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“Why, are you going into professional wrestling?” His blue eyes were like lasers, pinning her to the spot. He caught her hand and brought it to his temple. “Here. Hit hard, straight in. It’s a knock-out point, and if a vein is ruptured the attacker will die in a day or so. CPR might revive him, but he could still die from the hemorrhage.
“Here.” He moved her hand to just under his nipple. He showed her the exact spot, and the positioning of her hands. “This is instant death—”
“I’m not doing it,” she said hotly. “I am not going to practice on you again.”
“Good.” He pressed her hand in the center of his chest, between the nipples. “A blow here makes the lower body spasm and go stiff, and the attacker falls down. Here—” He pulled her hand lower, just below his sternum. “A correct blow here stops the heart.”
He was relentless. The gruesome lesson went on and on. He made her perform the motions until her hand positioning was correct, but she was adamant about not using him as a dummy again. She was still shaken that such a light touch had been able to produce such a strong reaction; what if she actually hit him?
Finally, he called a halt. He had just shown her a couple of strikes that caused instant diarrhea, and she thought she really should practice those on a live target. Medina stepped back, shaking his head and grinning.
“No way. “You’re mad enough at me to do it.”
“Damn right I am.”
“You’ll thank me if you’re ever in a tight spot and need to know how to bring someone down.”
“If that ever happens, I’ll make it a point to find you and let you say 1 told you so.’ But I think I’ll practice the diarrhea strikes instead of the death strikes.”
He walked over to get one of the bottles of water they had brought with them. He twisted off the cap and tilted it up, his strong throat working as he swallowed. Helplessly, Niema watched him. Even though she knew she should be wary and keep a mental, if not a physical, distance, he was a fine specimen of masculinity and everything in her that was female appreciated the scenery. His sweat pants were soft, clinging to his ass and thighs li
ke a second skin, and that black T-shirt didn’t do a thing to hide the muscular contours of his chest and arms.
Her nipples tingled an alert, and a wave of heat swept over her. Clearing her throat, she tore her gaze away from him and turned her back to do some stretching exercises. Her legs especially needed the stretching, after that run this morning. She would have stretched even if they hadn’t, just to give herself something to do besides think about John Medina’s body.
I have to be careful, she thought. Very, very careful.
“Ready for target practice?” he asked behind her.
She groaned and straightened. What on earth had she gotten herself into?
Later that night, after a stop at the hardware store where she purchased their entire stock of hook and eye latches and spent a couple of hours installing them—except on the window in the second bathroom, which was high and small and she wanted to see if he could get in that way—she tried on the boxes of clothes that had been delivered.
Everything had a designer label. The underwear sets were silk, the hosiery was gossamer. Each pair of shoes had to have cost upward of two hundred dollars, and there were over a dozen pairs. There were cocktail dresses, evening gowns, smart little suits that showed more leg than she normally revealed; shorts, camp shirts, lacy camisoles, jeans, cashmere sweater sets, skirts. And there was the jewelry: pearl earrings and a matching necklace, a web of small diamonds that hung on an illusion chain, gold bracelets and chains, and an enormous, breathtakingly lovely black opal pendant with matching earrings. She carefully put the opal set back in its box and reached for a yellow diamond solitaire ring.
The phone rang. She stretched to reach the receiver, holding the ring in her hand. “Hello.”
“Have you looked at the clothes yet?”
“I’m going through them now.” Funny how he didn’t need to identify himself, she thought. Though she had never talked to him on the phone before, she recognized his voice immediately.
“Do they fit?”
“Most of them.”
“I’ll have that taken care of tomorrow. Have you gotten to the opal pendant yet?”
“I just put it away. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” There was a touch of awe in her voice.
“There’s a transmitter behind the stone, hidden between the prongs of the set. Be careful and don’t jostle it. See you in the morning.”
The phone clicked as he hung up. Slowly she replaced the receiver. His last words could be taken as a warning, considering his penchant for breaking into her house. She smiled, thinking of that small bathroom window.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Medina. I’ll definitely see you.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
