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.She couldn’t believe his nerve.“Do you think you’re the only one who—” Grabbing the lapels of his shirt, she jerked down and out.Buttons flew in every direction, and she smiled tightly.Her smile faded as he dipped into a pocket in his breeches, pulling out a long, thin leather case.It produced an efficient-looking knife, and he flipped it as he said, “A seaman goes nowhere without his blade.”His narrowed gaze produced no alarm, only a pronounced thump of her heart.He wouldn’t hurt her.She knew that.Knew, too, that her dignity would suffer should she fight.At least—that was what she told herself.She stood motionless as he pulled out her waistband, panniers, and petticoats, and cut them.They dropped around her ankles, and in outrage she asked, “I suppose you’re happy now?”“Not quite.” With a steady hand, he slit her corset along one whalebone until it gaped wide.He nicked her chemise close against her bosom, and then, inserting his finger into the hole, he tugged until the material tore.The only garments on her body unaffected by his barrage were her stockings.Ignoring the relief the air provided, she stood in the ruin of her best working dress and sneered, “You’ve proved yourself to be a real man.Now let’s see if you’ll stand still for my retaliation.”He grinned offensively and offered his knife, handle first.With the air of a queen receiving a tribute, she accepted it.“Trust a woman to hold a knife incorrectly,” he sneered.She looked down at the hand grasping the hilt, saw the fingers tighten.“Trust a man,” she sneered back, “to fear to teach a woman how to hold a knife.”He jerked her around so her back met his chest and wrapped his arms around her.“Give it to me.”Heat flowed from him like a white-hot fire as she slapped the knife into his palm.He flipped the knife, caught it.“Like this.See how my fingers are positioned?”“I see, I see,” she replied in irritation.She wiped perspiration from her forehead with her shoulder, then wiped her palm on her shredded chemise.Grasping the knife, she imitated him exactly.He said not a word of praise; he only grunted.Irked by his nonchalance, she taunted, “Is there anything else you want to show me?”He tried to take the knife, and for one insane moment she wrestled for possession.“Do you want to know how to throw?” he snarled.“Or not?”She released it.“Hold the blade with your fingertips.Balance it.Aim.And when you throw, don’t throw like a woman.” Disdain for feminine ability coated his tone.“Pull back your arm and make sure it sticks in your target.Here, you try it.”Holding the blade with her fingertips proved more of a challenge than simply grasping the handle.Razor sharp, the point sank into her index finger as if it were butter.She tucked her lips tight against the pain and adjusted her grip until she duplicated his grip.She thought.“Not like that.” He adjusted her fingers forcibly.“See? Like that.You know you’re doing it right when it feels like an extension of your arm.”She doubted that.“Let’s see how you prime yourself.” He stepped away.“And remember, don’t throw like a woman.”If he’d stood in front of her, she could have done a smashing job.As it was, she pulled back her arm and threw as hard as she could.To her surprise, the blade sailed across the room, end over end, struck the chest of drawers, and stuck there, quivering with the shock of impact.She, too, quivered with the shock.Pleasure and a sense of accomplishment brought her pirouetting to face him.With an inscrutable expression on his face, he looked at the knife.“You forgot to aim.”Screaming at him would accomplish nothing.But she knew how to make him cower.She stalked to the drawers, jerked the knife out of the wood, and stalked back to him.“My turn to undress you.”Her skill could not match his, and the side fly of his breeches lost its buttons helter-skelter.To his credit, he didn’t flinch as she slit the seam down to his crotch—but perhaps he feared to move, she thought with glee.Kneeling before him, she sawed through the buttons at his knee and jerked down the breeches.She looked up at him, up past the confirmation of his passion and to his stomach, his chest displayed through the white rags of his shirt.From this angle he looked like a god, fearless, imperious, demanding.Her gaze skimmed the muscles that rippled like ocean swells beneath his skin, lifted to the column of his neck, stared into his eyes
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