was an orphanage worker. As far as he knew, Aide Internationale didn’t have a combat unit.
“What’s the matter with you? Fucking stop, will you?” he said again.
Her eyes darted around in an exercise he knew well. She was looking for another weapon. No way.
He grabbed her in a bear hug from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. “Okay, now you’re listening—” he began.
She dipped her head and reverse head butted him. Pain spread through his face. He’d pulled his head away enough that it hadn’t broken his nose, but now he was fucking pissed off.
He still had her in his grip, so he pushed her away, over the back of her sofa. She expelled air as she bounced over the cushions onto the floor, hitting her shoulder on her coffee table.
“Can you just stop now? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, rubbing the side of his face. Jesus, he wasn’t sure her father was paying him enough.
“Well that makes one of us,” she said, running to the kitchen.
Oh shit. She was going to eggbeater him to death. Or knife him. Neither was that appealing. Seriously, if she emerged with a knife, that was it. Fucking boss’s daughter or fucking not.
No sense in following her into the room that was so small there was a chance he could actually stumble onto a knife accidentally.
She came out wielding a knife, of course. Typical. “Well come on, then, get it over with. Stop fucking dancing around like you think I might just leave. I’m not leaving.” Why, though, he didn’t know. He could just leave and resume following her from afar. And to think, he’d only come up to make sure she was okay. He sighed. “Come on. Give it your best shot, little girl.”
As he suspected, his last words galvanized her. Anger flashed across her face.
Satisfaction came over him. Anger made people sloppy. He grinned and tilted his head, mocking her.
She leapt at him, knife poised to slash him. He shifted balance at the last moment, using his hands to push her away. She stumbled into the wall behind him but regrouped fast enough to slash at his arm. He looked down in disbelief and concern. She really did want to hurt him. And if he let her get close enough, he was going to have to put her down.
He stepped away from her. “Okay. You’ve made your intentions perfectly clear. You think you want to hurt me, and if I stand perfectly still and don’t defend myself, you probably can. But, and I can’t emphasize this enough, if you come at me again, I will hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want you to kill me for some half-baked, ill-thought-out reason. Do you understand me?”
She approached him again, moving the knife across her body, like a pro, waiting for the ideal place to strike. She took it.
Mal stepped away from it and punched her knife-carrying arm hard enough to make her fingers lose sensation. It worked. Her face fell as her arm dropped uselessly to her side, the knife clattering to the tile floor. “I’m sorry about that, but you need to just calm the fuck down for a minute.”
He did nothing other than blink, his guard down for a second, before she suddenly had another knife in her other hand. She pushed him against the wall and held the knife to his throat. What the fuck just happened?
He wasn’t scared. He could still kill her with his bare hands if he wanted to. This was nothing more than a slightly rough dance to him, but he begrudgingly admitted that she had some skills too. And there was a much higher possibility that it was she who had hurt and maybe killed the two men outside.
Her eyes blazed not three inches from his. If he hadn’t been a little curious about who Baston’s daughter was—indeed, if she even was Baston’s daughter—he would have been turned on by the fury she showed. By her physicality and her strength.
She pressed the knife to his throat, not easing up the pressure even when he felt the warm trickle of blood down his neck. Shit. She was sexy, and violent.
He leaned
“What’s the matter with you? Fucking stop, will you?” he said again.
Her eyes darted around in an exercise he knew well. She was looking for another weapon. No way.
He grabbed her in a bear hug from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. “Okay, now you’re listening—” he began.
She dipped her head and reverse head butted him. Pain spread through his face. He’d pulled his head away enough that it hadn’t broken his nose, but now he was fucking pissed off.
He still had her in his grip, so he pushed her away, over the back of her sofa. She expelled air as she bounced over the cushions onto the floor, hitting her shoulder on her coffee table.
“Can you just stop now? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, rubbing the side of his face. Jesus, he wasn’t sure her father was paying him enough.
“Well that makes one of us,” she said, running to the kitchen.
Oh shit. She was going to eggbeater him to death. Or knife him. Neither was that appealing. Seriously, if she emerged with a knife, that was it. Fucking boss’s daughter or fucking not.
No sense in following her into the room that was so small there was a chance he could actually stumble onto a knife accidentally.
She came out wielding a knife, of course. Typical. “Well come on, then, get it over with. Stop fucking dancing around like you think I might just leave. I’m not leaving.” Why, though, he didn’t know. He could just leave and resume following her from afar. And to think, he’d only come up to make sure she was okay. He sighed. “Come on. Give it your best shot, little girl.”
As he suspected, his last words galvanized her. Anger flashed across her face.
Satisfaction came over him. Anger made people sloppy. He grinned and tilted his head, mocking her.
She leapt at him, knife poised to slash him. He shifted balance at the last moment, using his hands to push her away. She stumbled into the wall behind him but regrouped fast enough to slash at his arm. He looked down in disbelief and concern. She really did want to hurt him. And if he let her get close enough, he was going to have to put her down.
He stepped away from her. “Okay. You’ve made your intentions perfectly clear. You think you want to hurt me, and if I stand perfectly still and don’t defend myself, you probably can. But, and I can’t emphasize this enough, if you come at me again, I will hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want you to kill me for some half-baked, ill-thought-out reason. Do you understand me?”
She approached him again, moving the knife across her body, like a pro, waiting for the ideal place to strike. She took it.
Mal stepped away from it and punched her knife-carrying arm hard enough to make her fingers lose sensation. It worked. Her face fell as her arm dropped uselessly to her side, the knife clattering to the tile floor. “I’m sorry about that, but you need to just calm the fuck down for a minute.”
He did nothing other than blink, his guard down for a second, before she suddenly had another knife in her other hand. She pushed him against the wall and held the knife to his throat. What the fuck just happened?
He wasn’t scared. He could still kill her with his bare hands if he wanted to. This was nothing more than a slightly rough dance to him, but he begrudgingly admitted that she had some skills too. And there was a much higher possibility that it was she who had hurt and maybe killed the two men outside.
Her eyes blazed not three inches from his. If he hadn’t been a little curious about who Baston’s daughter was—indeed, if she even was Baston’s daughter—he would have been turned on by the fury she showed. By her physicality and her strength.
She pressed the knife to his throat, not easing up the pressure even when he felt the warm trickle of blood down his neck. Shit. She was sexy, and violent.
He leaned
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