Oh, no.
She should be fuming at his colossal nerve, instead, Violet met his dominance with her own. Somewhere in the haze, visions of the way he had moved in his fight flashed behind her eyes. Pure power wrapped in lithe grace. She’d never seen anything like it. The shift of his shoulders before a blow. The dance of his footwork. The sharp, carved lines of his abdomenwhen he twisted away from a strike. She knew instantly, this wasn’t the mark of every boxer.
This was the mark of Drake Fury alone.
And now those same muscles were pressed against her, caging her in, every inch of him hot from victory. Her senses flooded with him, and her fingers, entirely without her consent, curled over the flesh of his chest.
Lord, how had she not noticed the first time that his body was a wall of iron beneath her palms? She felt the residual tremor of strength in him, the barely leashed power.
A mortifying sound escaped her. Small. Soft. The kind she had no name for and absolutely no intention of finding one for. But the man simply swallowed it like it belonged to him. Her knees softened just as her hearing returned, and the equally mortifying whistles of the crowd rushed in.
Blazing blazes!
She tore her mouth from his. What had she done? Saints preserve her, she had kissed him back. In front of everyone. A whole crowd had seen their heated exchange. This was not simply foolish. This was the stuff of ruin! No, thiswasruin!
Is that so bad, Violet?
The ruin, probably not. But the kissing? Him? In front of a crowd? Yes! Her breath came sharp, uneven. “What in all the blazes did you do that for?”
Drake arched a brow, infuriatingly calm. “Didn’t you want me to?”
“Absolutely not!” she hissed in as much of a hushed manner as she could. Though at this point, with an already rapt audience, what did it matter? “How did you get such an irresponsible idea?” Although, could she really blame him? What fate dealt one could at least be blamed on fate. But whenshewas the one who caused the disaster with unknownconsequences? Then there was no one left to blame but herself, and that was the true misery of it!
“That’s strange,” Drake murmured. “Your eyes were begging for a kissing from the victor.”
“My eyes did no such thing, you insufferable brute.”
A flicker of amusement slid through his gaze. “Insufferable seems excessive.”
“Oh, trust me,” she snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest, “I have not begun to dissect the extent of your insufferableness.”
He caught her finger, his grip easy and infuriatingly certain, and her pulse did something foolish. She ignored both his hand and her pulse with equal determination.
“Careful, little flame,” he said softly. “You poke at me like that, and I’ll kiss you again.”
Little flame, little spitfire. The man had an obsession. That didn’t stop her body from burning hot enough to light the ships on fire under his threat. She snatched her hand away. “Don’t you dare. And since you’re done with your surprise, Fury. I’ll take my leave.”
“Speaking of surprise, you didn’t run off the moment I turned my back.”
She gnashed her teeth at the mockery in his voice. Yes, well, he had a handsome back. That, of course, she’d not even admit in death. And obviously, she hadn’t stayed because she was smart. However, she’d been curious about this man who had never lost a fight. What had they called him again? Some fighter’s name. Something brutal. The name had dissolved somewhere between the first punch and the moment she’d forgotten how to breathe properly. That aside, she’d still wanted to see for herself what Pip and Terry had been gushing over. Her distaste for this sport, however, hadn’t disappeared.
“I decided to spare you the chase.”
“How obliging of you.” He swooped down to snatch up the shirt she’d dropped when he kissed her. “Did you at least enjoy the fight?”
Regrettably, yes and no.But she’d rather not open the lid that contained the yes. “I can’t say that I did.”
“Little liar.”
“What about you?” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the man. “Did you glean all the answers you were hoping to get from this night of fun?”
“Not all.”
Hah.
Drake Fury was a very patient man. He would never make a move against anybody, she imagined, without care and deliberation. He’d never move in haste. In the same sense, like a tiger, he’d crouch in the undergrowth, waiting, observing, until the perfect moment to pounce. “Nevertheless, if you’ll excuse—”
A man stepping up to them snatched her attention midsentence. The sinister look on his face sent a ripple of alarm through her limbs.
