I laughed. “Just bubble wrap me, huh?”
He shrugged. “Whatever keeps you safe.”
My face heated and my stomach did a little flip. “What are you going to show me first?”
“Show me how you’d hit me.”
I hesitated, on purpose, before throwing the weakest punch I could manage. He caught my wrist, quick and sharp, turning it just enough to make it sting. Then I was off balance, colliding with his chest.
His arm steadied me, firm and impersonal. “Lesson one,” he murmured. “Don’t think too much before you move. That could cost you your life.”
He had no idea I could have had him on the floor by now if I wanted to. But something in the way he was teaching me, trying to look out for me, made me keep up the act.
I took a step back, raising an eyebrow. “Lesson two,” I said, half teasing, “don’t underestimate someone because they hesitate.”
That earned a flicker of a smile. “Again.”
So we moved. Again and again. He corrected my stance, guided my hands, explained how to shift my weight — all things I already knew. But watching him work was fascinating. He was controlled, precise; like every movement was weighed against the cost of survival.
And the way his muscles flexed as he moved his body with a deadly grace made my stomach knot.
When his hand brushed my arm to adjust my position, my pulse skipped in a way that had nothing to do with fighting. As I glanced up at him, and he stared back at me, for a second it seemed like neither of us remembered how to breathe.
Then, he moved again, fast. Reaching for my wrist, I knew he expected another weak dodge. This time, I let my instinct take over. I twisted out of his grip, pivoted my hip, and swept his leg out from under him.
He hit the mat hard enough to grunt.
I froze.Shit.“Oops.”
Enzo blinked up at me, stunned. Then he narrowed his eyes, a slow smirk forming. “You’ve done this before.”
I shrugged, feigning innocence. “Beginner’s luck?”
He hopped up, even though I knew the fall knocked some wind out of him. “Try again,” he challenged with that cocky grin of his.
So I did. And this time, I didn’t hold back. The air filled with the sound of movement — the dull thud of feet, the soft slap of hands meeting forearms, the rhythm of inhales and exhales. When he caught me mid-strike, our faces were inches apart.
“Lesson three,” he said, voice low, rough with exertion. “Never let them get their hands on you.”
For a few seconds, I thought he might kiss me. His eyes darted from my eyes to my mouth and I had to stop myself from leaning up to close the gap between our lips.
Then, I used the distraction to counter his hold and flip him over me. I followed him to the ground, pinning him beneath me. “Lesson four,” I mimicked, fighting a smile, “Don’t get distracted.”
He smirked, and in that moment, he was the sexiest man I’d ever seen. Skin slick with sweat, eyes darkened with lust; lust I knew we were both fighting.
I felt him harden beneath my hips, and I had to stop myself from closing my eyes and grinding against him.
Suddenly, Enzo gripped my hips and flipped me over, trapping me beneath him. My breath shuddered as he leaneddown, stopping when our mouths were less than an inch apart. “Lesson five,” he murmured. “Never let your guard down.”
Then, he got off me as abruptly as he’d pinned me. Blinking rapidly, I tried to process what had just happened, then frowned up at his smirking face. He extended a hand to help me as I sat up, but I swatted it away. I was so turned on and infuriated that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
He chuckled. “Nice work, kid. Again?”
Determination set in, overriding everything else. I exhaled a deep breath and nodded. “Again.”
We spent the next couple of days sparring. It seemed to be what we both needed to release stress given our situation, even though it created a completely different tension.
A tension Enzo seemed content to ignore.
