Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(14)

Ransom drew back slowly. “You could follow that with a knee to the groin,” he said, “if your skirts aren’t too heavy or narrow.”

“Do you mean I should use my leg to . . .” Her gaze flickered to his crotch.

“Like this.” He demonstrated with a subtle motion of his knee.

“I think walking skirts would allow for that.”

“Then do it,” Ransom said. “It’s the most devastating target on a man. The pain shoots all through your innards.”

“I’ve no doubt it would,” Garrett mused. “There’s a nerve in the scrotum called the spermatic plexus that extends into the abdomen.” Noticing the way he averted his face, she said apologetically, “Have I made you uncomfortable? I beg your pardon.”

Ransom lifted his head to reveal eyes glinting with laughter. “Not at all. It’s just that I’ve never heard a lady talk as you do.”

“As I told you . . . I’m not a lady.”





Chapter 4




The lesson that followed could not have been more different from Garrett’s sessions with Monsieur Baujart or his prév?ts, who emphasized discipline, silence, and perfect form. This, by contrast, seemed like a rough-and-tumble form of play. In fact, every minute of twisting, grappling, and shoving was so absorbing that Garrett lost all awareness of time passing. Although she wasn’t used to having a man’s hands on her, Ransom’s touch was so careful and gentle that she quickly came to trust him.

Patiently he demonstrated various moves and encouraged her to repeat them until he was satisfied that she’d learned them properly. He praised her efforts, calling her a warrior, an Amazon, and more than once he chuckled at her enthusiasm. As promised, he taught her how to throw a man to the floor by hooking a foot around his leg and using it as leverage to push him off balance. Every time he hit the ground, he rolled in a fluid motion and came to his feet again.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Garrett asked.

“After I left K division, I was sent away for special training.”

“Away to where?”

For some reason Ransom seemed reluctant to answer. “India.”

“India? Good heavens. For how long?”

“A year and a half.” Seeing her interest, Ransom explained cautiously, “I was instructed by an eighty-year-old guru, who was as limber as a lad of sixteen. He taught a fighting system based on animal movements, like the tiger, or the snake.”

“How perfectly fascinating.” Garrett would have liked to ask more, but he motioned for her to face away from him.

“This is what to do if someone seizes you in a bear hug.” He hesitated. “I’ll have to put my arms around you.”

Garrett nodded and held trustingly still as his arms enclosed her. His grip was firm but not crushing, taking enough of her weight that her heels nearly began to lift from the floor. His body was hot, almost steaming inside the fencing jacket. She was surrounded by the strength of him, breathing in the salt and heat of male exertion, while the motion of his breathing pressed against her rhythmically.

“Do bears actually hug like this?” she asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Ransom said, his amused voice close to her ear. “I’ve never been close enough to one to find out. Now then, you’ll want to keep me from picking you up and carrying you off. Shove your hips back, and use all your weight to plant your feet hard on the ground.” He waited until she had complied. The movement had obliged him to lean over her, altering his center of gravity. “Good. Take a sidestep, and that will give you a clear path to deliver a hammer-blow to the groin.” He watched as she knotted her fingers into a ball. “Not like that. Has no one ever taught you to make a fist?”

“Never. Show me.”

Releasing her, Ransom turned her to face him. He took her hand in both of his, molding it into the proper shape. “Curl your fingers and cross your thumb over them. Don’t tuck it inside, or you’ll break it when you hit someone. And don’t clench so tight that your little finger starts to collapse inward.” He tested the tension of her closed hand, running the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. The dark fans of his lashes lowered. She thought he would let go then . . . but instead . . . his fingertips slowly began to explore the miniature valleys between her fingers, the buffed surface of her nails, the soft flesh at the base of her thumb. Garrett’s breath caught as he touched the tender inside of her wrist, where a pulse beat light and fast.

“Why were you named Garrett?” she heard him ask.

“My mother was convinced that I was going to be a boy. She wanted to name me after one of her brothers, who died while he was still young. But she didn’t survive my birth. Above the objections of friends and relations, my father insisted on calling me Garrett anyway.”

“I like it,” Ransom murmured.

“It suits me,” Garrett said, “although I’m not certain my mother would have approved of giving a masculine name to a daughter.” After a reflective pause, she surprised herself by saying impulsively, “Sometimes I imagine going back in time, to stop the hemorrhage that killed her.”

“Is that why you became a doctor?”

Garrett pondered the question with a slight frown. “I’ve never thought about it that way before. I suppose helping people could be my way of saving her, over and over. But I would have found the study of medicine fascinating regardless. The human body is a remarkable machine.”