The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(52)

“This is our target,” Rafe said, dragging the box over toward the deck rails. “If you miss, there will be enough room for the knife to fly before sailing off the side of the ship into the water.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Daphne replied, pulling down her cap over her forehead farther.

“First, you must choose your knife,” Rafe said. “And if you must use whatever knife is at your disposal, then the method of throwing it will vary.”

Daphne nodded.

Rafe gestured toward the collection of knives splayed out in an arc at their feet. “See this one? Its handle is larger than its blade.”

Daphne nodded again.

“And this one?” He pointed at a second knife. “Its blade is bigger.”

“Which is the best one to throw?” Daphne asked.

“It depends.” He hefted the one with the smaller blade in his hand and held it out to her, handle first. “A more balanced blade is usually best for beginners. But you’ll have to see which one you feel most comfortable with.”

He stood and moved behind her with his legs braced apart, the breeze slightly mussing his hair. “Stand this way.” He demonstrated, widening his stance. Daphne mimicked him.

“You want the weight to be thrown first. So with this handle-heavy knife, you’d hold it by the blade to throw.”

She carefully turned it in her hand so that she clutched the blade.

“Now, which is your dominant hand?” he asked.

“My right.”

“Then grip the blade with your right hand.” He placed his hand over hers. Hers seemed so small compared to his. “Hold it firmly, but delicately.”

“What does that mean?” Daphne asked with a half-smile.

“If you hold it too tightly, it’ll hamper the throw. But if you don’t have a firm enough grip on it, it may fly out of your hand before you’re ready and could hurt someone. Including you.”

“I see,” Daphne said with another nod. “Now what?”

“Take the knife like so.” He moved his hand over hers to show her. “Put the blunt edge of the blade along your thumb like this.” He moved her thumb into position along her palm. “Put your thumb along this side of the blade and your fingers on the other side.”

Daphne furrowed her brow, and stuck out her tongue, concentrating.

“You look positively fetching that way,” he said with a laugh. Daphne quickly popped her tongue back into her mouth and swallowed the smile that was in danger of spreading across her lips.

“Pinch the blade without pressing against the point or the sharp part,” he continued.

Daphne did exactly as she was told, trying to ignore both his closeness and his familiar scent.

“Excellent,” Rafe said.

“Now what?” Daphne asked, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.

“Now you must adjust your angle. It will determine how quickly the knife will flip. The angle, of course, depends on how far you are from your target.”

“I see,” she said, moving her hand at an angle.

“It’s in the wrist,” he added. “If your target is close, you must bend your wrist back as far as you can, which will allow it to flip more quickly.”

“And if the target is far away?”

“Don’t bend your wrist at all. It will keep the knife from turning too much,” Rafe said.

“Very well.”

“Next, you pick your target. I’ve already counted and it’s ten paces to the target. See there?” Rafe pointed toward the wooden box.

Daphne nodded again. “Yes.”

“Now, throw!”

Daphne pulled back her arm and let go. The knife flew through the air and glanced off the side of the box. “Sacrebleu!” she exclaimed, but she felt her cheeks heating. “Sorry. I’ve obviously spent too much time with a certain twelve-year-old who adores French.”

Rafe whistled. “Actually not bad for a first throw. Most people hit entirely too wide of the mark. At least you connected with it.”

Daphne smiled at the praise and Rafe glanced away.

“Speaking of Delilah,” Rafe continued. “I can just imagine how easily she’d take to this particular sport.”

“No doubt she’d excel at it. As for me, I’m rubbish at archery but this seems like much more fun.” Daphne laughed.

Rafe bent over to pick up the next knife and Daphne caught a glimpse of his perfect backside. The man really should be awarded a medal for that particular feature. It was positively riveting. When he straightened again, he handed her a new knife and Daphne shook her head to clear it of her indecent thoughts.

After a bit of maneuvering she threw the second knife. This time the blade struck. Rafe whistled again. “You have a natural talent for this, Grey.”

She bowed. “Thank you, Captain.” She glanced up at him. The sun was in his hair, his shirt hugged his muscled chest, his breeches hugged his backside. She glanced away. His nearness had made her want to kiss him, she realized. He smelled so good and looked so handsome and— No. This was completely useless thinking. No more kisses between them. Ever. The one had been quite nice but there were still a score of reasons why kissing him was a bad, bad idea. Not the least of which was the mysterious blond, the sister comment, and the fact that they were set to get an annulment as soon as they finished this mission. The mission for which she must learn how to adequately throw a knife. She needed to concentrate on that, not how good the man looked in his breeches. And he did, indeed, look very, very good.