by Rhyll Biest
She wouldn’t have agreed to personal training if he wasn’t growing on her. Perhaps he would be able to get through to her yet.
Chapter 13
Like its owner, Belovuk’s brick townhouse was of sturdy yet attractive build.
Interesting that he’d invited her to his place. If that didn’t signal an attempt to get to know her underpants better, she didn’t know what did. But she was equally determined not to fall for whatever romantic moves he might have in mind, while at the same time learn as much as she could about de-escalation.
Looking down the barrels of Farmer Armpit’s shotgun had been a bladder-loosening moment, and while she’d avoided harm, that was more due to the shotgun holder’s mistaken belief that she was collecting for charity than any cunning on her part.
In other words, she’d been lucky.
And since hoping her luck held up wasn’t a particularly good survival strategy—and she was a survivor, if nothing else—she was more than happy to learn everything about de-escalation there was to know.
But no hanky-panky.
She knocked on the door and he answered, drying his hands on a dish towel as he stood back to let her in.
Cleaning. Hygiene. Very sexy. As was his big, built body in jeans and t-shirt looming in the hallway, making everything around him look too small.
He really should use rubber gloves to wash up, though, since cleaning detergents were full of carcinogens that would slowly poison him.
No, Galenka growled, not sexy.
‘Hello, I’m here for the Tupperware party.’
He raised an eyebrow, the one with a scar slicing through it, the one that said ‘I wrestle perps for fun’. ‘Tupperware? I wouldn’t have picked you for a Tupperware kind of girl.’
‘You are so wrong. Tupperware turns me on, stud.’
He gave a soft snort. ‘I’m glad you’re in a good mood for your lesson. Come on in. No Stumpy?’
‘Beth offered to puppy-sit.’
Inside was all clean lines, polished surfaces, beige carpet and cream walls. Very impersonal, very him, except for the balls of bright, multi-coloured yarn and knitting needles resting on the coffee table near the television and sofa.
She didn’t even know how to knit. Maybe she should ask Sharon for lessons. Ha-ha-ha. ‘What are you making?’
‘Joey pouches and vests for penguins. I finished one while watching the footy last night.’
Did he ever get so excited by the game he stabbed himself with a knitting needle? Or knitted a scarf instead of a pouch? An image of him in a fury of knitting, needles flying as he cursed the umpire and bad plays brought a half-smile to her lips.
‘How many can you make with your knitting fists of fury?’
A half-smile tugged at his lips as he laid the dish towel down. ‘I try to make one item a week, but sometimes work interferes.’
‘Don’t give yourself a repetitive strain injury.’ Trust her to find danger in knitting. She should be more positive, even if it did feel like Sharon had marked Luka with yarn in place of pee. ‘I read that knitting acts as a natural anti-depressant, reduces stress and even protects your brain from ageing. And Ryan Gosling is a knitter.’
‘Who’s Ryan Gosling?’
Such a man. ‘Just some guy half the female population is in love with.’
‘Never heard of him.’ He handed a plastic-bound document to her. ‘These are your notes, so that you can refer back to them any time.’
She glanced at the cover. Defusing an Explosive Situation. Flipping through the pages, she scanned the text. ‘I’m sorry, but where are the pictures of sexy instructors taking down hot aggro types?’
‘This is about talking others down rather than taking them down.’
Galenka mimed a yawn. When do we sex?
‘So, what? You just want me to read this? Did I need to come over to do that?’
‘Nope, we’re going to role play verbal de-escalation scenarios. Ones where a potentially violent situation threatens to erupt and no weapon is present.’
She looked up from her notes. ‘Gee, you mean like that incident at the RSPCA shelter where that guy attacked me with a titty mag? Or when a marijuana farmer points a shotgun at me?’
‘Exactly like that.’
‘Not a lot of imagination required for this role play.’ Oh for the days when airport security had been just a button press away.
His eyes darkened. ‘Sadly, that’s true.’
He looked so tired that once again she wanted to ask if he ever slept. But where would that conversation lead? To a heartfelt discussion of their fee-fees, that’s where. And she was already barely managing to tread water when it came to remaining neutral around him. She couldn’t risk it.
He led her through the lounge. ‘So, the key thing to keep in mind is that reasoning with an enraged person is not possible. You need to first reduce their level of arousal so that discussion becomes possible.’
A memory swooped by, the deadbeat dad’s spittle sliding down the back of Sharon’s PC screen on the reception desk. ‘Okay, so how do I do that?’
‘I’ll talk you through it. So, you be the aggro dad and I’m you.’
She scanned the room. ‘Got a titty mag I can stuff down my pants?’
He gave her a look.
‘What? Like you’ve never looked at one.’
That muscle in his lean cheek that sometimes twitched? It twitched. So did her lady business.
‘I think we can get by without it.’
They went through the role play together and he, most frustratingly, resisted all her efforts to wind him up. ‘How do you keep that poker face?’ she asked, exasperated.
‘Because I practise appearing calm, centred and self-assured—even when I don’t feel it. Relax your facial muscles. Avoid smiling too, since that can look like mockery or anxiety. If you show anxiety that can make the other person feel more anxious and escalate their aggression. What else did you notice?’
That your stubble is down to zero this morning, which means you shaved. Perhaps for me. Purr. ‘Ah, your voice was very flat.’
‘Yep, you want to use a low, even voice because a high-pitched, tight voice signals fright. And notice how I didn’t respond to the insults? There’s no point in defending yourself or anyone else from insults when the other person is enraged. What else?’
‘You called me ‘sir’, despite my relentless douche-baggery.’
‘That’s right. Be very respectful even when setting limits or calling for help because the agitated person is very sensitive to feeling shamed and disrespected. Let them feel like they don’t have to make us respect them because we already do.’
She pulled a face. ‘That would have to be an award winning performance from me in the case of the deadbeat dad.’
‘Well, as I said, practice makes perfect. Just remember that you’re not arguing or trying to convince. You’re giving choices, empowering them, so that they’ll calm down.’
‘What if I really just want to kick them in the ’nads?’
‘And what if they turn out to have a weapon you don’t know about?’
The magazine. At first she’d thought it was a weapon, so he had a good point.
He stretched his neck. ‘You’ll also be calmer if you avoid being defensive or judgemental. You want to transfer your sense of calm. And while you’re calming the other person, you should be considering your options. Whether to leave, or to ask them to leave, or to call the police should de-escalation not be effective.’
She nodded. ‘Anything else?’
‘Let’s talk about the other physical aspects of it.’ He moved closer.
The physical aspects. Hard to forget those. Like how his considerable size stirred her lady garden.
‘Never turn your back for any reason and always try to stay at the same eye level.’
She cocked her head to look up at him. ‘That’s going to be tough with someone like you.’
‘True, but make sure you’re not sitti
ng if they’re standing. You also want a little extra physical space between you and your angry person–about four times your usual distance.’
She took a step back. ‘Another postcode would make me happy.’ Uneasy, she stuffed her hands down her jean pockets.
He took her by the shoulders and turned her. ‘And don’t stand fully facing the angry person. Stand at an angle so you can sidestep away if needed.’
He was touching her and her whole body sang a horny chorus, a hymnal to desire.
Soon we shall fuck, Galenka whispered.
Can it.
Kat shouldn’t enjoy the feel of his hands on her shoulders, she really shouldn’t. But her skin and nerves were disobedient things, clamouring for more, raucous as baby galahs demanding food.
She held her breath as he took her by the arms and lifted each one. ‘And keep your hands out of your pockets. They need to be free so you can use them to protect yourself. But don’t point or wag your fingers.’
‘Okay.’ Was he looking at her lips? And had those smoke-grey eyes of his darkened to charcoal?
‘Are you listening?’
‘Of course.’ Even the air wanted her to kiss him.
‘Most importantly, don’t touch the angry person. No friendly pats or back slaps or a reassuring hand on the shoulder.’
She swallowed. ‘No touching. Got it.’
***
Luka almost groaned. If she kept looking at him like that he was going to do more than just touch her. ‘So, now we’re going to switch roles.’
She pulled her ponytail tighter, the movement emphasising her trim waist and perky boobs. ‘Okay. What kind of aggro person are you?’ She eyed him.
A sexually frustrated one. ‘Let’s pretend I’m a biker with greyhounds, and I’ve just discovered you’re hanging around the racetrack asking questions about me.’
Her expression flattened. ‘Stacey has a big mouth.’
‘She does. And I would like to strongly suggest that you not go there.’
Her eyes told him to back off. ‘Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you about giving me warnings.’
What was he going to do with her? He didn’t want to repeat their previous disagreements, all he could do was equip her to protect herself. ‘So, I’m a biker, and you’ve just pissed me off.’
‘What doesn’t piss a biker off?’
‘Drugs and naked chicks.’
‘So all I have to do to get back on their good side is offer them a spliff tucked between my breastesses.’
‘Your what? No, never mind. Ready?’
‘Bring it.’
He assumed a sleazy expression as he invaded her personal space, brushing against her. ‘Hey, sweet cheeks, you lookin’ for me?’
‘Sorry, I think you’re mistaken.’ She retreated, keeping her body at an angle.
Quick learner.
‘No, I think you’re the one who’s made a mistake, asking people questions about me.’ He advanced, whittling down the distance between them.
She backed away but was brought up short by the back of his sofa. ‘You’re right, I should probably leave.’
Nice, she’d avoided the trap of arguing with him. Time to apply a little more pressure. ‘I don’t mind—’ he trapped her between the sofa and his body, ‘—if you want to ask me some questions.’ He leaned into her. ‘What do you want to know?’ Fuck, she smelled good, freshly showered and soaped with some girly, floral shit.
She stared at his chest, swallowed hard before tilting her head back to look up at him. ‘Sir, you need to take a step back.’
Her voice was flat and hard. Which made him hard. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do I?’
‘Yes.’
‘But I quite like it here.’ He nudged her with his hips.
Her cheeks grew pink. ‘Please step back, or I’ll call the police.’
‘The police?’ He brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her lips looked so soft, pink and inviting. ‘Like I’m afraid of them.’
‘You might change your mind when they taser you in the nuts.’
A huff of laughter escaped him at her ballsy-ness. ‘I doubt it.’ He traced her jaw, fascinated by the way it fit into the span of his hand, before trailing a finger down her neck and shoulder, caressing one arm and playing with the hem of her t-shirt.
Her pupils bloomed.
Without any conscious thought on his part his hand slid up her t-shirt and over the silk of her belly, the meeting of skin setting his synapses ablaze.
‘I don’t think you should touch me.’ Her quickened breath betrayed her.
‘Then stop me.’ His palm found the lush curve of one breast, the satiny fabric of her bra. He wanted to see everything, the colour of her lingerie, the contrast of the fabric against her skin, the shape of her breasts, the size and colour of her nipples. What she looked like when someone kissed the fuck out of her.
‘I’m reaching for my capsicum spray.’
‘You do that.’ He slid his hands beneath her arse and hoisted her up against him, bringing her face to just the right height to capture her lips—so soft and perfect despite the threats they loved to spill.
Mint toothpaste. She tasted like mint, young and green.
Filled with anticipation, he dragged his lips across hers, teasing and exploring. But it wasn’t enough. He caught her ponytail and used it to tug her head back, swooped upon the exposed bare throat, the sexy line of her jaw. Everything, he needed everything and more.
As her lids fluttered, triggering a riot of need in him, he tugged at her t-shirt. ‘Get rid of this.’
She obliged, wrapping her legs around him more tightly as she wriggled out of it. A hiss of anticipation escaped him as he studied her breasts for a long moment before rubbing his nose, cheeks and mouth over their warm, silky soft invitation, and burying himself in her smell.
***
She gasped as he nuzzled her breasts, the tip of his nose cool against her heated skin. His rough, reedy breath tangled her thoughts and had her heart racing faster than a greyhound.
When his fingers went to the clasp of her bra, it gave her a jolt. This is where I should stop things before they get serious, and the messy danger of feelings entails.
But it was awful hard to focus on disaster when his coaxing kisses wound her insides tight and sent need slithering through her. And by then the bra was gone and it was just her nipples and his lips and tongue, a possessive hand thrown into the mix as he cupped each breast to give it his full attention.
A pulsing ache, sweet and tortuous at once, stole from her nipples to flit between her legs. The ache demanded more.
From his pained breathing, urgent kisses, and greedy touch, he was having the same problem as her—an overwhelming desire to rut on the spot. Get your dick out, she wanted to shout, I’m ready to do you on the sofa.
Her body hummed with the need to do things to his and it was through a daze that she registered he was speaking to her.
‘Your phone is ringing.’
That thrumming, apparently, was not her body, but the phone in her jeans pocket vibrating.
‘Ignore it,’ she gasped.
He grimaced. ‘I can’t. What if it’s an emergency?’
Really?
His face said really.
Awkward.
He set her down and she hastily pulled her bra and top back on. The phone in her pocket had, of course, stopped ringing by then.
She straightened her t-shirt, tidied her hair, all without looking at him. ‘Wow, thanks for de-escalating me. I haven’t been de-escalated that good for a long time.’
He gave her an odd look.
What? Oh. Too much information. Oops. ‘So, are we done role playing?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’ His voice retained a huskiness to it. ‘Unless you have any questions.’
Just one. When can we bang like jungle monkeys? ‘What if you’d had a gun? Should I try to take your gun?’
He frowned. ‘Not unless you want to end up
with an acute case of lead poisoning.’
‘Oh, come on, how likely is it that some farmer is going to drill me a new navel?’
His mouth twisted into a harsh line of pain.
Mark Fairly. ‘Oh, shit.’ She covered her mouth. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.’
‘It’s alright.’
No, it wasn’t alright, and neither was he. His face made that very clear. Her mobile phone rang again and she pulled it from her pocket. ‘I have to take this, it’s work.’
‘Go ahead.’ He didn’t look at her.
By the time she hung up, Luka’s expression had grown distant.
‘Sorry about that.’
He nodded.
Had the room suddenly dropped several degrees?
‘Why do you still wear that fake engagement ring?’ he asked.
She looked down, saw the ring on its chain hanging over her t-shirt, caught him staring at said ring like he wouldn’t mind doing a Frodo and dropping it into a fiery Mount Doom.
‘Is that to keep all the men at bay? To keep me at bay?’ He put his big, stupid hands on his stupid, lean, imminently fuckable hips.
‘Is that such a terrible thing?’ She raised her chin. ‘I’m not afraid of being alone, you know. Or dying an old spinster—no, make that a crazy old cat lady. A few more years and cats are going to be magnetically drawn to me. I’ll step through the door at home, look in the hallway mirror and think ‘fuck, how did those six cats attach themselves to my back while I was doing the grocery shopping?’ And then it’ll all be over. And I’m not afraid of that.’
He nodded. ‘I believe you.’
Good.
‘Because while you’re one of the physically bravest women I’ve ever met, you’re a complete coward when it comes to relationships. And you’d rather be alone than admit it.’
Did he just say what she thought he said?
Surely she’d misheard.
His expression said she hadn’t. His pewter eyes brimmed with the worst kind of ‘you needed to hear that’ sympathy.
Something dark and clotted bloomed in her throat like a long dormant cyst. She’d harboured a lot of anger for many, many years, and when that anger swelled—like it did now—it choked her, prevented her from speaking.