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But he wasn’t the only one who knew martial arts. She’d done several courses over the years, usually at her parents’ insistence, and she was glad now, because it gave her some idea of where to start. She kicked quickly, hitting him behind the knee, knocking him off balance – just enough to give her the advantage, then she went to grab his arm, to twist it behind his back. But whatever advantage she’d had with her sudden kick, she lost almost immediately. He righted himself, moving swiftly, instincts kicking in. He caught her hands and before she could so much as move to his back, he pulled hers down at her sides, her body pressed hard up to his. Their breathing was equally rushed, their chests touching as each struggled for air. Not from exertion but awareness and intrigue.
“That’s not fair,” she mumbled.
“You think anyone who attacks you is going to care about fairness?”
She tried to pull her hands free and for a moment, he resisted, holding her, to make a point? She wasn’t sure. But then he dropped them, and took a step back, impassive and calm again. Frustration cracked like a whip at her spine. Damn him!
She watched as he ate some pasta, days’ worth of frustrations spilling over so she made a primal grunting sound as she launched at him again, this time reaching for his shoulders, as if to push him over. He reacted swiftly despite being mid-mouthful. He turned, caught one arm and twisted it behind her back, and held the other at her side. It brought their bodies into close contact and she didn’t struggle. If she did, he might have pushed her aside, and she didn’t want that. Her breath tore from her lungs and her eyes strayed to his lips, caught there like a bug in a cobweb.
“So you can defend against me, big deal,” she said after a moment, the words raw and husky. “Show me what you can do.”
The challenge was layered with sensual heat, and she hoped, hoped, hoped he would rise to it.
“You’re sure?”
Hell, yes, she was sure.
She moved closer, her brain foggy, not working properly, her lips tingling with a need to be kissed, and then suddenly he was moving, his leg hooking behind hers, catching her completely off guard, so she fell awkwardly and would have crashed to the floor if his hands hadn’t been there to catch her, to guide her, so she was practically lowered to her back by Noah, and a second later his body was pinning hers to the tiled floor.
Oh, hell. She stared up at him, her pulse in her throat, needs and wants roaring through her.
“You’re strong,” she mumbled, the words falling from her lips without forethought. She could have cursed them for how naïve and innocent they sounded.
“You’re drunk. Not exactly a fair fight.”
She frowned. “I am not drunk.”
“Aren’t you?”
She shook her head just a little, not wanting to do anything that might dislodge him and put space between them.
“I have a lot of experience keeping people safe. You can trust me.”
He didn’t move though, and so Max didn’t either. She wanted to feel his body just like this, the weight of him an almost unbearable aphrodisiac.
“You have an amazing body.” More words blurted from her without Max’s consent.
Her hand lifted so her finger traced a line at his cheek, running towards his lips. She hesitated a moment, her eyes flaring as her finger traced the outline of his mouth, and heat spiraled through her like lava and fireworks.
“You should stop.” The words were gruff, a command he didn’t make it easy for her to obey. He stayed where he was, his breath powerful enough to make his lungs move, pressing to hers.
She bit back a knowing smile.
It was a short-lived triumph. A moment later, Noah was pulled up to standing, then held a hand down to her, in an offer of help. She stared at it, instantly bereft by his absence, by his rejection, and then she stumbled to her feet, a rush of blood filling her head, making her wish she hadn’t had that second gin. Embarrassment curled her toes.
“I –,”
“Forget about it.” He nodded towards her plate. “Sit. Eat.”
Her stomach churned. She should probably be grateful he wasn’t making a big deal but she felt thwarted, annoyed, irritated, impatient, infantilized, a thousand things she’d been made to feel in her life, and had always, always resented.
“I’m not hungry.” Her eyes bore into his, a challenge in their depths, waiting for him to fight with her, to command her to sit down.
“Suit yourself,” he responded a moment later, a casual shrug drawing her attention to his broad shoulders.
She hesitated, not sure exactly what she should do, but knowing, suddenly, that she desperately needed space from this man.
“Am I allowed to go to bed?” She asked tartly.
