As soon as he’s close enough, I raise my sword and bring it down in an arc. He stops it with his blade, the clang of metal echoing through the room, and I swipe again. A volley of clashes ensue. I move faster than I thought possible. Then he does some swirly trick, and my blade flies from my hands and skitters across the wood.

“You’re holding the hilt too tight,” he tells me.

I frown at the sword, now lost to the far end of the room. “Not tight enough, it looks like.”

Flanagan leaves his own blade against the nearest wall and returns to stand in front of me. “They don’t have to be off the table. If that’s what you want.”

It takes me a moment to remember what he means. Wife. Family. Career. “What is this, Flanagan? Twenty fucking questions? What is it you want to know?”

I jump forward and throw a high kick to his face. He blocks but doesn’t counter. I follow with a rally of kicks and punches, Flame sparking silver from every contact. He defends with such ease, using only hands and forearms, he barely has to shift from the same position.

“Where were you going?” he doggedly continues. “On the bike? Where did you want to go?”

Why is he asking that? “I don’t know. Away.”

“Away where?”

I step back and throw my arms open. “For crap’s sake, Flanagan. I don’t know where I was going. I was ten. Somewhere else. Somewhere free, safe maybe.”

“So you wanted a safe place?”

“I wanted a home.”

I fly at him again, giving every combination of punches and kicks I know. After another useless round of striking my bones against his rock-hard forearms, I’m gasping for air, and he isn’t even breathing hard.

I produce some flashier moves from my repertoire. A flying sidekick, higher than I’ve ever jumped before. He swats it with an elbow. So I drop to a low-spinning heel kick—the move doesn’t shift him an inch and nearly breaks my ankle.

Limping away, I gulp air and shake out my foot. “Aaah. Ya…”

He grins and refastens his top knot, sweeping up fallen hair and the three plaits to fold them back into their leather tie. The action accentuates his pecs, making them rise and ripple. My mouth waters. From the corner of my eye, I let my gaze wander over every ridge and shadow of his abs down to his crotch. A punch of arousal hits me deep when I see that bulge of his. I tear my eyes away.

Calm it, Blakeley. Keep it in check, man.

When I glance back, humor dances in his eyes.

“You’re not even trying to fight me?” I accuse.

“I think it’s you that isn’t trying.”

“What? I’m giving everything I’ve got.”