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knee, buckling it. Jumped back a few steps. One advantage of being small: I was fast.
    But not quite fast enough. He righted himself before he hit the floor, reaching for me as he twisted, and dove in my direction. Quick as I was, he had me by my ankles before I could dance away from him.
    If I’d been intent on hurting him, I would have grabbed him by both ears and bashed his head into the floor, using his own momentum against him. We’d moved off the mat, so I could inflict some damage if I chose. Of course, if he’d been intent on winning at any cost, he could have already pulled my legs out from under me and broken my neck before I had a chance to do any head bashing.
    I looked down and saw the heart-melting smile. “Nice try, Howdy”—his nickname for me, short for Howdy Doody, which my grandfather dubbed me as a child, for freck-tacular reasons—“but you should’ve kept running. Always run if you can.”
    I squared my shoulders, trying to ignore the heat of the big hands still gripping me. “Running wasn’t an option. Your legs are longer than mine. You would have caught me.”
    â€œNot if you’d kicked the side of my knee instead of the back, and used more force. You had the opportunity—nice feint, by the way—and it would have incapacitated me long enough for you to get away.”
    â€œJesus, Mark, are you crazy? I wasn’t about to really hurt you!” I said.
    He yanked my legs out from under me, and caught me before my head hit the floor, lowering me gently. Amusement crinkled his eyes as he kneeled to one side of me, his hands on my biceps. “You’re definitely getting better, but I don’t think you’re quite at the point where you have to worry about that yet. I won’t let you hurt me. So stop holding back.” The last part was accompanied by a squeeze. Not painful, but letting me know his strength.
    â€œFine,” I said, and lifted my head, fast, with as much force as I could. I was aiming for his nose, but he drew back at the last second, so I only grazed his chin with my forehead. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second. I pulled my knees up to my chest. Rolled toward him, connected my feet to his midsection, and gave a mighty push.
    I got my legs under me while he sucked in a breath. Sprinted across the gym, not stopping until I’d put a big weight machine between us. He wasn’t far behind, but couldn’t reach me as long as I kept to the other side of the equipment.
    I grinned at him, skipping from side to side as he tried to figure out a way around the machine to get me. “I can do this all day, spook.”
    He finally stopped, smiled the heart-and-panty melter, and said, “Good job, Howdy. Now let’s get back to the mats so I can show you some moves to use when you don’t have anything to hide behind.”
    I steeled myself to withstand whatever effects further physical contact with him might have on my hormones. Crap. Why did he have to look so good? And when the hell would Billy be back from his stupid job?
    *   *   *
    An hour and a half later we sat at a festively bedecked coffee bar around the corner from the gym, sipping pumpkin spice lattes and watching Christmas shoppers hurtle past as we dissected my performance. Well, Mark dissected. I tried to absorb and assimilate. But between sore muscles and prolonged exposure to his pheromones, I’d about reached my saturation point.
    We’d showered at the gym—separately, of course—so we weren’t offending anyone within sniffing distance. Took some doing to wash the sweat off after a rigorous workout, especially when the shower was of necessity a cold one.
    I had no idea if Mark had the same problem. When he set his mind to instructing, he instructed . Pure focus. No provocative looks, no sneaky caresses, no innuendo. Just the cold, hard, how-to-hurt-the-other-person facts, ma’am. He