fraction away, male discomfort evident on his face. “Ah…you know that your knee is in a very tender spot…you do know.”
She smiled sweetly.
“My mother is expecting grandchildren.”
“Then I’d advise you to get up. Slowly.”
With exaggerated care he rose, moving back cautiously while she stood, as well. He watched the self-satisfied look settle upon her face and it brought an answering smile. Damn, if she wasn’t something. Unexpected, alluring, intriguing. And sexy enough to melt a glacier.
He stepped forward, stuck out a hand. “Truce?”
She eyed it suspiciously, before putting her hand in his. The moment their fingers clasped he yanked her against him, and wrapped his arms securely around her waist to keep her there. “Remember,” he whispered, his lips close to hers, “never trust an opponent. Especially one promising peace.”
His mouth closed over hers for a quick, teasing sampling, but lingered when reaction rocketed, smashing expectations. There was more here than he’d anticipated, far more to be shared than a casual kiss between acquaintances. He paused, his lips motionless on hers for a heartbeat. He’d faced danger often enough to recognize it, often enough to avoid it when possible. A visceral instinct was warning him now, screaming at him. It wasn’t like him to ignore it. It wasn’t like him to rush in regardless, to mindlessly dive into sensation.
He deepened the kiss for a heated, hungry taste. Her tongue glided along his in a velvet dance and need slammed into him. Inner warnings went ignored. The battle changed, became passion warring against passion, strength pitted against strength.
He hauled her closer. Her arms welcomed him, twined around his neck and enfolded him in a greedy embrace. Their mouths mated, tongues battling and bodies straining against each other. One of her hands raked into his hair, the other gripped his shoulder. The evidence of her desire stripped his mind clean.
She was a medley of wild flavors and silken textures. Her mouth was pure sin and was rapidly driving him beyond reason. The arousing scent of her lingered in the curves and hollows of her neck, and behind her ear. He swept his palm down her spine, cupped her bottom, damning the fragile barrier of clothes between them. He wanted to explore her. He wanted to find all the secret places that made her gasp and moan and beg. He wanted to drink the cries