Page 65 of Damon

“Always,” I respond firmly. “I’m going to kick your ass, Chief Constable.”

“As long as you kiss it better after, I don’t mind.” His lips sit millimeters from mine, and the sensation of his breath causes my nipples to stiffen beneath my top. “I can’t wait for you to show me your moves.”

Annie giggles, and we both glance at her. I am acutely aware that the three of us are in less than a square meter of space. With his free hand, Damon drops his fingers to my hip then runs them up under my jacket. His warm fingertips graze my bare skin, causing it to prickle with excitement.

“What will we start with?” I ask softly.

“At the gym?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, the gym.”

“Basic defense moves.”

“What moves?”

“You’ll see once we get to the gym.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, as the front door opens and Mrs. D wanders in.

“Oh,” she trills. “Sorry for interrupting.”

I step back from him, embarrassed at being caught mid-kiss. I feel my cheeks heat rapidly as Damon turns in her direction.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. She scuttles across the wooden floor, arms wide and ready to take Annie from him.

“Any time,” she says. “I love looking after this little angel.” She picks her out of his arms and cradles her masterfully. “We will have a lovely evening, won’t we Little Miss? Now, you two run along,” she orders. “There’s no rush to return, I’ll put her to bed and read my book until you get back.”

Damon leans down and kisses his daughter’s forehead. Both sets of adult eyes turn to me as he holds out his hand. I take it, quickly tickle Annie on the chin, and we leave.

***

Hunter’s gym is closed this evening. We’re the only people here. It’s vaster than I ever expected it to be; there seems to be dozens of punching bags and other equipment scattered around. As we enter the workout area, I stop still when I see the massive cage in the corner.

“What is that?” I spit, completely taken aback. Damon is holding my hand as he leads me into the place he spends hours every week. He is reading a message on his phone, and my question causes him to turn to face me.

“What?”

“That,” I say, gesturing toward the cage.

“Hunter’s playpen,” he answers and shrugs. “He occasionally holds fights down here, and everyone loves a cage fight. They pay more to attend.”

“A cage fight,” I stammer. “Do you ever cage fight?”

“In the past, but not for a few years though. My boss isn’t too pleased when a Chief Constable appears with black eyes and broken ribs.”

“Are you like those wrestlers on TV? You know, the ones that hit each other over the head with chairs?”

“Um…it depends. Hunter can be imaginative.”

“Damon,” I mutter disapprovingly. “Are these fights even legal?” He doesn’t answer my question, merely smirks then turns and starts to tug me toward some mats in the corner. Once at the edge he releases me and removes his shoes and socks. “What are you doing? I thought we were going to box?”

“No, I’m going teach you how to defend yourself if attacked. Take off your shoes and come join me.” He stands in the center of the workout area. His shrewd eyes watch my every move as I unzip my jacket, drop it to the floor, then discard the trainers and socks on my feet. I walk over to face him.

“First of all,” he says. “I want you to always carry something sharp. A small penknife, keys, a short knitting needle.”

“A knitting needle. Do I look like a woman who knits?”

“It’s not to make sweaters, it’s to have on you.”

“Why?”

---