The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,52

back. “So what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“If you want me to help you spy on my countrymen, you need to give me something in return.”

He raised his brows. “You want payment?”

“Of a kind. Skills. I’ve realized I need to be more proficient in certain areas.”

His mouth twitched, and she flushed as she belatedly realized the potential for misinterpretation in her words.

“And you want me to teach you?” he drawled.

“I do.” She quashed the highly improper thoughts his words had summoned. “At first I thought of asking you to teach me to shoot a rifle or a pistol, but then I realized that’s not very practical. I’m unlikely to ever need to know such things. You could teach me some ways to defend myself without a weapon, however.”

The memory came, unbidden, of Vasili’s hands on her wrists, of his mouth grinding upon hers. Of how powerless she’d been. She never wanted to be in that position again.

“Knowledge is power,” she said softly. “Please show me.”

He gave a slow exhale. “Right now?”

She nodded.

“I’m not sure there’s much you can do while wearing that dress,” he said. “But I suppose I can show you a couple of basic moves.”

He took another step and stopped less than an arm’s length away.

“Because of your height, you’re at an immediate disadvantage. So you’ll need to be inventive when it comes to bringing down your opponent.”

“How?”

“Fight dirty. Hit him in the crotch,” he said baldly. “Or punch him in the throat. If he can’t breathe, he can’t fight.”

Anya nodded earnestly.

“Pull his ears, or better still, bite them. Jab at his eyes. And if you can grab his nose, snap it to the side. It’ll bleed like the devil.”

Anya’s gaze automatically went to the perfect line of his nose. Considering the number of battles in which he’d been involved, she’d have thought it would have been broken a time or two. The man was clearly charmed.

He smiled and Anya returned the gesture, delighted with this new information. Even Dmitri hadn’t discussed this kind of thing with her. Then she jumped as Wolff reached out, caught her fingers, and raised their joined hands between them. Her blood pulsed in her fingertips as he intertwined their fingers and then bent hers back with gentle force.

“Bend his fingers back,” he said softly, and his voice was lower, a rough murmur that seemed suddenly far more intimate, despite the gruesome subject matter. He increased the pressure, just to the edge of pain. “You might break a few bones that way.”

He released her, only to bring his hands up to her shoulders, left bare by the cut of the dress. Anya sucked in a breath.

He slid his hands upward to encircle her neck. A shiver of awareness slithered down her spine as his fingers disturbed the fine hairs at her nape beneath her upswept hair. His palms were warm against her skin as he applied just the slightest pressure.

His gaze snagged hers. “If someone’s trying to throttle you, put your hands together and bring your arms up and out, over his. That should break his hold. Try it.”

Anya did so and was pleased when the instructions worked. He let his arms fall back to his sides, but his gaze dropped to her mouth and awareness thickened the air between them, a bright, expectant tension, like the hush before a thunderstorm.

Anya could feel the warmth radiating from his chest; her body felt like melting wax.

“We should get down on the floor.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“The gaming floor,” he clarified, with a thoroughly wicked chuckle. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Miss Brown.”

He stepped back and strode to the door, then shot her a challenging look over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s put you to work.”

Chapter 22.

The noise from the Tricorn was an audible murmur from behind the connecting door. Wolff pushed it open and a wave of sound assaulted them as they stepped into a picture-lined hallway. Mickey stood at the far end at a podium, greeting guests who entered through the front door.

“The gaming rooms are on the upper level.” Wolff took her elbow and led her up an impressive curving double staircase. At the top, he paused and took two glasses of what appeared to be champagne from a tray on a stand. He handed one to her.

“For courage. But only one glass.” His gaze clashed with hers and his lips gave a devilish quirk. “Tonight, I want you sober.”

Anya took a deep gulp. Sober because she needed her wits