Page 20 of Close Protection

‘Okay,’ I breathe in a daze, slightly taken aback. It’s almost overwhelming how authoritative he is, and not just with his words but with his presence and character. He exudes control and assertion, standing tall and strong, with eye contact so acute it could burn my retinas.

He takes a new skipping rope from its packaging, handing it to me briskly before sitting down on the chairand shrugging his coat back on. ‘Let’s start with a warm-up.’

‘Mr Petrov, what you’re not going to do is sit on that chair and watch meskipfor the next ten minutes. If I’m warming up, then so are you,’ I say, matter-of-factly, as I neatly fold up the rope and place it gently onto the table. ‘Now, seeing as there’s only one skipping rope I suggest we go on a light jog to warm ourselves up.’ I give him a polite, mildly satisfied smile as he gets up, but it dims gradually with every step he takes towards me.

Smirking, he licks his lips, stopping with his face only inches from mine. ‘Miss Green,’ he drawls, his voice low, ‘thank you for your concern, but in the hour it took you to come downstairs, I already warmed up.’

‘If you’re expecting a cookie, Mr Petrov, you’re not going to get one.’

‘Maybe not.’ He shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets. ‘But what I will get is the sight of you jumping that rope while I. Sit. And. Watch.’

I smile lightly, ignoring how rough and unfortunately sexy that sentence just sounded coming out of his mouth. ‘No.’

‘Miss Green, usually when I say something is going to happen, it does,’ he says softly, those emerald eyes piercing my soul.

‘Well, that’s lovely, Mr Petrov. However, this is notgoing to be one of those times.’ I meet his eyes, my gaze dipping for a moment, catching a barely-there smile that’s gone so fast I half believe I imagined it. ‘I very frequently get my way, Mr Petrov, so please stop trying to force otherwise,’ I whisper, taking a step towards him. We’re so close now that our breathing is synced.

He offers a low chuckle and my eyes involuntarily close, revelling in it. ‘Fine, Miss Green. No rope. But I won’t be joining you on your run.’ He walks away, creating some much-needed distance and goes to sit back on that vexing chair. He pulls out his phone and starts typing something, paying me absolutely no mind. I guess that’s the conversation over then.

Well, I can just feel the time flying by.

10Daphne

‘Punch me.’

I falter. ‘Pardon?’

‘Punch me, hit me, kick me,’ Milosh responds. ‘Act as if I’m the guy from last night.’

We’re standing on two of my old gymnastics mats that have been put down to cover the hard stone floor of the patio.

After my delightful warm-up, I’ve shed his hoodie, hot for more reasons than one, and am now wearing pink boxing gloves.

Pink.

Pink boxing gloves that I didn’t own before today.

Which means Milosh ordered me boxing gloves and purposefully bought the pink ones.

How… nice… of him.

Milosh raises his hand, holding it out for me to hit theboxing pad attached to it. I swing, my fist clenched inside the glove and my stance wide. I try it a couple more times before Milosh starts calling out different combos for me to try. After a while he begins to include kicks as well as punches. ‘All right, good. Now we’ve established you can throw a punch towards my hands, I’m gonna teach you the basics of self-defence. From what I’ve seen so far, your arms are pretty weak and your form is off, but you’re fast and your legs are strong. Speed and agility are gonna be your best friends if you’re trying to take down someone bigger than yourself.’

He walks over to the shed and pulls out a free-standing boxing bag I was completely unaware we had, placing it down on the mat with ease. ‘Take off your gloves, we’re gonna try freehand now.’ He goes to grab a wicker chair, pulling it up alongside where I’m standing in front of the boxing bag, then takes a seat. ‘Punch it whatever way feels natural,’ he instructs. I punch again, but without the gloves on, my wrists sting upon connection with the bag.

‘Your lower body needs to move with the swing.’ He gets up off the chair and stalks towards me. ‘Right now you’re only moving your arms, but once you let the power of the punch, hit or slap come from your legs and hip rotation you’ll get a much better result.’ He comes overto the boxing bag and demonstrates slowly a couple of times. He starts talking me through his motions, but the sound of his voice gradually starts to fade away, getting more distant every time his arm extends and his bicep ripples. His hand clenches into a tight fist, the veins in his forearms bulging, becoming more prominent every time his knuckles meet the bag.

‘All right, now you try.’ He steps back to observe, while I try to recall the steps he just showed me. I widen my stance and punch back into the bag, not moving it nearly as far as he did when he wasn’t even trying.

‘Make a fist for me.’ He comes up next to me, so close I could run my hands through his hair if I wanted to. ‘Let me see your nails.’ I re-extend my fingers to reveal my medium-length, light-pink nails. ‘Create a fist again for me.’ Milosh then takes my hand, analyzing it as if it’s a completely alien concept to have pretty, well-manicured nails. ‘Your nails are a bit too long to have in a complete fist, that’s why you’re not punching properly. Hold them like this instead and try again. Also remember, not too wide on your stance. Your legs should be shoulder width apart.’

I take my hand and replicate his fist, leaving my fingers a little straighter and placing my thumb on top of my pointer finger, and punch again.

‘Better,’ he nods. Something warm flutters inside me in response to his praise but I quickly damp it down. ‘This time, remember to rotate your hips to give you more power.’ I try again, feeling the improvement myself this time.

‘That was good, but your hips are still too straight on. Twist them a little,’ he says, taking the stance and demonstrating the twist. I try to copy him again, but this time my lack of co-ordination on this particular task gets in the way.

‘I don’t get it. If I’m right-handed, which foot is in front? And do my hips face the same way as my shoulders?’ I say, distractedly switching the position of my feet. I inhale sharply when I feel his warm hands come down onto my hips as he moves them to face the right way. He’s behind me so I can’t see him, but I sure can feel him.

---