My eyes drop to his wrist and I admire the one just below his palm. The language isn’t English, so I’m not sure what it says, but the calligraphic way it’s written is striking. “Is bin bayel in a host.” I try to pronounce the words but they don’t sound right.
“Is binn beal ina thost,” Sean corrects me.
The accented way he pronounces the words, and the deep darkened tone in his voice, sets a large cluster of butterflies free in my stomach. “What language is that?”
“Gaelic.”
“And what does it mean?”
His eyes find my lips in the mirror. “A silent mouth is sweet.” I innocently chew on my lower lip, my nerves a jumbled mess of intrigue and paranoia. I peek up at him through my eyelashes. “Or in other words, Silence is golden.”
“Why that?” I inquire. “I mean I’m sure there are plenty of other sayings you could have chosen.”
His lips touch my ear and I shiver.
Shiver in delight.
Out of desire and nervousness.
And when his warm breath unfurls and caresses my eardrum before trailing down my spine, and I gasp. Not only because I’m surprised by how much I love his lips touching my skin, but because he whispers, “Because I’m good at keeping secrets,” into my ear.
That sends a spike of curiosity through me. “What kind of secrets?”
He lets out a low throaty chuckle. “They wouldn’t be secrets if I told you, now would they?” He changes the subject with a shift of his hips and a lift of my right hand. “Now, back to your self-defense lesson.” His head snaps up and I eye him through the mirror. He pulls my arms back and instructs me by saying, “Ball your right hand into a fist.” As I curl up my fingers he gently eases my arm back then snaps it forward. “This is called a jab.” He drops his hands from me and a saddened feeling sinks inside of me before settling in my gut. Then he walks around in front of me, his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “Now you try it.” He stops directly in front of the view of myself in the mirror. “Right jab then left jab.”
I throw a right jab, then a left, feeling empowered and strong. But then Sean starts laughing. I frown. “What’s so funny?” I’m irritated by the way my one moment of triumph is cut short by his cocky persona.
“You throw punches like a girl,” Sean says, a slight vibration in his vocal chords.
“Well I hope so,” I bark at him. “Being that I am a girl and everything.”
He grips my forearms and stares at me deadpan. “If you’re trying to defend yourself you want to throw a punch like a man. Those sissy jabs won’t save you.”
I’m insulted and hurt by his blunt comments and laughter. First off, I didn’t even know what the hell a jab was a minute ago. Second, I’m trying. I mean actually trying and here he is mocking me. I throw a right jab, this time packing more punch into it and plant my right fist into his shoulder. “Jab that, Right Hook,” I huff with a hint of sarcasm.
Holding back a giggle, I will myself to look him in the eye. His seas of bluish green have a twinkle of amusement in them and his whole hand is covering his mouth. “Hmm.” He lowers his hand and cocks his head to the side. “Still weak, but better.”
I think about throwing another jab right at his mouth, but refrain. He has such a beautiful mouth. Full kissable lips. I’d hate to damage them. “Whatever,” I say in a snarky tone. “That punch hurt and you know it.”
He howls with laughter and I can’t help but laugh with him. Mainly because I think we both know my comment was ridiculous. This guy has taken punches to the face by dudes with boxing gloves on. And those punches probably sail into him at what I assume to be at least 25 miles per hour. Yeah, my weak excuse of a punch probably felt like the poke of a fingertip.
Sean gains control of his laughter and presses his body against mine from behind again. “Moving on.” He instructs me again, telling me to make both hands fists and bends my arms to my chest, pressing them into parallel lines against my breast bone.
“This is called an uppercut,” he informs me. Then he guides my arm, sweeping my hand in a circular motion, downward then upward. He steps away from me and I feel the sadness bubbling inside of me again, but I ignore it, thrusting both arms upward in a right uppercut then a left. Sean smiles intently, then claps. “Great job Hadlee,” he compliments. “Maybe you’ll get the hang of this after all.”
A gratifying feeling swirls through me and I beam. “Thanks,” I gush. And I find it stimulating how a tiny bit of praise can work wonders on a person’s ego.
I feel invincible.
Unstoppable.
Ready for whatever he’s about to throw at me next.
I think.
He positions himself behind me again and inserts his hands under my armpits leveling my arms into a vertical line. But then his fingers slide up my back crossing my shoulders and inching too close to my neck.
Way too close.