“No!” she shrieked, trying to back away.
He did smile then. “I didn’t mean the kiss part. I mean this.” Before she knew what he was doing, he’d put his hand on her neck, cool against her heated skin. He’d feel her pulse pounding, but there was no way she could disguise that fact. He was probably used to it.
“Hold still,” he said as she tried to squirm away. His long fingers were caressing the nape of her neck, his thumb dancing across her throat.
“Let go of me.”
“Just press your thumb against this spot.” He demonstrated, and she started to black out for a moment, before he released her. “And then you don’t have to worry about someone drowning in their own blood. But you have to get it just right. That’s why I kissed you. It shocked you into standing still long enough for me to do it.”
“And what if you’re trying to knock out another man,” she said, sarcastic.
There was no expression in his cool blue eyes. “Then I kiss him,” he said in the calmest of voices. “Now you try it.”
“I don’t think so…” she said, trying to back away.
“I mean the move, not the kiss,” he said, grabbing her hand and slapping it against his neck. “Don’t be so skittish. See if you can find the right spot.”
She didn’t want to be touching him. His skin was cool, silky beneath her hand, and she could feel the calmer beat of his pulse, counterpoint to her own racing heart. She pressed hard with her thumb, anything to let him release her, but he shook his head, pulling her closer.
“You need to slide your hand around the back of my neck. Like a lover.” His voice was soft, seductive. His hand covered hers, almost a caress, as he moved her thumb to a soft spot on the side of his throat. “You press here, but it has to be strong and steady. Which is why it works better if you’re kissing someone. They’re too distracted to notice what you’re doing until it’s too late.”
“I’m not kissing you,” she said sharply. Wondering if she had a chance in hell of knocking him out, and whether that was even a good idea given the other people on this boat. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Now that’s not true,” he whispered, much too close. “But if you’re happier believing that then I won’t call your bluff.” His hand was still covering hers, the long fingers caressing hers. And then he stepped back, and she felt deflated, limp. Lost.
“Turn your back on me.”
“Not again,” she protested. “We already know you can have me on the floor in a matter of seconds.”
“Yes, I can. But you need to learn how to keep Renaud or Hans from doing the same thing. Because they’re not likely to let you up again, and both of them are probably going to try to take you from behind. Neither has much of a sporting instinct.”
“This isn’t a sport!” she snapped.
“Maybe not to you. But it is to them. Turn around, but don’t think about poor old Harry lying there on the bed. Think about what’s around you, what’s dangerous. See if you can feel me moving in on you…” His voice came to an abrupt halt as she slammed her elbow into his stomach with all her strength.
He had a hard stomach—she’d probably get tendonitis from that blow. If she lived long enough. She turned to look up at him, wondering if he was going to hit her back, but he simply looked bemused. “That was better,” he said.
“That’s because you were distracted,” she said in a smug voice. “Let’s try it again—”
Back on the floor, this time on her back, with him straddling her effortlessly, holding her in place. “Don’t get cocky when you score an inadvertent hit. It just makes the opponent more alert.”
She looked up at him. She was having trouble catching her breath, but this time it wasn’t from the force of hitting the ground. She told herself it was panic, the unpleasant sense of being trapped by someone bigger, stronger than she was. It was logical, but only partly true.
“Get off me,” she said, glaring at him. “Get off me or the next time I’m anywhere near a pencil or a set of keys you’re going to be blind as a bat.”
That slow smile should have infuriated her. “Really?” he said. He leaned down, and the black hair that had been so carefully combed back when he was the gray ghost fell around his face, almost obscuring his expression. “I was getting the feeling you liked this. Just a little bit.”
“I don’t,” she said, but her voice was soft, breathless, as he came closer. Maybe he was going to kiss her again, and maybe this time she could use it to her advantage, knock him off balance, slam him across the throat. Or maybe she could just lie back and let him kiss her.
His mouth hovered just over hers. “What are you thinking?” he whispered.
“I thought you could read my mind.”
“Not when it really counts,” he said, and he let his mouth touch hers for just a brief second. And then to her shock he rolled off her, scrambling to his feet without a backward glance, leaving her lying on the floor feeling exposed and vulnerable.
He went to the door but didn’t unlock it. “What do you want, Renaud?”
She hadn’t even heard him knock. She sat up, feeling bruised and foolish, but Peter didn’t even glance her way.