Page 33 of The Princess Stakes
But then, Sarani always had. In Joor, she’d lived and fought with passion, never giving ground, never conceding. Their first kiss had been a battle for position, for dominance. Surrender had never crossed her mind, and he’d loved it. He relished her fight, that fierce intensity that had always called to its likeness in him. Even with the illusion of submission, this kiss had mirrored its predecessors, and Rhystan wasn’t sure who had emerged the victor.
He smiled reluctantly. She’d make love like a warrior. The image of a gloriously nude Sarani Rao riding him into the bedsheets filled his addled brain, and his knees nearly failed him.
Christ, he needed to have some bloody sense beaten into him. He was full of sap and spoiling for a fight. And he knew just the man for the job. Without a second thought, Rhystan made his way to the upper deck to find his quartermaster.
Gideon threw one look at him and raised his eyebrows. “Now?”
“Now,” Rhystan growled.
Gideon grinned, the sight of which usually made grown men piss themselves, but Rhystan only stared back as the enormous man shed his belt, boots, and weapons without another word. He did the same, yanking off his boots and shirt.
Nothing like a bracing round of bare-knuckle boxing to get one’s head sorted out. It didn’t take long for a crowd of his older crew to gather, some pulled from their beds because no one liked to miss the captain and the quartermaster beating each other bloody—or miss out on the wagers. Bets and money were already changing hands as the men formed a loose circle.
“Rules?” Gideon asked, rolling his massive shoulders.
Rhystan scowled. “None. First to call it.”
Gideon shot him a sardonic look. “That bad?”
Snarling, he answered with a nasty jab to the man’s jaw, and the fight was on. It took every bit of his focus—thank God—to avoid Gideon’s punches. The man was the size of a mountain and built of pure muscle, so getting hit by him was tantamount to getting hit by a train. Despite his bulk, he was also fleet of foot and moved like he was executing the most delicate of waltzes, with swift, beautiful, lethal precision.
But then again, so was Rhystan.
He dodged a thick fist swinging at his head and ducked to pummel Gideon’s torso. Crowing, the man barely flinched at the attack and kicked out, catching Rhystan in the thigh. He swore he could feel his bone shudder from the blow, but managed to limp out of the way and jab his knuckles into the softer tissue of Gideon’s throat.
They traded more savage blows, getting some in and missing others, and after a good while, Rhystan finally felt weariness start to creep in. For all his skill and size, Gideon was also looking a bit the worse for wear. Blood trickled from a cut at his eye and one on his lip. Rhystan was sure he looked much the same, feeling a stinging on his cheek and tasting the metallic tang of blood in his own mouth. He swiped a lock of damp hair out of his face and eyed his adversary.
They wouldn’t stop until one of them was unconscious or called the fight.
Those were the rules.
“Had enough yet, Captain?” the bigger man drawled.
“I’ve got all night.”
“Do you? Doesn’t seem like you have the stamina. Or is it the ballocks? Then again, could be the stem, too.” His quartermaster laughed, showing a row of bloodstained teeth. “Stem or berries, Captain?”
Rhystan’s gaze narrowed. “Shut the hell up.”
“Been a while since you had a woman, no? Can’t figure out which end is up? Let me help you out there—it’s the pointy end.”
The men around them roared with laughter and hollered lewd insults. The rub to his masculinity was salt in an open wound, and Rhystan couldn’t help feeling rage that he’d been reduced to a dithering greenhorn who’d fled from his own private quarters with his tail between his legs. After one blastedkiss.
Gideon was right. The current version of him wouldn’t have hesitated to toss any willing bit of muslin to his bed or bend her over his desk, no matter who she was or who she’d been, and finish what he and Sarani had started. And she had been willing…desperately so.
Then why had he stopped?
As if his thoughts had conjured her, Rhystan caught a glimpse of Sarani hunkered down by the stairs, her stare trained on the fight. She didn’t display an ounce of worry. She’d seen him spar before, though his style and technique had changed in the past handful of years.
Eyes as beautiful as the night sky met his. Arousal roared and churned anew through his beaten body. His desire had not waned in the least, not even with a man the size of a house giving him and his libido a thrashing. No, only one thing would satisfy.
The minute distraction allowed Gideon to get a blow into his chin that smacked his head sideways. Despite the crunch of bone, Rhystan followed with a ruthless jab to his quartermaster’s gut that had the man stumbling back with an ugly wheeze.
Stretching his aching jaw, Rhystan smirked at Sarani, who had bolted to her feet, and he raised a mocking eyebrow at the look of admiration edged with concern on her face. Unsurprisingly, she shot him a crude finger gesture that made him laugh aloud. Which made him unable to dodge the ham-sized fist that came directly at his temple.
He was still laughing when he crashed down like the sorriest sack of shit this side of the ocean.
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