Page 42 of Recurve Ridge

Mari followed me, her lighter step almost overshadowed by mine. “What are we doing, Robe?”

“Not Everest? I kinda liked that.” More than I’d admit. “We’re training, wildflower. Turning you into a deadly little killer.”

“I don’t think I?—”

“Have a choice? No, you don’t.” I caught her eye as I led her out of the enclosed forest.

Bemusement lit her face. “Are you always like this?”

“Innovative, protective, and upbeat?”

Mischief shone in her eyes. “Grumpy, frustrating, and high-handed,” she countered. Her lips curled, and my gaze dropped to the movement for the space of a heartbeat.

Long enough to make the distraction a fatal one if I’d read her wrong. But hell, maybe I was bored and living on the edge could solve my first-world problems. If it were that simple.

“Have you done any training? Self-defense classes, or maybe you took tae kwon do lessons as a kid?” I circled around her.

Mari pivoted on her heel. “I did kickboxing for a few months while I studied. Never competed, but I had fun because I needed to burn off excess energy.” She shrugged.

I canted my head to one side. Interesting that she’d taken a harder form of classes rather than boxercise at the local gym. “What did you study?”

“Besides the occupants of the library while I avoided my work? Business, macroeconomics. PR and HR. MBA. All the funky business letters. Ended up a PA for a bossy-britches CEO in New York for all of it.” She wound her shoulders back while I stored the information she offered up.

“Not London?” I waited for her response, but my tame little Brit said nothing. “All right. Kickboxing, huh? Show me what you know.”

She smiled and rocked back on one leg, stretching. Her eyes never left me, though her degree of wariness reduced, the worry lines across her forehead smoothing with each moment she spent at my side.

Her lips quirked, and my heart tugged.

“I’m no match for you, Robe. And I don’t want to have to fight again so soon.” Her light humor dropped, replaced by shadows I recognized.

I hated myself for making her go back there but promised my heart this would be worth it in the end. “Give me a little demonstration,” I coaxed.

Let me see what you’re capable of, Mari Merripen. Show me how you break.

“A heads-up, it’s been an age. I’ll end up on my ass.” She popped a hip in apology.

“Or maybe you’ll knock me on mine,” I teased. “Bring it, Miss Kickboxer.”

She gave a halfhearted laugh and folded over her knees until her body bent in half. “I doubt it, Everest.” She spoke into her shins while I tried not to stare at her ass.

Massive fail.

Still, she rallied, sassing me with the nickname, and that had to be a good thing. I stepped around her in a semicircle, offering her space as she straightened.

Mari’s wariness returned, but this time, her expression cleared with focus. She edged a little closer, and just as I thought she might have given up, she tapped my knee with the toe of her oversized boot.

“You know, I’m terrified I’ll hurt you,” she quipped, stepping in close enough to nudge my thigh with her knee in a piss-poor attempt to get me to move or let her off the hook.

Neither of those things was happening, and for the record, I worried more about her hurting herself than doing damage to me.

I bared my teeth in response and grabbed wildly for her waist. Not a real grab; I wanted to see how she’d react to the change in aggression.

Mari skittered backward with a yelp that could have raised the dead.

I stuck my finger in my ear to pop it and winced. “Damn, girl. That wasn’t necessary.”

“You asked me to start.”

---