Page 17 of Powerful

‘These four actually combine into one.’ With that, he begins assembling the blades, hooking their handles together to create a deadly star of sorts.

My heart stops when he throws the contraption at the far wall, forcing a gasp from my lips. The steel managesto slip between the crumbling bricks, sinking deep into the wall.

I blink in awe as my heart pounds back to life. ‘That was… magnificent.’

He allows himself a dry chuckle. ‘I didn’t think you’d enjoy these sorts of things.’

I cross my arms. ‘Just because I’m a lover, doesn’t mean I can’t admire the fighters.’

He strides over to the wall, pulling the knife out with a grunt. ‘That’s right. I have yet to make a fighter out of you.’

I snort. ‘Trust me, Pae has tried. She used to beg me to carry a knife but…’ I trail off at the sudden lack of space between us. His long strides have led him straight to me, his body so close that I can smell the leather clinging to his clothing.

I open my mouth to spew something that will ease my nerves – as I typically do – but it’s his voice I hear.

‘Now,’ he says slowly, his tone low, ‘what would you do if I held this blade to your stomach?’

I laugh lightly. ‘Well, you would never do that, so I haven’t exactly thought of—’

He grazes the blade against my ribs.

He leans in, whispering in a way that has my faceheating. ‘You think too highly of me, hun.’

I swallow. ‘This is absurd. I will never find myself in this situation—’

‘As long as you live in the slums,’ he pauses, his gaze flicking slowly over me, ‘you will most definitely find yourself in this situation.’

‘Now, tell me what you would do.’

I tap a finger against my lips. ‘Well, I would first try to reason with them. Politely, of course.’

‘Plagues.’ Pinching the bridge of his nose between calloused fingers, he shakes his head. ‘You may actually be hopeless.’

He drops the knife, allowing me to finally take a full breath. When he raises his palms in front of me, I raise my eyebrows in question. ‘Come on, show me a punch.’

‘You want me to punch your hands? That seems a little painful.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ he sighs.

‘I meant for you.’

That almost earns me a smile. ‘I think I can handle it.’

I straighten, balling my hands into tight fists. My knuckles meet his palm, and I beam up at him. ‘There. How was that?’

‘As terrible as predicted,’ he says simply. When his hands find my hips, I startle at the firm feel of them. ‘This,’ he twists my hips with little effort, ‘is how it should feel when you throw a punch.’

I almost laugh. At this moment, all I feel is the grip of his hands on my hips. I seem to be numb to everything but the feel of him.

I hadn’t realized he was speaking until one of his palms slips into the small of my back. ‘… twist with your arm to throw all your weight behind it. Straighten your back and engage your core. Your whole body throws the punch, not just your arm.’

He steps behind me then, trailing his fingers around my waist as he does so. I can hardly suppress my shiver, at this foreign feeling. Tucking his head close to mine, he breathes, ‘Try again. I’ll guide you.’

I swallow, mostly my pride but also my sudden wave of nerves. When my arm thrusts forward, he pivots my hips, moving in time with the swing. The heat of his body presses against my back, and I’m suddenly breathing far too hard for a single punch.

‘How’d that feel?’ he murmurs.

I vaguely wonder if he can detect my heart pounding through the back he’s pressed against. I’m not used tobeing touched – not like this at least. This feels like the type of intimacy I’ve only ever dreamed of; the type you fall asleep fantasizing about.

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