How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(22)

At that she emitted a little growl of frustration and stepped away from him. After rubbing a hand over the spot where he’d caught her arm, she unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of her shirtwaist. “What else?” Hands on her hips, she blew a strand of hair from her face. “Teach me.”

“Come closer and I will.”

She closed most of the distance between them. “Did my brother put you up to this?”

“No.” If her brother knew he’d put his hands on her, Ruthven would have his head on a spike.

“Knowing how to defend yourself and having the opportunity to do so are two different things.” And a Whitechapel thug would never give a lady time to get her fists up.

“My goodness, you’re as pessimistic as my brother.”

“Realistic.” He lifted a hand to her. “A little closer.”

She obeyed but warily, her steps short and hesitant. “Why?”

“As you demonstrated with Keene, certain parts of the body are vulnerable. But there are other spots. Higher. Easier to reach.” He raised his thumb, folding the rest of his fingers back. “The eyes.” He reached up and made a hooking motion near her eye.

She blinked, a quick fan of thick lashes, but she didn’t pull away. In fact, she studied him closely, her breath feathering heat against his face as he dropped his gaze to her neck. She’d undone the top buttons of her shirtwaist, and the long stretch of smooth skin beyond made his mouth water. He knew how she’d taste. Like the flowery scent he could smell wafting off her skin. He reminded himself that he hated flowers.

“The throat,” he said huskily.

“How would I strike a man’s throat?” She lifted a loosely clenched fist, pushing it to the knot of his tie. “You gentleman have the protection of your haberdasheries.” Gaze fixed on his necktie, she bit her lip. “Unless I got a good hold.” She slipped a warm finger between the fabric of his shirt collar and the skin of his throat.

The contact sent a ribbon of heat down his body, straight to the base of his spine. Warmth spilled through his blood.

“No.” Gabe grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand free. “Never get snagged on your assailant. Your objective is to get free.”

She stared at the place where he held her. Without realizing, he’d begun stroking his thumb across her soft skin. Her gaze locked on his. Her lips parted, breath quickening. Inch by inch, the even curves of her mouth tilted in a grin.

The little hellion was enjoying this. But it wasn’t a game. The skills he could teach her might mean the difference between life and death.

One lunging step, and he drew close to her. Gripping her shoulders, he spun her away from him, then lashed an arm across her chest. He held her lightly but far too close.

“Try to free yourself.” He could feel her hair against his cheek. Feel her heartbeat under his arm. Feel the energy—that wild, frenetic voltage she exuded—pulsing through her.

“Truly?” She turned her head, and her mouth came dangerously close to his. “I don’t wish to injure you.”

Her words almost pulled a chuckle from him. With her backside riding his groin, and her hair tickling his chin, he was fairly certain whatever came next would be a relief. “Do your worst.”

She tipped her head farther, until she could look him in the eye. “Remember you said that.” In two swift moves, she jerked her right arm up, bent at the elbow, and thrust back against his midriff.

He grunted at the impact. But he’d already tensed his stomach muscles, anticipating her blow. “You’ve forgotten what I told you,” he whispered near her ear. “Vulnerable. Soft.”

Reaching the same arm up, she pressed a palm to the scruffy edge of his cheek, then slid her hand up until she reached his temple. Striking out a thumb, she tried for his eye. Gabe arched back but didn’t release her.

“Good,” he said when she lowered her arm and settled back against him.

He should have released her. But now that she was in his arms, he found himself stubbornly unwilling to let go.

“I could bite.” She placed both hands on his arm where he’d wrapped it across her upper chest, tucking her chin down as if looking for a tasty spot.

“Unless your attacker is bare, or you’re capable of chewing through layers of fabric, you wouldn’t do much damage.” He tapped his thumb against her arm where he held her. “Fingers are useful.”

“Are they?” She turned to look at him again, a frown pinching the skin between her brows. “Ah!” she exclaimed as she gripped his thumb and wrenched it backward at a painfully odd angle.

Proving his point, he edged away from her to break her hold. Despite the inches of distance he’d created, her heat and scent still clung to him.

She faced him, bouncing on her toes, smiling as if her horse had just won the Derby. “I did it,” she crowed.

If by “did it” she meant stirring him in ways he hadn’t been affected in years, yes. He was damnably aroused. And by the one woman he could never touch. So, of course, being the wrongheaded fool he was, he’d touched her. And he’d bloody enjoyed every minute.

“Lesson over.” He backed two steps away. Hiding himself in the alley’s darkness, he flicked a hand toward the cab stand. “Go and secure a hansom, Miss Ruthven.”