On Dangerous Ground. Maggie PriceЧитать онлайн книгу.
on the phone.
Cursing himself for a fool, he rose, jerked his suit coat off the back of his chair and stalked toward the door.
The white-haired, bespectacled secretary glanced up from behind a desk piled high with files. “Where’re you headed, Pierce?”
“Recruit school,” he muttered.
Thirty minutes later, an OCPD academy instructor pointed Grant toward the gym. He went through the high double doors and froze. He blinked as if to clear his vision, but there was nothing wrong with his eyes. It was his heart that had stopped at the sight of Sky lying flat on her back, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as her hand rose silkily upward and slid around the neck of the man straddling her.
“What the hell?” A mix of anger and fang-infested jealousy consumed Grant. Then he saw red.
Fists clenched, he’d made it halfway across the gym’s waxed floor when the man’s head jerked up. A second later, the triumph in the bastard’s eyes shot to wariness, then his body jerked and flew sideways. Air escaped his lungs with a muffled “Oof” when he landed hard on the padded mat that covered a section of the wood floor.
Grant skidded to a halt just as Sky bounded to her feet, clearly unaware of his presence. “Okay, recruit, you wanted to know how to get up when somebody has you down. That’s how.”
Face flushed, lungs heaving, the man looked up and shook his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Stop saying Yes, ma’am, and get up!” Sky commanded. “If you stay down, Johansen, you’re a target.”
He got up…slowly.
“Fast. Get up fast. You’re vulnerable when you’re down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Through hooded eyes, Grant watched the recruit. He was young, tall and good-looking. His gray police academy T-shirt and gym shorts molded to the strong, toned body of an athlete.
“Rush me,” Sky said. It didn’t seem to matter that the top of her head came just to the hulk’s shoulders.
Where her opponent had bulk and power, she had grace and speed. She sidestepped his rush, kicked his legs out from under him and had the sole of her tennis shoe against his throat the instant he hit the mat. “You’re dead. I just crushed your windpipe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the hulk croaked.
Grant felt a stiff tic of pride at how effortlessly she’d toppled the mountain.
She stepped back from her prey. “Don’t stiffen when you fall. You have to be boneless, Johansen. Boneless. When you hit, roll and get back up on your feet in one fluid move. You might wind up dead if you don’t.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Practice with the other recruits.” Slicking the back of her hand across her forehead, Sky leaned and retrieved a hair clip off the edge of the mat. “If you need more help, you can reach me at the lab,” she added, then turned and nearly collided with Grant.
“Having fun with the cavewoman routine, Milano?”
Her eyes widened and went dark. “Maybe.”
Her glossy black hair was a gorgeous mess, her cheeks were flushed, her flesh slicked with sweat. Her breathing came fast and hard; her breasts moved rapidly up and down against the baggy T-shirt marked Academy Instructor that she’d tucked into a pair of loose-fitting gym shorts. The smell of woman and heat pulsed off her in little waves. Grant wanted to pummel the hulk into the mat just because he’d touched her.
“Get lost, recruit,” Grant said, keeping his eyes locked with hers.
“Yes, sir.” Johansen jogged across the gym, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking against the shiny waxed floor.
“No need to be rude,” Sky said as her student shoved through the swinging door that led to the locker rooms.
“You have to be rude to recruits. It’s the law.”
She arched an eyebrow. “That one must have gotten by me.”
“I came in upstairs by the classrooms.” The mugginess in the air had Grant slipping out of his suit coat and hooking it on a finger over one shoulder. “One of the instructors pointed me in this direction. I thought you were teaching recruit school this afternoon about the exciting world of the forensic lab.”
“I teach that block of classes next month.” She took a few steps and retrieved a white hand towel off a metal stand that held a row of basketballs. “When this academy started, I signed on to help teach self-defense to the female recruits. That’s what I did this afternoon.”
“Female recruits?” Grant gave her a cynical smile. “Your most recent student was a few quarts over the legal testosterone level.”
“Johansen asked for some extra help, so I stayed.”
“The guy could bench-press the entire SWAT team. You really think he needs tips on self-defense?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Not if he stays on his feet.” She blotted the towel across her forehead, then slowly down the seductive arch of her throat.
Grant felt heat streak straight to his loins.
“Johansen’s big and strong, like an ox,” Sky continued, apparently oblivious to what her ministrations were doing to him. “That’s to his detriment if some scumbag manages to knock him off his feet. When he’s down, Johansen lumbers around trying to get back up. Meanwhile he could get shot. Or stabbed.” Her eyes closed briefly. “He recognizes his limits, and he asked for my help.”
Grant knew there was sense in that, but at the moment he didn’t want logic. He wanted to touch that tanned, moist flesh so bad he could taste it. Taste her.
Drawing in a slow breath, he took a casual step forward. “Want to go a few rounds with me, Milano?”
The hand gripping the towel froze against her throat. Her gaze skittered to his mouth, then to his eyes, then settled back to his mouth. She swallowed hard. “No.”
“It’s one thing to take on a goo-goo-eyed recruit who’s afraid to toss the instructor—”
“I didn’t give him the chance to toss me.”
“Really?” The defensive thread in her voice had Grant fighting a smile. When they’d first met, he’d savored the verbal sparring they’d engaged in. Then their relationship got personal and everything changed. And ended. Somehow, after months of silence, they’d all of a sudden slid back into sparring mode. Standing there, in the expansive gym that smelled vaguely of hard workouts, Grant knew there was no way they’d wind up rolling around together on the mat. He knew Sky knew that, too. But, dammit, he was enjoying just being with her after so long and he wanted to prolong the pleasure of the moment.
“When I walked in here, Milano, your student had you flat on your back.”
Her chin rose. “I let Johansen put me there. He wanted to know how to recover when someone knocked him down. I showed him.”
“Hmm.” Grant took another step forward and leaned in. The sweet, compelling scent of her hair drew him, and without thinking, he turned his head, inhaled. And savored. “He had you flat on your back,” he whispered against her cheek.
She took a jerky step sideways. “I had control of the situation.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched on the towel. “Total control.”
“He had you pinned—”
“Not even close. I had full use of my legs. He hadn’t even managed to restrain my arms. I could have disabled him with one palm strike to the nose.”
“You could have killed him with a palm strike to the nose.”
“My point, exactly.”
From behind Grant, the