Too Dangerous to Desire by Alexandra Benedict

much she mourned the loss of companionship.
    “Are you all right, Evie?”
    She nodded, weakly. And to dismiss the ache in her belly, she resumed the first position. “How do I advance?”
    “Observe.”
    She looked across at him, admired his sharp and masculine profile.
    “Extend your right foot first, Evie.” Evelyn snapped her attention to his boots. He demonstrated. “Then follow with your left foot.” She mimicked. “Much better,” he praised—and smiled. Evelyn’s heart pinched at the man’s soft expres sion, so dashing. “Next we retreat.” He tapped his leg. “Move your left leg first this time, then your right.” He danced backward. She followed suit. “Well done, Evie.” She smiled in return. The admiration he of fered filled a dark and lonely chasm in her soul.
    She wanted to do better, to improve. “Now we lunge.” He darted forward. Evelyn mirrored his movement with ease. She had an abundance of energy inside her, and shoot ing outward with her body was a very convenient way to dispel some of that emotion.
    Adam quirked a brow. “Impressive.” Evelyn shied under his praise. “Let us tackle the blade work, shall we?” He brandished the sword. “To defend yourself, strike from side to side.” He demonstrated. “Or in a cir cular motion.”
    Evelyn assumed the first position, then cut air.
    “Good, but be sure to keep control of the blade.” He gripped her wrist to steady her hand. “Like this.”
    There it was again: the stirrings in her heart, her belly. Why did his touch disarm her so?
    Evelyn absorbed the warmth of his fingertips. She tried to absorb the lesson, too, but was having a deuced hard time listening to the instructions.
    Adam moved to stand in front of her. “Now for the attack. Strike under your opponent’s blade.” He slowly demonstrated. “Or over.”
    She mimicked once more.
    Adam assumed the first position. “En garde.”
    Evelyn carefully thrust forward. He parried.
    “Good, Evie. Again.”
    Again she attacked. Again he protected himself.
    “Now defend yourself,” he said, “while I attack.”
    Adam slowly moved forward, giving her an opportunity to practice the foot and blade work.
    For some time the couple exchanged tepid blows. But with each attack and parry, Evelyn grew more accustomed, more comfortable with the blade.
    At length, Adam stilled. “Well done. Now I want you to attack me. Really attack me. Put all your strength into the blow.”
    She wavered. “But I’ll hurt you.” “No, you won’t. Trust me.” He assumed the first position. Evelyn swallowed the knot in her throat. She took in a deep breath—and lashed out.
    With a lightning-quick stroke, Adam parried the blow and knocked the blade right out of her hand.
    She gaped.
    “You have to learn how to really fight, Evie. In battle, your opponent will strike back with greater force than I did.” He inclined his head toward the fallen blade. “Pick up the sword.”
    She retrieved the weapon. “Attack me again,” he said. The man was a proficient swordsman, she re alized. There was no reason to fear for his well being. With less anxiety, she lunged again. But once more, Adam deflected the blow with precision and disarmed her. Again she wondered: Where did he learn to fight like that?
    “Evie, you have to think of me as an enemy.”
    She picked up the sword, uncomfortable with the suggestion. She was already wary whenever she was near the man. What secrets did he keep? Why did his smile, his touch, shake her very senses? But to think of him as an enemy? It was too chilling, too real. Was he a foe?
    “Evie, look at me.”
    She glanced up to find his expression determined.
    “Think of me as him .”
    Her heart throbbed at the very idea, the wild beats booming in her ears. She shook her head with intrinsic revulsion. “No, I can’t.”
    “It will help you to focus; give you reason to strike at me—hard.”
    “I don’t want to think of you as him .”
    “Fight me.” Adam advanced.