Pivoting, she used a step-ball-change to carry her weight around and slammed the flat of her foot against his ass. He staggered forward, scrambling to keep his balance, and she launched her offensive again.
It was a flurry of slices, blades singing through the air. At first, it seemed as though he wouldn’t pay her at least the cursory respect of fighting back, but the bite of steel whistling across her upper arm followed by the wildfire of swift pain put an end to that argument.
“First blood.” His grin grew, hard and wide. His eyes flashed, the pupils elongating.
Cat eyes.
“Enjoy it.” She dodged another quick cut and scored her blade down the inside of his arm. Blood, thick and red, welled up from the clean slice. She grinned at his hiss.
“Point to you.”
They danced around the clearing, narrowly avoiding the stone table and its offering of food. At the water’s edge, Roseâtre balanced on the rocks. Years of training flooded through her muscles, rusty from ill use. Dancing required balance, but not the ability to deliver focused blows while avoiding the recoil of such force.
It was the excuse she would use to explain why in avoiding another cut, she ended up windmilling backwards to the water. Anthony caught one flailing arm, balancing her, his expression so intent and focused that she had three seconds of regret before she used his weight against him, flipping him toward the water.
He snagged her shirt and yanked, plunging her into the pool with him. She surfaced to the sting of another cut. A second stripe cut neatly parallel to the first on her biceps.
Wet hair clinging to his face and plastered along one cheek didn’t detract from the broad smile on Anthony’s face as he surged through the water. Tigers apparently liked to swim. Or maybe it was just him.
Roseâtre struck out for shore when strong hands wrapped around her thighs and pulled her under. She didn’t imagine the scrape of his beard against her ass, the T-shirt floating up to leave her nether regions bare. Nor the yelp as teeth nipped her rear.
Scissoring her legs, she found purchase against that magnificent chest and kicked herself free, surging up and out. She scarcely made it to the rocks when Anthony propelled himself out of the water, landing just a few feet away.
Her rump stung.
“I’d call that three, but I didn’t use my blade.” Cheeky bastard. “So, sorry.”
The damnable thing was, Roseâtre wanted to laugh. The teasing heat of his mouth on the curve of her ass provoked dangerous thoughts. Her gaze skated over his broad, glistening chest. Water droplets skirted his nipples to race down his abs. Despite their exertions, he was barely breathing hard.
She’d compared him to a god when she’d first seen him and looking at him, barefoot, soaking wet with a wild grin on his mouth, she was more convinced than ever.
Surrender could be so easy.
She banished the thought as he pounced, darting right at the last moment and pivoting to kick him. Unfortunately, he learned faster than most of her opponents, catching her ankle and flipping her into a roll midair and catching her left foot to his shoulder for the trouble. He fell on his ass even as she landed on her hands.
They stared at each other, Roseâtre’s lips curving upward to match his grin. Damn, he’s fun.
“Still two to one in my favor.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Ready to surrender?”
“Worried you can’t take me?”
“Oh, I can take you.”
“Then catch me if you can.” She threw the verbal gauntlet even as she launched herself, but instead of attacking him, she raced up the path through his forest. For a brief few seconds, as her feet struck the hard dirt surface and she twisted through the trees and crashed through the foliage, she marveled at her own insanity. Anthony was a cat.
She was running.
Of course, he would chase her.
Her cheeks ached from grinning. But that was what she wanted him to do. She wanted him to catch her, to prove that he could take her in battle.
Then in lust.
Her heart thundered a powerful back beat to her headlong run. She couldn’t hear his approach over the wild beat of her pulse. She burst through the trees to see a great bed cradled by a smaller, squat tree pushing up from the forest floor. Thick branches curled over the head and the base, creating a four-poster sensation that was both natural and erotic.
A whishing of sound was all the warning she received before Anthony’s hard male body collided with hers, tumbling them both onto the bed. He caught his weight on his arms, the wild heat of him blanketing her back. His arms closed around her front, seizing the wrist that held her blade, turning it so even as she impacted the bed, her cheek flush with the silken sheets, her blade-wielding hand was pointed away, doing no damage to either of them.
The soft brush of his breath against the back of her neck teased her. The T-shirt rode up, leaving her bottom exposed to the roughness of denim, but instead of chafing, he settled his hips firmly against her, removing any and all doubt of his arousal straining the front of his jeans.
Anthony’s lips caressed up the column of her throat, blowing lightly until the hair parted to reveal her ear. His teeth closed gently around her earlobe, a nip of admonishment.
“You shouldn’t have run.” His voice was gloriously dark and edged with hungry passion. His hand tightened around her wrist, the pressure demanding she release the blade, and when her fingers went numb she surrendered it. A thump sounded on the far side as it fell from her nerveless fingers.
Excitement trilled through her insides. His heat burned through the shirt as if it weren’t there. She could feel the movement of his muscles as his chest expanded and relaxed with every breath. He nuzzled her ear, gentle nips sprinkled with sharper tugs.
Who knew an ear could be an erogenous zone?
His tongue traced each curve, stroking gentle laps that sent tingles zinging down her spine. She arched upward against the caress, an invitation that her tiger-man seemed to understand, his weight settling with force, legs bracketing hers, his arousal snug against her ass.
“Surrender?”
“We’re still two stripes to one.” Where the sass came from she didn’t know and she didn’t care. She enjoyed the growl that vibrated through him, damn near purring into her ear.
“Look again.” His voice was low and husky, allowing her just enough freedom to turn her head. A third stripe paralleled the first two. Three cuts.
“You won.” Wonder and delight cascaded through her. It was such a ridiculous thing to be happy about, but he’d done it and not just because she’d wanted him to. She’d certainly been giving as good as she got.
But he won.
To the victor the spoils. She clenched her thighs in anticipation. The length of his cock was hard where it pressed against her. All he needed to do was release the denim and he could be inside her. She nearly groaned at the thought. It’d been a long time since a man had been fast or furious enough to even take up the challenge, much less best her.
“Stop.” His hands released her wrists, gliding up her arms as he arched up. His hips pressed hers into the bed and she curved her back, lifting her bottom in invitation. But the damn cat ignored it, cupping his hands under her and massaging her breasts. “To the victor the spoils.” He echoed her earlier thought. “And as much as I’d like to strip you bare and take you right now, that was not what we were competing for.”
Seriously?
Desire thudded with every pulse between her legs and when he pinched her nipples through the shirt, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers, she wanted to weep. She bumped her bottom against his groin, grinding ever so slowly.
“Bad girl.” He bit down on her ear, the tug on her nipples both enticing and rebuking. “Behave and maybe I’ll help you out with your little problem.”