Authors: Kate Perry
"Something chocolaty, please," I added with a hopeful smile.
"I like this woman." Brian grinned. "I'll set out a buffet in the parlor."
"Thank you." With a curt nod, Rhys guided me out of the kitchen.
"You have a parlor?" I asked as we walked down the hall to the back of the house.
"Several, in fact."
"How Jane Austen of you." I frowned. "I thought you were just visiting San Francisco."
"I am."
"But you own this house." I pursed my lips at a particularly expensive-looking vase we passed. "And keep it fully furnished."
"I like my creature comforts," he replied simply. "And I prefer my own space to staying in hotels."
It was on my tongue to ask him if he owned houses in every city he visited, but I got distracted when we stepped through an archway into a large solarium.
It took me a moment to realize this was the workout room. There was a mat on the floor and a variety of weapons mounted to the wall: swords, knives, and an assortment of different sticks—eskrima sticks to staffs and even canes. He had bamboo weapons for practicing, as well as the real deal.
One sword in particular caught my eye—a sleek broadsword, hung separately from its scabbard. Thin silver designs decorated the dark hilt—flames, of course. Gravitating to it, I stood so close I could smell its metallic tang. My fingers itched to dance along the face of the gleaming blade, to feel the blood grooves, knowing it'd be warm and alive to the touch.
But I didn't, because I knew without a doubt this sword was Rhys's—his personal favorite—and you never touched a person's special weapons without permission.
"I don't know. Seems like you could wear this sword with just about any outfit." I turned to face him, pursing my lips as I pretended to size him up. "Maybe you don't know how to handle it."
He sauntered to me. "Are you questioning my ability?"
Knowing I was playing with fire but unable to help myself, I glanced at his crotch. "Do you have good form?"
He pulled me against him, so close his personal weapon pressed into my belly, right over my birthmark. "I believe I'm fairly assured of victory."
The mark tingled to life, and I had the urge to rub it against him. "Cocky, aren't you?"
His smile was positively wicked. Without a word, he released me and pulled his sweatshirt over his head.
He wore nothing but taut muscles and tanned skin underneath. I sought out his mark, right over his heart, a mirror of my own. Then my eyes followed the thin trail of hair that disappeared mysteriously under the waist of his pants.
Don't look down.
I lifted my gaze and frowned at the scars on his torso, particularly the vicious-looking one on his left side, which I hadn't noticed the night he'd first shown me his mark. I nodded at it. "Looks like someone tried to cut out your heart. Former girlfriend?"
"Former business associate." He tossed the sweatshirt aside.
"Ah." I nodded. "And the rest of the scars?"
"Remnants of various scrapes."
"To do with your Guardianship?"
"Some," he said after a brief hesitation. He went onto the mat. "Ready?"
More than ready, just not for fighting. Not with Rhys, in any case. I knew I needed practice—with a real person and not my makeshift sparring dummy—but rolling around on the mat with him, his body up against mine, his breath against my skin . .. Fighting would be the last thing on my mind. "I'd rather discuss your scars."
Stretching his shoulders, he cocked an eyebrow. "Careful, love, or I'll think you care."
"Just curious." Toeing the edge of the mat, I cleared my throat. "I don't know if this is a good idea."
"You need to be able to defend yourself. I don't want last night happening again." His jaw tightened. "I won't see you hurt again."
"Last night I was just taken by surprise. It won't happen again."
He rushed at me, grabbing me around my arms and swinging me off my feet. Caught off guard, I froze for an indecisive moment.
Just as quickly he dropped me onto my feet, stepped back, and smirked at me with an infuriating superiority.
Hands on hips, I lifted my chin. "I never said I was ready."
"Unfortunately, love, an attacker on the street isn't going to wait for you to tell him you're ready." He circled around me. He set his weight, going into predator mode, something I sensed more than I saw. "While you don't have to walk around in a state of constant heightened awareness, you do need to train your reflexes to react instantly."
No kidding. "I—"
He attacked again, getting me from behind this time. I dropped my weight, reared my head back to hit his nose, and grabbed his groin—all at the same time.
Grunting, he set me down. "Again." And he came at me, startling in speed.
My weight and breath rose before impact, and we tumbled to the ground, Rhys rolling so he landed under me. But that lasted a second before he reversed our position so he was on top, my arms trapped at my sides.
Damn it.
Don't rush, Gabrielle,
I heard Wu's voice in my head.
Rushing like a bull will only make the struggle harder. Slow down and wait for the right opportunity.
I took a calming breath, relaxed my body, and opened my senses. Rhys let up on his hold, and I saw my opening. I punched the inside of his thigh with my knuckle to make him straighten his leg and while he was off balance rolled us over so I mounted him.
Before he could counter, I raised my fist and dropped it, stopping an inch from his nose. "I win."
His eyes narrowed. "Barely."
"Sore loser?" I asked with a sweet smile.
Something in his gaze shifted, and he went into wolf mode. Holding on to my hips, he lifted his pelvis. "I wouldn't call this losing, love."
His hard-on pressed into me, impressive and hot even with the layers of clothing between us. I couldn't help rocking on it, a sharp shock of pleasure zinging through my body.
His hand slipped down to my thigh, massaging there before applying the barest pressure. I didn't realize he was using my leg-straightening move against me until I was on my back with him cradled between my legs.
"You fight dirty." Hoping he'd take my breathiness as exertion from fighting, I wrapped my legs around his waist.
Pinning my arms next to my shoulders, he lowered his mouth and nibbled down my neck. "Ah, love, I haven't even begun to get dirty yet."
I arched my back, watching him work his way down. He hovered over my breasts, barely visible through my sweatshirt except for two sharp, protruding, eager points.
He took one between his teeth, biting with just enough pressure to make me gasp. I raised my arms until he held them stretched over my head and then bucked my hips hard. He sailed off, landing next to me, and I immediately rolled over onto him.
To my surprise, he chuckled. Pulling me down over him, he kissed me, warm and soft, and then patted my butt. "Up. Let's do this again."
We spent another hour with him coming at me with different attacks—from more grabbing to coming in with punches and even charging with knives. By the end of the hour, I was out of breath, hungry, and more turned on than I'd ever been. During the fight it was all business, but the transition moments in between fights, when our bodies pressed against each other and we had to untangle, were pure torture.
Which is why I finally called a halt to the session. I dropped onto the mat. "Enough. I need chocolate now."
He walked to a small refrigerator I hadn't seen and took out two water bottles. "You weren't bad today."
"Not bad?" I snorted, catching the one he threw me. "I was pretty awesome and you know it."
"Your technique is good, but that's not your problem."
"What's my problem?"
"Your mind." He frowned as he opened his. "You're holding yourself back."
"I didn't want to hurt you," I said, trying not to sound defensive.
"You wouldn't."
I narrowed my eyes. Arrogant bastard.
"You're struggling against the inevitable. Stop fighting it. Accept the situation and do what you need to do." He sat down next to me and took a quick swig of water. "Hesitating could prove to be deadly. Even if it's a second, that's one second your opponent has the upper hand on you. A good opponent will use that second to win." He tucked back a lock of my hair that had come loose from my elastic. "I don't want that to happen."
I stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the fire banked there. "Even if you're that opponent?"
His thumb brushed my lower lip. "I'm not the threat to you, Gabrielle."
"I wouldn't bet on that," I murmured as his mouth closed on mine.
No tender lead-in, no gentle buildup. The moment our lips touched we ignited. I didn't even try to resist—I speared my fingers into his hair and sat on his lap, facing him, to get closer.
He groaned, his hands snaking under my top. One kneaded my back, holding me firmly. The other sneaked up my side to cup my breast.
I rubbed myself into his hand and moaned. When his fingers pinched my nipple, I moaned again, letting my head loll back.
"You taste perfect," he whispered, nuzzling my neck.
"I taste like sweat."
"You taste like you." He playfully nipped the sensitive skin below my ear. "Tart."
"Hey." I yanked his hair—hard—to arch his head back.
He laughed, a husky sound I felt in my belly. His hands soothed me, but the look in his eyes was anything but.
I took advantage of his exposed neck to do a little exploring of my own. Starting at the hollow at the base, I slowly nibbled my way up to the edge of his jaw.
His cock pulsed, and I rolled my hips to tease him. But it backfired when his hand lowered to my butt and gripped it to encourage my surging motion.
Dropping my head to his shoulder, I groaned, loud and long, as the pressure hit just that right spot. My entire body felt lit and ready to explode. Needing to explode. I wrapped my legs around his body and ground in earnest.
Someone cleared his throat. Dazed, I looked up to find Brian in the doorway, watching with unconcealed interest. "Brunch is laid out in the parlor, boss."
"Out," Rhys commanded.
With a grin, Brian saluted me and retreated.
I rocked myself against him. "We shouldn't be doing this."
"Then stop." His mouth bruised mine, his kiss devouring. Demanding.
I jerked my head away, panting. "I don't trust you."
His eyes glittered with passion and something I couldn't identify. "Then why are you here?"
Excellent question. Not knowing how to answer it, I sucked his lower lip.
He returned the favor, briefly, and then asked, "Is it really me you don't trust, or yourself?"
Both, but I wasn't prepared to give him that much honesty.
He pulled me tight against him. Then, lifting me off him, he set me on the mat and leaned back on his hands. "I won't have your regrets. If you want this, you'll have to take it."
God help me, I wanted it. I wanted him. Anyone else and I could have stopped and taken care of myself later, but I knew my own touch wouldn't be enough. Rhys did more to me even with all the clothes between us than I'd ever felt before.
Just this once. We weren't naked—it wasn't like we were having sex. Not really. I could forgive myself this one lapse.
He must have read the decision on my face, because fire leapt into his eyes. He stayed where he was, letting me come to him. The only indication of his feelings was the tautness of his jaw.
I climbed back onto him, straddling his lap and rubbing myself on his cock. It felt so good I let my head relax to one side, watching him from under my lashes. Because it didn't seem like he was going to touch me, I took the initiative. Sliding a hand under my top, I squeezed my nipple, careful to leave it covered.
Teasing him excited me. I rocked myself on him faster, closing my eyes. Moaning, I felt the first tremors of an orgasm building.
"Not without me." Rhys tipped me back onto the mat, covering my body with his, thrusting his hips so the hard ridge of his erection hit me right where I needed it.
I opened my eyes to see his face above mine, intense and focused, all on me.
He lowered his head and licked my lip. "Come."
His fiery energy engulfed me and I cried out, totally consumed. With one last push against me, he groaned, head thrown back as he came, too.
He collapsed on top of me. I tried not to notice how comforting the weight of him was, or how his heartbeat complemented mine. Not to mention how much I wanted to do it all over again, minus the clothes.
Not able to take the silence, I cleared my throat and said, "When are you going to help me unlock my safe place?"
He paused a beat before saying, "I won't help you unlock your powers until I'm certain you won't harm yourself with them."
"What the hell?" I pushed at him to create some breathing room. "That's what today was about—working off the debt toward helping me regain
tu ch’i."
"Arguing with me won't change my mind. Your power is almost abnormally strong. I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself." He tenderly brushed the side of my face. "You can't fault me for being concerned about your welfare."
Not knowing how to combat this tactic, I scowled. "I should go. I need to paint, and you probably have meetings or whatever important people like you do."
Rhys lifted his head and searched my face. He dropped the lightest kiss on my lips before rolling off me. "You can't hide from me, Gabrielle. I'll always find you."
Scary thing was I believed him.
M
y episode with Rhys haunted my thoughts—and my body—all week.
Except it also inspired me. By Friday, I had some finishing touches to make to each canvas, but I had four canvases in my new series. The final one eluded me, but with my renewed surge of creativity, I knew it'd come. I just needed some rest.
But first I had to tell Madame that I'd jumped subjects. She wasn't going to be happy.
After a long shower, I got dressed and called a cab. When it arrived, I carefully arranged the canvases so the still-wet paint wouldn't smear and gave the driver the address. Ten minutes later, the cabbie pulled in front of Madame's house and helped me out with the paintings.