Page 73 of Knot for Sale

Elijah squared his shoulders and covered the top of my hand with his, holding me in place as he jerked his trapped armsharply down toward his thigh, pulling me forward half a step. Then he twisted his arm to get his fingers around my wrist in turn, locking my elbow straight and using the newly won leverage to push me down on the mat.

Emma clapped and let out a whistle of approval.

“Holy shit,” Elijah said, sounding genuinely astonished. “I did it.”

I didn’t mention that there were half a dozen ways an experienced brawler could have evaded the move. Turning our lover into a fighter was going to be an ongoing process, assuming I had the opportunity to pursue it.

“Yes, you did,” I told him. “And look, I’m not even spurting blood.” I held up my other arm by way of demonstration.

“Maybe that’s a good stopping point,” Emma said. “I know it’s barely evening, but I’m asleep on my feet.”

I wasn’t sure how much of that was the truth and how much was a polite escape from the pheromone-soaked room, but it didn’t matter. All three of us could smell the sex choking the air, and none of us were going to take it further so soon after uprooting this pair from their normal lives and dumping them headfirst into Gabriel’s crusade.

I wondered idly if they had an outlet with each other. Not that it was any of my business. I hadn’t got that impression during Emma’s heat on theCalliope, but that had been another super-weird and awkward situation that neither of them had asked for.

“Rest is good,” I said. “I think I heard Curran and the boss tromping around upstairs, so I’ll go see how their excursion went. If either of you need anything, just shout.”

Apparently, the boss’s excursion hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped. I found Curran by the dry bar, knocking back scotch thatprobably cost more than most people earned in a month. I made a gimme gesture until he poured a second one and slid it across to me.

“Huh. That bad?” I asked, sipping mine instead of gulping it.

Curran shook his head in exasperation. “His nibs’ fancy lawyer pointed out that nothing in that farce of a contract he signed connects the Huntwells with the trafficking ring. Which I’m sure he already knew.”

I grunted acknowledgement. “He’s beating himself up about the other girls on the yacht, I’m guessing?”

“Course he is,” Curran said gruffly. “It’s just a shit situation all around.”

“Made shittier by the fact that someone’s got their sights on him now, after that stunt by the docks. Or possibly on Emma Hope.” I swirled the contents of my glass, staring into the amber depths.

“Or both of them,” Curran said grimly. “It hadn’t escaped me.”

I drew a deep breath. “So, are we talking about the scent-match thing? Or not?”

Curran raised a grizzled eyebrow. “Dunno that there’s much to talk about. The five of us in the same house? It’ll blow up on us at some point, I expect. Not sure in which direction, though.”

I tipped my glass up, relishing the burn as the scotch slid down my throat. Setting the tumbler down with a resolute clink, I sighed and raised an answering eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, that’s not the only thing set to blow. I just spent two hours teaching the omegas self-defense down in the workout room. You up for some stress relief?”

He gestured with his empty glass. “That arm okay?”

“Fuck the arm,” I told him. “Right now, it’s the least of my worries.”

The workout room was pretty much as I’d left it, so it was no surprise when Curran stopped in the doorway as though he’d walked into a solid wall.

“Jesus Christ.” His nostrils flared. “You sure all you did in here was spar?”

“Trust me,” I said. “I wouldn’t be this wound up if we’d done more.”

Curran shook his head and went to strip down to his cotton vest and trousers while I closed and locked the door. He shook his muscles out and before long, we were circling each other warily on the mats, looking for openings.

“Guess you’re on board if Gabriel and the omegas end up going for it,” he said, swiping out with a long arm.

I ducked back. “Are you joking? You’ve seen those two. They’re perfect. I mean, what thehell? How are omegas like them scent-matched to a crew of fuck-ups like us?”

Feinting right, I dove left and got in a jab before Curran blocked me.

“They’ve got issues; we’ve got issues,” he said. “Everyone’s got bloody issues. Guess our broken edges were meant to fit together or somethin’.”

“You old romantic,” I accused, and then I was fully involved in the fight, my brain blissfully shutting down everything that wasn’t move, countermove.

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