The wind is knocked out of me as Cybil lands a blow into my gut, forcing me to release her. I do and she pivots, swinging her leg around to kick the back of my knee, causing my leg to buckle. She takes advantage of my unsteady footing and locks her arm in mine, and with impressive speed and strength, she uses my body weight to take me to the ground.
But I don’t go alone.
I manage to slip my arms around her waist and pull her with me. She face-plants against my chest, her scream muffled as we both hit the ground. Something weighty and squishy is seeping into my shirt and my chest is heaving with every breath, but I can’t ignore how good it feels to have her in my arms.
This should be my suave secret agent moment. Instead, I’m breathless, egg yolk dripping down the side of my face, and being subdued by a woman half my size. Bond would be ashamed.
If I think the game is over, I’m wrong. Cybil shoves off me and attempts to lock my arms down to my side with her legs.
“I don’t think so,” I huff, lifting her off me with ease. She writhes against my grip and twists, trying to get free, but I’m about to show off all my hours at the gy—
She does some kind of ninja move and breaks free of my grip, and I twist to my side, narrowly escaping an elbow to the liver. I have no choice but to fight back, not enough to hurt her or anything, because I’m having more fun than I’ve had in a long time, but a man’s gotta keep his dignity here. I get ahold of her hand and she’s pulling back trying to get me to release it and I’m shocked at how strong she is. Suddenly, shereleases the tension so that my own hand flies back in my face and I end up punching myself in the lip.So much for self-dignity.
“Will... you...” I talk between gasps and my stinging lip. “Please... stop...” I’m about to go for her wrists again but think better of it, and instead scoop up a handful of flour off the floor and drop it over her head.
She rears back, wiping at the white powder raining over her face. This time I take advantage, wrapping my legs around her waist and bringing her back to the floor next to me. She tries to pull away, but I have her arms pinned to her chest and I ignore the teasing floral scent and the problematically attractive position we’re currently in to distract me from getting answers.
“Why were you listening to my conversation with Rook and Ramirez at the restaurant tonight?”
“Let me go,” she says, sending a puff of flour into the air with each fiery word.
I stare at her ghostly face and—dang it—even looking like an angry baker, she’s beautiful. “I think you gave me a concussion with that bag of flour.”
Releasing her, I lay my head back on the floor and regret it when I land in something sticky and wet.
“Good.” She shoves away from me. “Next time you won’t break into houses and sneak up on people.”
I run a finger gently over my nose. Then my lip. Both are tender and throbbing. “I think you gave me a fat lip.”
“Refer back to my previous statement.”
“You don’t feel a little bit sorry you might’ve broken my nose with a bag of flour?”
“No.”
But the softness in her voice tells me she does. A little.
Rolling to my side, Cybil immediately scoots backward away from me, her body rigid like she’s ready for round two. I hold up one hand and use the other to push myself up to a seated position. “Stand down, Billy.”
“Stop calling me—” she snaps, but her words are cut off as she shifts and slips on the mess beneath us. I reach out instinctively, trying to steady her, but it’s no use—my knee slips and we both slide, tangled in the chaos. She ends up flat on her back, and I end up above her—one hand cradling the back of her head, the other braced against the floor to keep from crushing her. Her eyes lock on mine.
“Billy,” she finishes on a whisper.
Our flour-covered faces are inches away from each other. I search her face, my eyes dropping to her lips for a second before I find her eyes again, our breathing rough and unsteady. It would be one of those romantic movie moments, except with each breath we exhale a plume of flour into the other’s face like we’re trying to seduce each other and suffocate each other at the same time.
Cybil’s eyes narrow. “You’re breathing flour into my eyeballs.”
“You’re returning the favor.”
She blinks, eyes crossing slightly as another flour puff hits her nose.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“I’m—”
“Don’t do it.”
“I’m gonna—Achoo!”
