Fashionably Hotter Than Hell: Book Six, The Hot Damned Series by Robyn Peterman Read Free Book Online Page B

an I'd like to kick your ass look on her face.
     
    I opened my mouth to counter her attack with something rude and brilliant and noticed Astrid's twitching fingers. Fuck.
     
    "Yes… well, I'm, ummm… sorry about that," I mumbled and almost laughed at the puzzled look of shock on Raquel's face.
     
    "Why am I here?" Raquel studiously avoided my intense scrutiny of her. She was dressed casually in yoga pants and a t-shirt that hugged her breasts to perfection.
     
    "Because… " Astrid started uncertainly.
     
    "Because we decided that after I train Jean Paul for a bit, you and I could show Samuel some more intricate moves," I explained, pulling the first thing I could think of out of my very sore ass.
     
    Astrid's covert nod of approval made my tense body relax.
     
    Raquel's eyes narrowed slightly but she shrugged and took a seat next to the mat. "Fine. It's your funeral," she mumbled with a charming smile.
     
    "That it is," I shot back with a grin of my own. I also prayed my libido stayed in check while we sparred. I didn't really need to explain erections to Sammy. "You ready, Jean Paul?"
     
    "I am," he said as he bowed formally to me. "Weapons or hand-to-hand?"
     
    "Hand-to-hand," I replied as I returned his bow. "Center of the mat. Relax and blindfold yourself."
     
    "Blindfold, sir?"
     
    "Yep. It's all about feeling the energy. If you want to be the best, you need to be able to feel your enemy, not just see them," I said as I handed him a blindfold and put one on myself.
     
    There were two reasons I did this. One—I would be more focused if I couldn't see Raquel. Two—if I couldn't see her, the potential problem in my pants was more likely to stay calm.
     
    Win—win.
     
    "Begin," I instructed quietly.
     
    Jean Paul was less sure of himself without his sight and became aggressive and sloppy. His punches were strong, but it was easy to take him down.
     
    "Feel me," I commanded. "Don't punch air. Don't waste one single movement."
     
    I demonstrated my instruction with a jab to his head that left him disoriented and on the floor.
     
    "This is foreign to me," he grunted. I felt him stand back up and take a defensive position. "I need to see."
     
    "No," I admonished him. “You don't. Trust your senses and find me. There is power in stillness. Stop flailing about."
     
    He stood quietly and centered himself. To an average observer, it would seem as if nothing was happening. However, they would be very wrong. Jean Paul had found his inner sight and the power that welled from him was impressive. Not enough to make me shudder, but I was the very best. Very few stood a chance against me. Not ego—just fact.
     
    "Take me down," I taunted. "If you can do it, I’ll give you a favor of your choosing."
     
    "A rare gift." Jean Paul chuckled and his body tensed. "And if I fail?"
     
    "You'll owe me a favor."
     
    I felt him consider the offer. Then he struck. And it was glorious.
     
    Violent and balletic, we fought with aggression and purpose. With each punch and roundhouse kick, I felt him grow stronger. I back flipped out of the way as a vicious right hook came at my face. I came right back with a scissor kick to his head that brought him down.
     
    Pinning him to the floor, he struggled and tried to regain the upper hand, but it was over.
     
    "A fine try, but not good enough," I hissed in his ear.
     
    "I want to go again," he grunted as I let up on his throat.
     
    "No… no more today. Wear the blindfold when you aren't on guard and find your center while you're without sight. If you can't… you're worthless."
     
    "I am not worthless," he spat as he removed the material from his eyes.
     
    "We shall see," I countered with a grin.
     
    He was correct, but telling him would be counterproductive. The over protective Frenchman had balls, and training him would be a good distraction. Plus, it would ensure some time to grill him for information—he owed me a favor. Again… win—win. "You're excused, Jean