The Farther I Fall by Lisa Nicholas Page A

door.
    The machines stood silent in the hotel gym, the television in the corner off. Gwen wiped her sweaty palms against her yoga pants and tried not to pace across the gleaming wood floor. They had half an hour, and she wanted to start simple.
    The door creaked open and Gwen’s mouth went dry, caught by the sight of Lucas in a black tank top that skimmed over his chest and abs, revealing a pair of wiry and sleek shoulders. The top barely met the waist of a low-slung pair of gray training pants. She didn’t need to see him turn around to know they were molded to his arse. The way his pulled-back hair exposed his neck made her go a little wobbly.
    Damn it, he’d said something. “Sorry, what?”
    â€œI said, why not just teach me to shoot?”
    â€œ
Americans.
You and your guns.” Gwen tried to gather her thoughts. “First of all, you don’t have a gun”—she raised her hand when Lucas opened his mouth—“and you’re not getting one. There’s no time for you to learn proper gun safety. Second of all, you’d likely be the one getting shot when it got taken away from you. Any other questions?”
    Lucas eyed the floor dubiously. “Shouldn’t there be a mat or something?”
    â€œNo. You’re not going to throw me, and I’m not going to throw you. Not today. This is much more basic than that.” Hotel gym or not, she wasn’t about to sprawl on the floor above or beneath him, not while he looked like that.
    He folded his arms and settled into a wide-legged stance, and she tried not to be distracted.
    â€œThe first thing to remember is this: Don’t be a hero. Your only goal is to get away. So anything I show you is to do just that. Break free, incapacitate enough to get away. Nothing else. Got it?”
    Lucas nodded.
    â€œIf you want to make someone lose interest in you in a hell of a hurry, you want to aim for the eyes, the nose, the throat, or the groin.” He winced, and she said, “Exactly. You’re not trying to play nice here, Lucas. If someone’s coming after you, you fight dirty.” She demonstrated, swinging a hand slowly up toward Lucas’s face, fingers out.
    He barely blinked, focusing with an intensity she hadn’t seen anywhere except the stage.
    â€œYou want to jab at the eyes, or at the throat. Aim is tricky, but if you hit, it’s effective as hell.” Another swing, flat palm forward. “Flat of your hand against the nose—you’ve got a good chance of breaking it. As to the groin”—she gave a faint grin—“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that any sort of hit will work, but grab, twist, and pull generally works best.”
    He didn’t so much as twitch the corner of his mouth. “Anything else?”
    â€œWell, sure—anything that’s soft and exposed will do. But remember: you’re not in this for the whole fight. Incapacitate, and run.”
    He nodded. “How do I—”
    In one smooth movement, she reached her left arm across and grabbed him by the wrist, trying to catch him off-guard, test his reaction.
    Then she had to duck when a set of long fingers came jabbing at her eyes. She grinned up at him, swallowing around a burst of pride. “Well done.”
    â€œToo slow.” He frowned. “And you’re still holding on to me.”
    â€œMaybe I can’t bear to let go yet,” she teased.
    â€œIf that’s what you have in mind—” He turned his arm and ran his fingers up her forearm.
    â€œYour instinct is a good one,” she interrupted. His fingertips tickled her arm with their feather-light touch, but she couldn’t find her voice again for the pounding of her heart. She broke their shared gaze and cleared her throat. “Now, speaking of this,” she said, nodding at her hand on Lucas’s wrist, “the weakest point of any hold is right here.” With her free