Isabelle finally came to a stop and opened her eyes. “That was a lot more relaxing than fighting the demon will be.”

“Undoubtedly. All right, now we spar in order to familiarize ourselves with the other basic concepts, as well as to get a feel for the weapon.”

She swung the blade experimentally. “And the other basic concepts are?”

“Tactics and timing.”

She jumped and pointed the blunted training sword in his general direction. “En guard! But take your shirt off first, champ. Because, you know”—she shot him a salacious grin that made him chuckle—“you’ll get warm dressed like that. Yeah, that’s it. I’m worried about your comfort.”

They sparred into the late afternoon. Isabelle was good with the weapon and he found himself on the defensive many times in the face of her surprising aggression.

The way she looked—her face and neck shining with perspiration, pupils wide and dark, lips pursed in absolute concentration—made it seem like the workout was therapy for her. Her movements were quick and self-possessed, too. What Isabelle lacked in terms of upper body strength, she made up for in speed and flexibility.

In the end, they were evenly matched, despite the fact that he was stronger physically.

Isabelle turned and brought her training blade down against his in a wide arc. He threw down his weapon, intercepted her and pulled her back against him. Thomas needed to touch her, just for a moment.

She thumped against his chest and went still, breathing heavy. Then she tossed her training sword to the floor and turned in his arms, rising onto her tiptoes to devour his mouth in a deep kiss.

He took a step back at the passion pouring through her, but she stepped with him, winding her arms around him and nipping at his lower lip. She tasted like hot magick and urgency, and acted like she might die if he didn’t return her ardor.

Not breaking contact with her mouth, Thomas scooped her into his arms, knelt, and laid her on the floor. Isabelle wrapped her legs around his waist. He balanced over her, covering her body and slanting his mouth over hers to take control of the wild kiss.

Thomas’s body tingled with the awareness of her, as if every molecule had been tuned to the frequency of Isabelle.

That’s how he knew, despite the hardness of his body and his intense desire to strip her clothes off and take her right on the floor, despite the passion with which she tangled both tongue and lips with his…something was wrong.

It had been in her eyes that morning, in the way she’d thrown herself body and soul into the sparring, and the way she threw herself at him now.

Escape. Distraction.