He frowned, as if he couldn’t quite figure out whether she was serious. Deciding she must be, he shook his head. “You are an unusual woman, Caitrina Kirkpatrick.”
Hating the sound of the false name she’d given him, she wanted to correct him. Instead she smiled. “And that was the second nicest. Perhaps we should resume before I’m overcome by too much flattery?”
He gave her bottom a playful slap. “Saucy brat, get over there. This time try not to project your intentions so much. Look at my arms, not at my face.” As if that were easy. But he was right. The moment their eyes met, she lost some of her concentration. “You are quick and agile, but you also have to make every movement count—you aren’t going to get many of them against a skilled opponent. And with a weapon coming at you there isn’t much room for error. You won’t beat me skill to skill or strength to strength—no matter how badly you want to.” She flushed, realizing that was exactly what she’d been trying to do. She’d wanted to impress him by besting him, and in doing so, she’d forgotten what John had taught her. Her goal wasn’t to win; it was to get away. She’d let her pride interfere. “What else can you do?” he challenged her.
She thought about it as they squared off again. She could trick him or distract him somehow. But how? By preying on his weaknesses. Not that she could think of any. Suddenly, she smiled. She had an idea. Maybe he did have a weakness.
The next time he came at her, she kept her eyes low, avoiding his gaze and concentrating on his shoulders. It was a good thing, too, since he decided to switch hands, the blighter—the knife was in his left, not in his right.
But she was ready. When he stabbed with the knife, instead of trying to block, she jumped back out of the way and cried out as if he’d skimmed her.
“Oh God, Cate!” Instantly, forgetting the battle, he lunged toward her.
She locked her hand on the wrist still holding the knife and immediately controlled his hand with her other, twisting it and locking his wrist. He grunted in pain, having no choice but to move toward the ground with the torquing pressure. The knife clattered to the ground. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get him fully on the ground like this, she immediately followed up with a solid kick in the place where John had told her a man was especially vulnerable. As soon as he groaned and collapsed forward, she let his arm go, grabbed the knife, and stood over him.
She’d done it!
He was sure making a lot of noise, though, rolling on the ground and moaning. She took a few tentative steps closer. “Gregor, are you all…?”
Right. She didn’t get to finish her question.
As soon as she was in reach, he swung one of his legs around her ankles, taking her legs out from behind. An instant later, she was on the ground with him on top of her, her hands were pinned atop her head, and the knife was lying harmlessly beside them.
“That was a dirty trick, Caty.” He smiled. “I like it. But you forgot one thing. Once I’m down, you are supposed to run away.”
She glared at him. “I was worried. I thought I’d hurt you.”
He lifted a brow. “Is that so? I think I know the feeling.” She bit her lip, realizing he’d used her distraction against her. “And if it’s any consolation, it hurt like hell. That was the most solid shot someone has landed on me in a long time.”
She burst out into a wide smile. “Really?”
“You needn’t look so pleased about it.”
But she was. She wriggled a little to try to free herself, but it felt like she was pinned down by a ton of rocks.
His eyes darkened. “Now what are you going to do? I’ll not be so easily distracted this time.”
She struggled against him, using all the tricks that John had taught her. But she couldn’t knee him, couldn’t use her head to strike his, couldn’t lift her hips—she couldn’t move her limbs or body enough to do anything.
He was solid and heavy on top of her, crushing. At least he should be crushing her, but he wasn’t. Somewhere in the midst of her struggles a different kind of awareness had taken hold.
He must be feeling it, too, because when their eyes met, the heat in his gaze made her feel as though she’d just stepped too close to an inferno.
Her breath caught.
His eyes dropped to her parted lips. She could feel the tension radiating through him. He wanted to kiss her, but something was holding him back.
Twelve
Gregor had been wrong. She could distract him again—easily. All she had to do was gasp and part those soft, red lips of hers, and all he could think about was kissing her. Of course, there was also the fact that she was under him, and it wasn’t very hard to imagine what it would be like to be inside her.
It would be incredible. He didn’t need an imagination to know that—he could feel it. Desire swelled hard and heavy inside him, threatening to drag him under. He wanted to kiss her so intensely, he could practically taste her on his lips.
She wanted it, too. He could see it in her eyes. Eyes that held his with anticipation, arousal, too much damned trust, and an emotion that he was beginning to think might actually be real.
Fuck.
He pulled back and rolled off her, not realizing he’d uttered the curse aloud until her eyes widened.
