She hesitated for a second too long while still off-balance and Dean reacted, tilting her over his hip and sending her windmilling toward the floor.
In spite of the fall, she planted one foot back on the ground, swept her free leg around, and suddenly he was the one lying flat on his back as she pinned his elbows to the floor with her knees.
He stared past the hand she held inches away from his throat, meeting her gaze. With her legs spread to lock him in place, her hips hovered over his chest. The heat of her pussy was like a laser torch over him. He was tempted to say something dirty—hell, he was thinking something plenty dirty—but he resisted the urge, instead letting what he imagined show on his face.
Her eyes widened, focusing on his mouth as he involuntarily licked his lips, wishing there was some way to convince her to get naked. Naked, and then move forward about six inches until he could lick something far more interesting—
Emma scrambled off him and back to her feet. Back to ready position, her eyes firmly fixed on his chest as he moved opposite her.
“Well done on the takedown,” he complimented her.
“Again?”
Glutton for punishment, although now he didn’t know which of them he was referring to. “Second set. Watch your balance.”
“Watch yours,” Emma taunted as she repeated her earlier motions, this time keeping herself firmly in position for the entire set.
He might have started the exercise tonight as a way to prove he’d changed, but Dean found himself grinning from ear to ear as they sparred. It was good to have someone to play with like this. And if there were times when they ended up in a tangle on the floor and neither of them seemed in a rush to get untangled…well, he wasn’t going to complain about those moments either. Not one bit.
Minutes later? Hours? Emma fell to the mat yet again, her palms slapping the surface as she caught herself and rolled out of the way. Dean was holding back—he had to be—but at the same time she was having such a marvelous time she didn’t care. It didn’t feel at all as if she was being catered to, especially since she’d managed to get the drop on him a few times as well.
Slowly as they trained together, the frustrations and anger she’d carried into the dojo faded, replaced with a pounding pulse and grim satisfaction at what she’d accomplished. She was capable, and she was talented, and she damn well knew how to kick some ass.
Lorenzo was a problem she would deal with another day, because right now she was focusing on where she was and who she was with…
…and that last part scared her.
Along with all the good things she sensed at that moment, there was another equally strong emotion, one that wasn’t as welcome.
Sexual attraction.
Lust.
Maybe it was because of the mood she’d started in. It was a small step from rage to raging hormones. But no matter what she wanted to call it, there was no doubt who had caused it—the sexy, bold man who was challenging her on so many levels.
The bastard knew it, too. There was that look in his eyes, the one that said he was playing with her and relishing every minute of it as much as she was. And with everything she’d been dealing with and everything she’d denied herself for so long—
It was tempting, very tempting to take what she was pretty sure Dean was offering.
“Are you ready?” he asked, the words whispering past her cheek as he waited. He held her against him, gripping her tightly as his body called out a siren song.
Was she ready? Her body was. Achingly so. Every time they came into contact desire blasted through her entire core. An innocent hip check had sent a pulse racing between her legs. She still tingled at the lingering touch of his fingers when he’d helped her to her feet after dropping to the mat with her, their limbs entwined before he’d politely rolled and given her space.
A fever burned in her veins and the temptation to let nature take its course was rising by the moment.
Dean raised a brow, waiting for her answer.
She gave him one by slipping to the floor, rolling and knocking him off balance. She reversed direction before he could recover, scrambling to straddle his torso once again.
Only this time she planted a hand on either side of his head and leaned in close. Closer. Still closer, until she was only inches over him and their lips were nearly touching.
“Am I ready?” she whispered. “I don’t—”
He curled up and captured her mouth, stealing her voice. Stealing her breath. She’d failed to trap his hands and now one cupped the back of her head, holding her in place as he tasted and teased and drove her absolutely mad. His other hand slipped down her back and pulled her more solidly to him, and the heat she’d felt all evening flared like a storm wind over the desert.