Free My Unfair Lady by Kathryne Kennedy Page A

say we went beyond your invisible guidelines."
       He pondered that a moment. His eyes guiltily sought out the bruise on her cheek; then he shrugged. "We'll make a deal. I'll answer one of your personal questions, and you answer one of mine. And only one. That way we're trading information, and not having an intimate conversation."
       Summer nodded. Whatever worked for him. "It's a deal."
       She could tell he liked the way she said that, as if it still kept them on a firm business footing. Although she also noticed that he hadn't moved his hand out from under hers, and had actually turned his wrist and laced his fingers through her own.
       "In case you hadn't noticed," he began, "my height is a bit below average. Therefore, by necessity, I had to learn to fight very young… or get used to being beaten up. Fortunately for me, we had a Chinese gardener." He stopped for a moment, his face melting into a rare expression, one of respect and a softness that Summer hadn't seen him display toward his own family. Then his features hardened again, back to that aloof mask, so quickly that she wasn't sure if she'd only imagined that expression. "He'd been a priest in China and had studied a discipline called kung fu, not so much a way of fighting as a way of living… it's hard for me to explain to someone else. But even though he was our servant, I always called him 'Master.'"
       "Would you teach me?"
       "Certainly not. Now, I've answered your question, you answer mine." His fingers had been stroking back and forth across her own; Summer couldn't quite remember when he'd started to do it, only aware that now they'd progressed to her upper arm, past the lace of her gloves, to her bare skin. She suppressed a shiver, not wanting to call attention to what he did, afraid that would make him stop, and it felt too divine for her to let that happen.
       "What's your question?" breathed Summer, feeling the strength in his fingers, watching his arm muscles bulge through his jacket, reminding her of the way he'd fought. The hidden dangers in this man took her breath away.
       "You've proved to me that you know how to use that knife you carry around. Who taught you to use it—your father? And why would he do such a thing?"
       Summer blinked. Didn't he know how dangerous it could be to carry a weapon that you didn't know how to use? "I told you before, I was raised by coatimundis and an injun."
       "I thought you were joking."
       "Tarnation, why would I joke about a thing like that? Oh, never mind. It's the Apache injuns that taught me to fight, well, one in particular, and the coatis taught me to smell out a situation, which is why I knew that man would shoot you."
       His fingers had progressed to her shoulder, lifting up the fall of billowy fabric, and traced circles across her skin. It took all of Summer's self-control not to move. "Why is it," he asked, "that whenever you answer a question, it only creates a hundred more in my mind?"
       "I… I don't know. I think it's because the life I've lived has been so different from yours."
       His hand crept to the side of her neck. "Has it? Why would an Indian teach you to fight, unless you had the need to defend yourself? The same as a kind Chinaman once did for me?" His fingers stroked the soft skin at the base of her throat. "We may be more alike than you think. Than I ever would have thought." His hand curved around the back of her neck, hot, demanding. Summer couldn't have resisted that pull if she'd tried.
       "Chatto taught me to fight because…"
       The pressure on the back of her neck increased, pulling her closer to him. "Who's Chatto?"
       Summer's head started to spin, her face so close to his that she pulled his breath into her very own lungs. "He's the… the injun. Who taught me to use my knife… who gave it to me."
       "Aah." His lips touched hers. Soft heat spread down to her toes. He forced her head sideways and spread