Page 72 of Price of Angels

“No.”

He sighed through his nostrils. “Do you think you’re actually going to hurt me?”

“I don’t want to take the chance.”

“There is no chance. Trust me. Now do it. All your weight behind it. Come on.”

Holly ground her teeth together. She didn’t even want to attack him in jest. It soured her stomach to think about. She glanced down at the sharp edge of the knife in her hand, the way the light chased down its length when she tilted it.

“Holly,” Michael said sternly, “do it.”

She took a deep breath…and lunged at him. She didn’t set up her approach, didn’t give him a chance to prepare, just launched herself at him, the knife flashing in her right hand.

Slap! His palm against the leather cuff on her wrist. His fingers wrenching tight around it.

Yank. She was pitching forward, falling through open air.

Her hand opened, and the knife fell out of it, clattering to the floor.

The room spun and then Michael was pressed against her back, and his arm was around her neck, and he still held her wrist so tightly she could feel the bones grinding together.

She gasped. She hadn’t even seen him move, and suddenly, he had her at his complete mercy.

He released her at once, stepping around in front of her, his expression one of total calm, his breathing regular. It had been no effort for him to subdue her. As easy as swatting at a fly. “That’s why we have to practice,” he said, bending to retrieve the knife. He offered it to her again. “It’s too easy for someone to disarm you, and that’s not acceptable.”

She stared at the hilt of the knife a moment, catching her breath. It was a beautiful weapon, in a physical sense, the rich luster of the wood, the satin finish of the steel.

“Again,” Michael urged, and she took it with a grim resolution.

Over and over, he had her attack him. He showed her how to stand, where to place her feet for the best leverage and maneuverability, how to hold the knife, how to angle it. He showed her the soft, vulnerable places to stab, pointing them out on his own body, making her anxious at the idea of the knife piercing his skin.

“You can’t hurt me,” he said, time after time. And, “Again. Do it again.”

Never did she come close to him with the knife, and her frustration mounted, but she was getting quicker with the dodging, managing to stay out of his grasp, dancing away from him when he would have taken the knife.

And just as she felt she’d gotten the whole avoiding thing down pat, he sent the knife spinning out of her hand. It landed on the floor with a loud metallic sound. And in two fast moves he had her back against the wall, his forearm across her chest, his hand around her throat, his face shoved into hers so she could feel him panting against her skin.

“And now you’re getting strangled, just like your friend at the bar,” he said, his voice low and rough. His eyes were bright and full of sparks. She felt his pulse pounding in the hand that circled her neck.

Vulnerable and small, trapped by him, reminded so suddenly of Carly and the fate she’d suffered, Holly’s frustration gave way to a more desperate sensation.

“It’s not fair,” she gasped. “How is someone like me supposed to fight off someone like you?”

“You’re not.” He let his arm fall away, and his hand left her throat, slid down to press at the high center of her chest. His expression softened, but not his eyes. They were frightening, the way they shimmered in the dim lamplight. “You use the gun I gave you. And if you have to dodge them, then you dodge the best you can. And you run, Hol. Do you hear me? If you’re in danger you run. Don’t try to fight, don’t be brave, just run like hell, and start shooting when you have to.”

He leaned in even closer, until his eyes were all that she could see of him. Electric and pulsing, like her heart beneath his hand.

“Run,” he said again.

The tension rushed out of her, replaced with a quiet, throbbing anguish. Run, he said, run away from him.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she whispered. “I know you wouldn’t.”

He took a breath and let it out with a growl. And he kissed her.

She was ready tonight. Now, in the wake of the dazzling pleasure of the night before, she knew not to be afraid. She trusted him, understood the perfect magic of letting him in.

She opened her mouth against the pressure of his tongue, welcomed his consuming kiss with soft encouragement, hands finding his chest, kneading lightly at the hard wall of muscle.

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