No leer, no cracks about getting his hands on a woman. From the pleased smile on his face, he meant it sincerely. Maybe he didn’t get to spar very often. Who in their right mind would take on someone his size?

If he could really fight—and from the way he moved, she figured he could—she was seriously outclassed. He was incredibly muscular, taller by seven or eight inches and outweighed her by close to a hundred pounds.

This was going to be fun. “All right. Rules are you pull your punches and kicks, no blows to the face or crotch.”

“Good rules.” Bull walked over to the dog, unfastening his jogging belt. She saw it held an aerosol can against his back. Seeing her interest, he said, “My wallet—and bear spray.”

Duh, she should carry spray. “I guess if the spray doesn’t work, they’ll be able to ID the remains.”

He grinned. “There’s that, yeah.”

She laid her jo beside the dog. “Tell Gryff I’m not attacking you, okay?”.

“He’s shown he can tell the difference between fun and anger.”

Uh-oh. That comment implied Bull’s skills weren’t rusty. He probably sparred with the other guys at the Hermitage.

She was doomed.

They started off easy, punching, kicking, easy one-two forms, and then, he sped up. His moves grew faster, more aggressive. She blocked, danced around him, her speed mostly making up for his overwhelming strength. She caught some blows that would’ve been disabling if they’d been real.

Weaponless aikido was superb at turning an attack, but not so good at really hammering an opponent. However, she did have a weapon. She dodged a kick, swiped her jo off the ground, and kept sparring.

She lunged with the end of the staff. If not pulled, the blow would’ve taken his liver out—and he gave an approving laugh.

Now, the fight was equal, and if anything, the slight smile he had at the beginning grew bigger. He caught her a few times—and grinned when she spat curses at him—and she dished a few out herself.

She’d never had so much fun in a fight.

Spinning him off-balance, she swung and stopped the staff a few inches from his throat.

“Very nice.” His smile held only respect and approval. “The moves with the staff are far more aggressive.” After a quick glance for permission, he examined her jo.

“I have a couple others, but this is my ‘street’ staff.” It was painted in swirly Celtic designs with rubber on one end. “When I use it as a walking stick, no one gives it a second glance.”

“Clever. And if you don’t have it, you could use anything else about the right length.”