Page 92 of The Hunter
“You don’t have to see them clearly.” Christopher’s voice rumbled off the ballroom walls with all the resonance of thunder. “You focus on the space between you and your opponent, no matter how blurry your vision may be. By not looking directly at them, you notice all of them. You can tell where the next strike is coming from almost the moment the thought is formed in their minds.”
“I want to try,” Jakub demanded.
“Like water,” Christopher reminded. “Take the path of least resistance, but don’t let anyone stop you.”
Shifting her weight, she leaned against the half-open door, remaining quiet and in the shadows.
What she saw stole her breath.
Sweat glistened on his body, trailing into valleys and grooves made by mountains of strength. And still, for all his sheer size, she detected an almost preternatural grace in his movements, though whether innate or practiced, she couldn’t begin to speculate. She couldn’t believe that she’d traced that muscle with her fingers, followed the tight columns down his back as they rippled with rhythmic movement. She’d been pressed against the twin mounded cords of his abdomen, felt their distinct shapes lunging against her flesh.
Her fingers twitched with the memory of him, and the memories only served to awaken new curiosities. He stood in his domain of strange and indecorous tools, aman. Hard and dominant and overwhelmingly potent. Sinful and solid and scarred.
And gently patient with the almost ridiculously small boy lunging at him with artless, wild blows.
She should say something, do something, other than play voyeur to this moment. But, how could she when the ground beneath her was no longer stable? It rocked under her feet like a ship on the waves of an approaching storm.
What must it be like to possess the heart of a man like that? To even think it had to be some sort of blasphemy.
But his blasphemies were delicious, weren’t they? His wickedness brought her pleasures in the dark and—
“Mama?” Two pairs of blue eyes swung to where she stood with unsettling synchronicity.
“Jakub, darling, Welton has set out breakfast, it isn’t polite to keep him waiting.” Millie hated the breathless note in her voice.
“But we were in the middle of a lesson.” Jakub reared back, settling into some kind of fighting stance. “I have a center line, and no one can push me off it. Well, Mr. Argent can, but no one else. I can punch anyone who tries to touch me in the throat, or thrust the heel of my hand into his nose. Also, I can pry off a kneecap with a knife, even a jam knife, Mama. And—”
“Jakub,” she said more firmly, realizing Argent had taught her son the same things he’d shown her only yesterday.
He hid his mulish frown by looking at the floor. “Yes, Mama.” He slunk past her, his shoulders so dramatically slumped that she wondered if she’d also let him spend too much time in the company of actors.
“I’ll be along,kochanie,” she said more gently. “I need to discuss something with Mr. Argent.”
As he plodded down the hall she heard him mutter to himself, “IknewI shouldn’t have mentioned the kneecaps.”
Watching her son, her heart squeezed. Was he being bullied? How did she not know?
Christopher had moved to the basin and was wiping his flushed face, neck, and chest with a damp towel. Millie found herself transfixed again by the muscles rolling in great waves down his back, tapering into narrow hips and disappearing into those strange trousers with the most enticing curve at the backside.
The last time they’d been in this room together…
Blinking, Millie tore her gaze from that particular part of his anatomy, clearing her throat and her thoughts. Her embroidered slippers were soft-heeled and she could hear the swish of her heavy skirts on the floor as she approached him.
He tensed, but didn’t look at her. Aside from the bandage she’d placed on his forearm, his knuckles were wrapped as well, pinpoints of new blood seeping through.
“You’re going to resemble an Egyptian mummy before the week is out.” She tossed a smile into her voice, and mixed it with a pinch of genuine concern. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t do that,” he snarled, turning to pin her with a belligerent glare before his eyes darted away. Gone was the gentle teacher who’d only just shared the space with her son, and in his place stood a glistening god of wrath. “My mother used to do that.”
“Do what?” Millie stepped back, utterly confused. “Worry about you?”
“Pretend you’re all right.” He paced the floor in front of her, three steps to the right, and three back, glaring daggers at the space between them. “She’d fuck the guards for an extra piece of bread, then hide the bruises behind a split-lipped smile when she handed it to me. It sickened me then, and now it’s worse because I… I’m the one that…” Plunging his hands into his lush auburn hair, he gripped it tightly before planting his restless feet and towering over her. “I won’t have it, not fromyou.”
“I don’t have any bruises,” she told him softly. Of course, she’d felt a few twinges of use on and in her body, but they’d merely served as a reminder of their affair. She hadn’t minded them in the least. “You’ve done me no violence.” Millie reached out her hand, but he flinched away. Pressing her lips together, she knew she needed to tread carefully here. This was not the cold, calculating, ruthless assassin she’d come to know. The man in front of her was a different creature altogether, one with his armor and ice chipped away. Exposed, raw, and just as dangerous.
Perhaps more so.
“I’m no better thanthem.”
