Page 42 of Love at First Sighting
The blue of his eyes is so bright underneath the moonlight, but there’s a look of dire seriousness in his expression.
“I would have been okay,” I assure him. “I mean, maybe I’m no pro at throwing punches, but I’m crafty.”
“I could teach you.”
“Youknow how to fight?” I ask.
“I had to take some basic hand-to-hand combat courses when I trained to be an agent.”
As much as I like the rush of adrenaline our adventures are giving me, I’m becoming more aware we are dancing closer to danger than I ever expected. It’s probably smart to take him up on his lessons, and I can imagine worse things than combat lessons from a very sexy Man in Black. I climb to my feet.
“Okay, Mr. Miyagi, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Carter stands and shoves our trash into the bag before pulling me onto the sand with him. I raise my brows at him and step into my fighting stance.
Carter clears his throat. “You’re right-handed?”
I nod. Carter’s hands rest on my hips and he carefully tilts me in the opposite direction. The touch sets my skin on fire. He holds me like I’m both delicate and formidable at the same time. He knows what I’m capable of, but he still treats me with care.
“Dominant side away from your opponent. You’ll throw stronger punches that way.” He takes his time moving up my body until he finds my elbows. His fingers press softly to the backs of my arms as he raises them in front of my face.
“What are you?”
“Ambidextrous,” he teases.
Well, that’s weirdly hot. “Oh?”
“After the accident, I had to learn to write with my other hand while the one was in a sling. I couldn’t fall too behind on homework.”
The thought should make me sad, and it does, but it’s another example of the ways Carter takes his heartbreak and makes something out of it. For someone who has lived through so much pain, he knows how to carve weapons from it, ensuring he survives.
Smiling, he finishes positioning my hands in front of my face. “Protect that pretty face of yours. You want to be able to strike but also keep yourself from getting hit at the same time.”
As he reaches my fists, he repositions my thumbs.
“Now,” he instructs, “find the vulnerable areas.”
“I can think of at least one.”
“I’m sure you can.” His grip over my fingers tightens, like he doesn’t want to let go of me. “However, notjustthe balls. The face and neck will also do a lot of damage and cause alotof pain. You might be small, but a good heel of the hand to the nose will make even the toughest people flinch. Now throw your first punch with the arm farthest from your opponent. Try it.”
“Punch you?”
“You’re not going to punch me.”
“Wanna bet?”
He sighs. “Just do it.” This makes me oddly nervous. I know I’m not going to be great at this, but I also don’t want tohithim. I garner some momentum and throw my fist forward, calculating when to stop before I hit Carter. His palm flies upbetween us, catching my fist. Our skin meets with a harshsmack, then his fingers curl softly around my fist. He nods and releases. “Good girl. Again.”
Good girl.It’s not the first time he’s said it, but now his words send pleasure ratcheting up my spine and make my heart race. I try to channel that energy into fistfighting instead of thinking about how badly I want to pull him into the back seat of my car. I throw another punch, and then another, and another. He catches each one, carefully releasing my hand with a gentle stroke of my wrist, like he’s casting me back out to sea. Each punch grows stronger, and as I find more confidence, his smile widens, becoming more playful before he backs away.
“This time, I want you to hit from the side. Bring your armoverand strike with a hook. Your opponent might not see it coming and it’ll knock them off balance. Also, getting hit in the ear hurts way more than you’d expect. Hold your hands up like you’re surrendering andtrickthem. Then go in for the hit.”
He goes through the motions twice to demonstrate, and I would pay more attention if his biceps didn’t flex the way they do, or if the raw concentration on his face weren’t so distracting.
“Now you try,” he instructs.
I throw a few practice hooks, and he swings behind me, gripping my wrist with a warm intensity and slowly working me through the motions. I feel his breath on the back of my neck, and the horny monster in my brain wants him to press his lips there, work his way around until he finds my mouth—but take his time exploring me in the moments between.
