Page 27 of Emma's Element

“You couldn’t handle my best,” Marcus threatened jokingly.

“Ooh, I’m scared!” Finch cried. “Mommy!” he continued when Emma joined them. “The Titan is threatening me.”

“Aww, poor little Finchey,” teased Emma, mocking a baby voice. “Maybe you should fly off and hide somewhere.”

“I could,” Finch replied. “But Graham won’t let me waste the fuel.”

“You’re so put-upon, Finch,” Emma quipped. Then she kicked one of the bags at Marcus’s feet. “What’s this?”

“A surprise. Open one,” he answered.

She bent over to unzip the bag on his left, and Marcus did his best not to ogle her ass. “No way!” she exclaimed after seeing what was in the bag.

“I thought we could change things up a little bit today.”

“But . . . I haven’t done this for more than a decade.”

“Come on. It will be just like riding a bike. Show me what you got!” he challenged. “Or are you scared?”

She snorted. “You should be the one to be scared.” She pulled out the case that held an épée and flipped open the latches. When she opened the lid, she gasped. He’d gone a little overboard when he’d commissioned the weapon for her. The guard was gold with an intricate leaf design etched into it. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for competitions, but it would do nicely for a bit of fun.

“It’s beautiful,” she gasped, lifting it out of the case. She stood and placed the grip in her right hand, holding the blade straight out in front of her. She turned her wrist in both directions, getting a feel for the weapon. “How could I possibly fight with something so beautiful?” she wondered.

“It’s just for a bit of fun. That’s why I got it for you.”

Her jaw dropped as her eyes shot up to him. “You bought this for me?”

“Sure,” he admitted while removing his weapon from another case.

“I can’t accept this. It’s too . . . much,” Emma insisted.

“It’s not a big deal,” he reasoned. He touched the tip of his épée to the floor, the blade bending slightly under his weight. “Unless . . . wait . . . Are you scared I’m going to kick your ass? Are you trying to find an excuse not to fight?”

Emma sighed in exasperation. “Fine. You’re on.” He grinned. “Stop looking so pleased with yourself. I’ll soon wipe the floor with you.”

“Them’s fighting words!” he teased.

Emma rested the épée back in its case and pulled the protective equipment out of the bag. Marcus took his kit from the other bag. Within minutes, they were both garbed in the protective vest and had attracted a crowd. The women huddled around Emma, giving her all manner of pep talks. As Emma stretched, he did the same, loosening up muscles that hadn’t been used in a while.

Helmet under his arm, Marcus joined her on the long mat stretched out in front of the climbing wall and watched as Emma pulled her gloves on over her long fingers. “So, how do you want to do this? Standard rules?”

“Sure, why not,” he replied.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Titan!” she teased as she put her helmet in place. Together they saluted each other with the weapon. Then bent their knees and assumed fighting stance.

Marcus made the first move, advancing a step, forcing her to move back. She countered with her advance. They spent a few moments testing each other, learning the other’s skills. Unlike fencing with a foil where the only target area was the torso or back, with épée fencing, the entire body was a target, from head to toe, as long as the strike was done with the tip. It took an enormous amount of skill to guard that large an area, but an even greater amount of proficiency to successfully strike your opponent without being hit yourself. Suddenly, Emma executed an impossibly long lunge, catching him on the arm, just behind the guard of his weapon.

She stepped back, laughing as she pushed her mask back, her animated expression stunning him momentarily. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. “First blood!” she cried. The rest of the women cheered.

He let her have her moment. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

“Bring it, Titan boy!” she called, putting her mask back in place.

“Is that your new superhero name?” Finch yelled. “Titan boy!” Marcus flipped him the bird as he lowered his mask.

They started the match again. Testing each other. Teasing. She’d lunge, he’d parry defending himself. Then he’d lunge, and she’d counter with a parry. Occasionally they’d follow up their parry with a riposte, an immediate attack after a parry. They were well matched. Then she did a slick disengage with the flick of her fingers and managed to touch him again. The women cheered, and the men groaned.

He raised his mask. “Well played.”

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