Chapter 16

She’s tryingto kill me. This woman is trying to kill me, either via a heart attack or because all the blood has spontaneously left my brain and rushed to my dick.

Hannah is stretching before we spar. In the middle of the living room.

We’ve just had a great breakfast, a talk that made my chest ache for her, and then she ran off to get changed for our self-defense class. The last thing I expected was to walk back into the room and find her bent over in the middle of it, her ass in the air, the perfect outline of her pussy on display.

I’m going to hell.

She’s in downward dog, and the view is immaculate.

Hannah is never going to happen, and the reasons are mounting. Not only is she my fucking kryptonite, and not only do I have nothing to offer her, but she’s been through enough. She deserves a full life, not one hidden out on a ranch, away from her hopes and dreams and future.

I will NOT touch her.

Hannah moans as she stretches her ass upward, and I’ve got to stop myself from punching the door jamb.

I clear my throat.

Hannah snaps upright. “Oh, hey. You ready to kick some ass?”

I frown.

“I mean, teach me to kick some ass?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the, uh, mild-mannered spirit, I guess?”

Mild-mannered? Is that what she thinks? I pull my shirt down so that my cock, which is tucked into the waistband of my sweatpants, isn’t on display.

“So, what are we going to do?” she asks, clapping her hands together. “Teach me everything you know.”

What’s wrong with my brain? It’s insistent on torturing me. Every word she says sounds dirty, and I’ve already fucked my hand to the image of her this morning. In my shower while she was asleep in the next room.

“We’re going to start with the basics. Fighting stance, how to throw a punch, that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” Hannah wriggles her nose. “I thought you’d be teaching me how to break out of a chokehold or something like that. You know, since stalkers don’t generally throw down their gloves and challenge you to a bout of fisticuffs.”

“Fisticuffs?”

“Huzzah. Put up your dukes.” She lifts her fists and pumps them back and forth.

I smile.

“Ha. Got you.”

I frown.

“And we’re back to our regular setting,” she says.

“It’s important to know how to throw a punch,” I say. “We’ll work on other self-defense techniques and exercises, but I want you to know how to sock a motherfucker in the face and break his nose.”

“Mild-mannered, my ass,” Hannah whispers.

“You good with blood?”

“I—Yeah. I think so?”

“You won’t faint if you break someone’s nose?”

“That’s a scenario I’ve never been in before,” Hannah says. “But I think I’ll be fine. I mean, I’ve seen Cash and Jesse give each other bloody noses before, and Leo once broke his arm and there was a literal piece of bone sticking out, and I was okay. It was disgusting, but I didn’t pass out.”

“Good.”

“He fell out of a tree when he was, like, five. It was before he started playing rugby. You know,” Hannah says, tapping her chin and pouting those kissable lips, “I’m pretty sure he started playing rugby after that accident. Must have knocked something loose in his brain.”

She keeps talking, and while I’m not one of those men who doesn’t listen when a woman talks, I can’t help admiring her.

Her dark hair is glossy and falls around her shoulders. While she talks, she scrapes it away from the fine column of her neck and into a ponytail. Her lips are full and slightly pink, and she’s got beautiful blue eyes that shimmer gray in the right light. She’s taken off my sweater and has on a T-shirt that’s tight over her breasts but loose at the bottom, and those pink yoga pants are driving me crazy. The way they cling to her long, shapely legs is obscene.

“—throw a punch.”

I snap my gaze to her face. “Yeah. Show me how you’d throw one.”

“All right.” She puts up her fists. “But are you sure you want me to do that? I don’t want to hurt you or something.”

I smirk.

“Hey, whatever,” Hannah says. “Dynamite comes in small packages, remember?”

“Throw the punch.”

She shoots out her fist, and I catch it in my palm. I release her, angry that I touched her.

“How was that?” she asks.

“Terrible.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because you tucked your thumb inside your fist, your wrist wasn’t straight, and your stance is wrong.”

“Well, damn,” she says. “Don’t hold back on the criticism or anything.”

“You’re right,” I say. “Your punch was great.”

“Thanks.”

“If you want to break your wrist and possibly your hand.”

“Ah,” Hannah says. “Fine. So then, what do I do?”

I teach her, making sure she’s got her weight adjusted and spread between her legs. I correct her form, talking her through how she should punch and where she should aim.

“Now, when you punch, the power isn’t coming from your hand,” I say. “It’s not even coming from your arm. It’s coming from your entire body. If you’re aiming for the head, you want to push through the head.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Picture that it is,” I say. “And punch from the hip.”

“I’ll try,” she says, and her uncertainty is so fucking adorable.

We move into the area between my sofa and armchair—I’ve already pushed the coffee table out of the way—and Hannah takes up her stance.

“From the hip,” she says. “Okay. From the hip.” She bounces on her feet, bobbling back and forth. “Straight wrist. The thumb is on the outside of the fist. Check. Check.”

“Any day now.”

“These hips don’t lie,” she yells, and throws a punch at me.

But she throws too much weight into it and stumbles right into my arms. I’m expecting a punch, not her entire body weight, and I lose my balance. We tumble to the floor together, but I catch her so that she doesn’t get hurt.

She’s on top of me again, her legs on either side of my body, her hot pussy pressing against the front of my sweatpants.

My cock hardens underneath her, and the smell of her soft, floral perfume fills my nostrils.

“Sorry,” she says, sitting up. Her eyes widen as she rocks back onto my dick.

“Hannah.” I grit my teeth. “You need to throw less of your weight into the punch.”

She’s frozen, sitting on top of me, and we stare at each other in the growing heat and silence. The fire cracks and spits. Hannah’s breasts rise and fall. She falls forward onto my chest slowly. “Savage.”

“Hannah.”

She toys with my beard, then moves her fingers up toward my ear.

I cup the back of her head then roll her over onto the hardwood floor, and she lets out a yelp. I press my forehead against hers, and grind my cock against her warmth, picturing that this can happen. “You’re trying to make me lose it, aren’t you?” I hold her gaze with mine as I press my length against her heat.

Hannah’s eyelashes flutter, she lets out a tiny, tight moan.

You swore!

I push myself upright, trying not to see how good she looks, lying down for me, or the wetness that’s seeped through her yoga pants. “I need to check the perimeter.” And then I leave the living room and slam out of the front door. I walk into the rain.