Giana glared at him, indignation burning hot. "You didn't have to hit me to prove a point, you dick."
"The man trying to kill you won't pull his punches," Rodrigo stated flatly. He hadn't moved from his stance. "Again. This time, don't announce your intentions to the entire room."
Gritting her teeth, Giana reset her stance. She focused, trying to mask her movement, to make the thrust faster, sharper. She feinted slightly with her guard hand, then snapped the thrust forward.
Rodrigo flowed around it like water. A slight pivot of his hips, a deflection with his own guard hand that felt like an iron bar, and his knife hand was suddenly inside her guard, the cold, sharp edge of the blade resting lightly against the pulse point in her neck. She froze, her breath catching.
"Dead," he murmured, his mouth inches from hers. He held the blade there for a heartbeat, the pressure just shy of breaking the skin. He withdrew, stepping back smoothly.
"You're thinking like you're in a drill. This isn't practice. This is survival. Move with intent and speed, and for God's sake, protect your center."
The cold of the blade lingered on her skin. Giana swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. The intensity of his training wasn't just about teaching, but about keeping her alive.
She gritted her teeth and reset her stance, a new determination hardening within her. She wouldn't let him intimidate her. She would learn this.
They moved. Thrust, parry, counter. Rodrigo was relentless, a dark shadow she couldn't seem to land a hit on. He blocked, deflected, and redirected her attacks with infuriating ease, his movements fluid and efficient.
He used his body to control her, to off-balance her, always keeping the deadly edge of his knife a whisper away from her skin.
Every time his body pressed close to correct her stance or demonstrate a move, it sent jolts of awareness through her. The smell of his clean sweat and expensive cologne mingled in her senses. The heat radiating from his body, the sheer physicality of him, was a constant, distracting presence.
Giana pushed harder, faster, trying to anticipate him, to find an opening. She remembered Athena's advice.'Don't just stand there like a target.'
She started using footwork, circling him, trying to create angles. She feinted high then went low. She managed to get inside his guard, her hand snapping toward his ribs in a short, sharp strike meant to mimic a knife thrust.
Rodrigo reacted instantly. Instead of blocking, he trapped her striking arm against his body with his own forearm, locking it tight. At the same time, his left leg hooked sharply behind her right ankle. He pulled and swept.
Giana's feet flew out from under her. She yelped as the world tilted. She landed hard on her back on the mat, the impact driving the air from her lungs in a whoosh.
Before she could even register the fall, Rodrigo was on her. His weight settled over her hips, pinning her legs. One hand closed firmly around her right wrist, slamming it down onto the mat beside her head, effectively disarming her imaginary blade.
His other hand held the flat of his knife against her throat, and his body pressed down, warm and heavy, immobilizing her completely. His face was inches above hers, his eyes blazing with an intensity that stole her breath more effectively than the fall had.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed. The feel of his body pinning hers, the hard planes of muscle against her softer curves, the rapid rise and fall of his chest against her. The dangerous glint in his eyes held a heat that had nothing to do with violence.
Her own body responded traitorously, a flush spreading across her skin, her pulse hammering wildly where his hand pressed against her throat.
"You need to remember to play dirty," Rodrigo stated. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to her eyes. "Your enemy won't fight fair. He'll trip you, bite you, gouge your eyes. Anything to win. Anything to survive."
Giana stared up at him, her chest heaving, caught between outrage and the terrifying, undeniable pull of attraction. The look in his eyes mirrored the heat pooling low in her own belly.
She managed a shaky breath, her voice coming out breathless but defiant. "I can play dirty."
"I'm counting on it, killer." A ghost of a smile touched his lips, fierce and approving. He held her gaze for another long, charged moment, the knife still a cold pressure on her throat, his body a furnace pinning her down.
He rolled off her, coming to his feet in one effortless motion, and extended his hand down to her.
Giana hesitated for only a second, her skin still tingling where he had touched her and her body acutely aware of his sudden absence.
She placed her hand in his, letting him pull her upright with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, a fleeting, intimate caress that sent another jolt through her system.
He stepped back, resetting his stance, the real knife held ready again. The heat in his eyes simmered just beneath the surface of his focused expression.
"Now show me how you are going to get this knife from me," he commanded.
Giana grinned, got into position, and replied, "Again."
17
