Love, Tussles, and Takedowns (Cactus Creek #3)(22)

So she had been holding back earlier with the kickboxer. She was sort of a martial arts mutt like he was. And it was an excellent pedigree. He could see it in the way her muscles remained relaxed until just before the moment of impact, and in how she sank down with each strike as opposed to generating her force upward. Both fighting traits spoke to an impressive foundation to her training. Definitely new school MMA over old school boxing.

When he struck next, she blocked by crossing her forearms in front of her and twisting them like twin cake mixer blades. Before he knew what hit him, she’d shoved his punching arm away while simultaneously gripping his free arm and striking him soundly in the chest.

A kung-fu counterattack.

How the hell had he not recognized her kung-fu training before now?

Probably because in his world, fighting was mostly about offense.

Far less enlightened.

She retreated to reset her bearings but he didn’t give her a second to breathe. He spun and struck with a reverse elbow, snapping his arm up into a back fist strike. With no time to counter, she stretched to the side and caught his next punch with an open hand. Using another kung-fu technique he’d only seen in the movies, she flicked her wrist down on his fist to redirect the force of his punch and break his wrist tension. She then immobilized both his hands with one hand while sending the palm of her other hand to the center of his torso like a battering ram. Wickedly quick and powerful, it was the counterattack on crack with a twist.

He jumped back, coughing to get air back in his lungs. “That must be the Wing Chun trapping technique I’ve heard about.”

She gave him an innocent grin.

He grinned back and shot forward with a stiff forearm strike, a standard sparring technique.

But Lia was anything but a standard sparring partner.

She redirected the force of his punch back onto his own arms, which snapped his knife hand form up and back toward his own chest.

With a grimace, he rubbed his stinging chest and his stinging pride over being bitch-slapped by his own hand.

He was nothing if not a quick learner, however.

Patiently, he circled, planning his next attack while waiting for hers.

He didn’t have to wait long. She attacked eagerly, punching viciously. When the right strike came, Hudson curled his hand around her wrist to block and redirect her punch.

Like a veteran at her favorite move.



*



DAMN, HE WAS a quick study.

And now he was heading to the front of the class.

Lia watched as Hudson basically took the safety off a gun and launched a series of strike and kick combinations unlike anything she’d ever seen. No rhyme or reason. No pattern. Seemingly no thought. She backpedaled quickly, barely managing to block each one.

Just as she thought she was finally able to keep up, he then changed tactics again, hooking her leg when she least expected it and taking her down.

Crap in a bucket. Ground and pound fighting wasn’t her strength. Hudson, however, was excellent. He was Army-trained and all. He had her wrapped up and joint-locked in no time, trapped under him fully from shoulders to knees.

Huffing for air, arms twisted around her own body like a pretzel, she did the only thing she could do—backbridge to try and buck him off of her.

His breath hissed out.

But not in pain.

Curious, she bridged again, and again, managed to rub up and over him like a cat in heat…which had a predictable effect on Hudson. Her eyes lit up as he shifted his body lower in self-preservation. Now suddenly ultra-aware of what her inadvertent motion had done, she moved to take more advantage of the very feminine hold she now had on him.

His eyes narrowed, as if recognizing her scheming intent, and squeezed tighter, cocooning her with his body, his face just inches from hers.

She held her breath, thinking, just for a second, that he was going to kiss her.

Who knew fighting could be such a turn-on, she thought, her lips twisting into a wry grin.

Keeping her pinned under him, he gazed into her eyes and then whispered against her lips, “Say uncle.”

Despite her serious lack of air, she burst out laughing and all the guys who had gathered to watch Lia get schooled for a change began hooting and clapping.

He let her go the instant she tapped out and they both rolled onto their backs to suck wind for a bit. As the crowd dissipated, Lia looked over at Hudson and grinned, impressed that he was already breathing normally again. He really was a superb fighter.

Her grin quickly faded and her own breathing started picking up again when she saw his gaze roam over every inch of her before returning to her eyes with an intensity that pinned her in place all over again. But in a way that she most definitely wasn’t thinking of tapping her way out of.

“Told you guys it wasn’t anger,” commented Garrett from outside of the ring. “And from the looks of it, she’s not the only one that’s pent up.”

The slow smile that simmered across Hudson’s features had her hammering heart rate stopping altogether. That smile right there promised her wicked, wicked things. Things beyond even her imagination, she was sure. He held his hand out to her to help her up. When she stood, he slid the stray tendrils from her ponytail back behind her ear.

She licked her suddenly dry lips and he growled. Growled.

Most erotic thing ever.

His eyes traveled from her pulse thrumming alongside her neck, up to her lips, and then finally her eyes. “Sweetheart, if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m going to forget all the reasons why I’m all wrong for you.” He rubbed a thumb along her lower lip.