It was all enough to give a girl ideas, especially after last night’s toe-curling kiss.
The memory of Ridge’s mouth had left her shifting restlessly in the sheets all night. He’d felt so tall and deliciously strong against her, yet he’d touched her with exquisite care, as if she was something fragile and valuable. The simple brush of those lips had been enough to leave her aching.
When her tongue touched the tip of one fang, Kat had felt a strange erotic jolt, a delicious blend of fear and desire. Ridge was so utterly unlike any other lover she’d ever had. Next to his elegant restraint, every other man seemed a fumbling boy in retrospect, overeager and graceless.
Kat might have thought Ridge a little too cool, in fact, had she not sensed the patient predator beneath his gentleman’s mask.
Vampire.
Grace had told her the genetic spell that was the Gift could only be triggered by making love to one of the Magekind. Which meant Kat would have to brave that dark and alien masculinity. Feel those fangs break her skin, that thick c**k pump into her sex.
Dry-mouthed, Kat began to undress. Her ni**les stood stiff and aching as she took off her bra. She shivered in anticipation and bent to dig hastily in her workout bag for her clothes.
While Kat changed, Ridge retreated to his own room two floors above to don a pair of loose cotton pants. Barefoot, he padded back downstairs a few minutes later.
To stop in his tracks and stare.
Kat was bent double in the center of the room, one hand wrapped around her left ankle as she stretched, chest flat against her thigh. Her legs were amazingly long and deliciously bare, displayed by a pair of thin cotton shorts. When she straightened, he saw she wore a cropped tank that revealed a tight, lean belly. Her br**sts rode her chest in round little handfuls that made him want to peel that thin tank off for a better look.
As he watched with hungry interest, she bounced on her bare toes, eyeing him. “What now?” Somehow he resisted the impulse to suck in his stomach. He knew his body was hard and strong from years of swinging a sword in practice bouts against his fellow Magekind.
But immortal, ageless vampire or not, he was still a guy.
Ignoring his ego, Ridge stepped closer and gave her a come-ahead gesture with his fingers. “Show me what you can do. Hit me.”
He’d trained his share of Majae over the years, and he knew what to expect. An awkward swat he’d barely feel, delivered with a complete lack of speed or skill. And no strength whatsoever.
Smoky blue eyes narrowed as she stepped up to him. That was all the warning he got.
Kat came up off the floor, her fist blurring at his chin with the full weight of her body behind it, clean and hard as a heavyweight’s jab. If he’d been human, she’d have bloodied his nose. As it was, he barely ducked in time to avoid the punch. The breeze of her fist fanned his hair.
Her eyes narrowed, delicate lip curling up in a feral snarl, as anger crackled like a lightning strike in those cool blue eyes. Kat didn’t like missing.
She came after him then, throwing first a left, then a right, snapping both punches with speed and skill and no hesitation at all. When he automatically avoided both, she whirled into a spinning kick he was forced to knock aside with a thrust of his forearm.
She didn’t even stop for breath. Every blow was harder, faster, punch flowing into punch flowing into kick. She picked her targets like a pro, aiming for ribs, head, knees, ankles at seeming random.
Just to see what she’d do, he finally started throwing punches of his own, human-slow at first. She blocked them with all the strength and speed her Latent genetics gave her.
“You’ve done a hell of a lot more than teach kickboxing,” he commented, jerking aside to avoid a kick that would have knocked a human cold. He caught her ankle and flipped her like a poker chip.
Kat hit the ground on her back and rolled to her feet, as cleanly and easily as if she’d practiced it a thousand times. She probably had. “Black belt.” She was breathing a little faster now, but the anger was gone from her gaze. She’d obviously realized she couldn’t afford the luxury of rage against someone like him.
Ridge snaked a fist past her guard and popped her on the nose. He pulled it, but it still rocked her head back.
She retreated, smooth and graceful as a dancer. Her guard never dropped. He watched anger flicker in her eyes, then melt away into intense concentration. He could almost taste the determination that gave her blue gaze a cool, metallic glint.
His own eyes narrowed in response. Let’s see what you can really do, Kat Danilo. Let’s see just how far you’ll go.
Kat went after the vampire with everything she had, every skill she’d built over fifteen years of martial arts training. That was saying something. As a Latent, she was faster and stronger than most women and a good percentage of men. She’d brought down brawny male fighters twice her weight.
Yet trying to hit the vampire was like punching water. He flowed aside from every punch, every kick.
Then he’d flick out a casual hand, shoot right past her guard, and slap her just hard enough to sting. She never even saw the blows coming.
He was beginning to piss her off. That was bad. Getting angry was the first step to losing. Stay cool, Kat. Stay in control.
She couldn’t afford to lose. She had to prove she was worthy of the Gift.
Breathing hard, sweat rolling down her thighs, her arms, Kat took a step back and began to circle.
Ridge moved with her, all warrior’s grace. At least he was sweating, hard muscle gone slick and gleaming under the lights. Those loose pants of his had slid down, riding low over his hips, revealing a teasing glimpse of dark hair snaking down his belly.
His green eyes burned at her, intense, hot. Hungry. His sensual mouth curled in a smile she suddenly wanted to bite.
I’ve never seen any man more beautiful.
The thought streaked past her guard like one of his taunting little slaps. She caught her breath.
He lifted his fists, raising his guard. Muscle flexed and rolled. His biceps bunched, tight and round.
There was an intriguing little pucker high on his shoulder that looked like the scar from a gunshot wound. A second scar, this one long and slashing, ran down one side of his abdomen and disappeared into his waistband. She wanted to trace it with her fingers.
Focus, dammit.
What the hell was wrong with her? She never got distracted during a bout. Though to be fair, none of her opponents fought half-naked.
Or looked like Ridge Champion. Sweat-slicked, strong, so deliciously male.