Page 9 of Becoming Brandy

She wanted to punch him right there, but thought she might get in more hits while in the ring. Once she crawled under the ropes, she stood with her hands up, ready for anything. The board creaked beneath her feet like she really was in an old boxing ring and not some simulation in space.

Tork climbed up with much more grace than she had, the ropes barely moving. He raised his own fists, adopting a boxer stance that could only come from experience. When he saw her form, he dropped his fists and shook his head.

“Not like that. Here.” He walked over and began moving her arms. “Elbows in to protect the ribs. Fists up to protect the face. Most of boxing is trying not to get hit. Or at least, not getting hit anywhere important.”

“What about punching?” she asked, feeling pent up. “I want to get to the punching.”

“Oh, really?” His eyebrows went up in an amused smile. “Fine. Hit me.” He stepped back around and positioned himself across from her in the ring.

“Hit you?”

“Hit me.”

“Anywhere?”

“Not in the jewels. Aim for the head or chest. The best shots are under the chin with an uppercut or the kidneys. If you turn the head far enough, the brain will hit the side of the skull, making them black out.”

“That’s brutal.”

His face darkened. “The world is brutal. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

She gritted her teeth and punched him.

It was like hitting a brick wall. Her hand instantly hurt. Tork didn’t flinch.

“You need to follow through with your shoulder. Turn your body. Like this.” He reached out and tilted her arm, extending her body. She moved awkwardly, but he did it again, telling her this time to take a step forward and put her weight into it. Then he stood there and let her hit him again. This time, the punch still hurt like hell, but at least he flinched a little when she connected.

“Do it again.”

She hit him several more times. Each time, he stopped to correct her. By the time a half an hour had passed on the caged clock on the wall, she was sweaty, tired, and much better at boxing. She felt herself almost smiling.

He smiled, too. And not in that smug, self-satisfied way he had. A real smile. It looked nice on him. He helped her out of her gloves, unwinding the bandages and letting his fingers linger a bit longer than necessary on the skin of her wrists. Brandy felt the thrill of it, the heat beginning like it always did when a man she found very attractive seemed to like her, too. But then she reminded herself that not only was Tork dangerous, he was also her captor. Munchhausen Syndrome anyone?

She pulled her hands back, flexing them, and stepped away to pull off her headgear and shake out her hair. A sweaty mess, she thought about asking for a shower, but then she wondered if he would think she was indicating she wanted to take one with him. And part of her did. She told that part to shut the hell up.

“That was okay. Decent,” he said, sitting on a battered bench and squeezing a water bottle in his mouth before dumping it on his head and chest. Topless, he glistened. Lord.

“I’m not much of a boxer,” she demurred as he handed the water bottle to her. She shook her head before heading over to a water fountain and drinking from there instead. She could practically feel his eyes on her backside as she bent over.

When she stood up, he was there standing behind her. “We could do this again. If you want to learn more.” One eyebrow arched.

“Sure.” Her heart pounded.

Reaching out, he took a strand of loose hair and tucked it behind her ear. The tension between them was palpable. She gripped her hands together and waited for him to kiss her, tried not to think about what she would do if he did.

You’d give in. You’d let him do whatever he wanted because you find him so attractive. And you’d be a fool.

A voice sounded from above. “Tork?”

He jumped a little and then took a step back. “Yeah?”

“You’re needed on the bridge. Now.”

“Be there in a minute.” Tork turned from her, walking over to his shirt and tugging it on. She watched his muscles flex as he covered all that deliciousness with fabric. Once he had it settled, he said, “Stay here. Do what you want. Someone will be back to escort you to your room later.” He started to walk away.

“Wait!”

He swiveled to face her.

“What am I supposed to do until then?”

He shrugged. “Work on your uppercut. It sucks.”

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