

ALL THE WAY BACK to the Eros resort, Roxie floated on a cloud of postcoital bliss. The rays of the sun glowed brighter; the air smelled sweeter; the birds' song sounded more melodic. She had no idea sex could feel so joyful.
She sat at the back of the bus, lazily watching Dougal while Jess and Sam chatted gaily about their afternoon with their friends. She didn't hear a word they said. All she could think about was Dougal.
And then a small fissure of worry settled into the center of her chest.
This feeling was too good. Too perfect. Soon she would be leaving England, going back to her job at Getaway Airlines, never to see Dougal Lockhart again.
She found the notion far more disturbing than she should. He was nothing more than a fling. She knew that. And yet, she couldn't stop herself from wanting more. The man had gotten under her skin, and the thought of quitting him made her feel panicky. Now that she'd found him---learned what great sex was really all about---she was just supposed to give him up?
Roxie whimpered inwardly. She didn't want to, but what kind of future could she have with this man when their entire relationship was built on a lie? He didn't even know who she really was. Everything between them had been an act. A role she'd been playing. Was that what had made the sex so good? The fact that she'd stepped outside of herself and donned a wild-woman persona?
She reached up to trace a finger over the comedy-tragedy necklace at her throat.
Who was she behind the emotional mask? Mild-mannered Roxie from Brooklyn? Or the sort of bold, brazen woman who made love in a field of wildflowers with a man she barely knew?
Although she'd only known Dougal a week, this chemistry between them ran deeper than physical desire. She'd never felt this kind of connection with anyone; it was as if he really saw her for who she was. He knew who she was at her essence and she knew him just as well. She couldn't explain it. She simply accepted that it was true.
Dougal possessed a cautious and guarded nature, but in spite of all that, she'd been able to slip past his defenses and he'd slipped past hers.
He caught her gaze as she got off the bus with the rest of the guests and her heart swooned. He winked.
Be cool. Don't show what you're feeling. You don't want to get him in trouble.
But she couldn't help herself. She winked back, sharing their little secret.
Roxie didn't know what was going to happen between them once the trip was over. Most likely nothing. But she wasn't going to let it stop her from enjoying the game right now.
Her sense of fun was shattered, however, when she returned to her room and checked the voice mail on her cell phone. Porter Langley had called. Three times. She pushed the button to review the letters in her mailbox.
"Roxie? Why do you have your cell phone turned off? Call me."
"Roxie, it's Porter again. Where are you? We need to talk."
"I really need to talk to you today. Call me back as soon as you get this message."
Sighing, she kicked off her shoes, plunked down on the big four-poster Tudor bed and punched in her boss's number.
"Where have you been?" Porter asked the minute he picked up the phone.
"Hello, Mr. Langley."
"I've been trying to call you all day."
"I've been out on an excursion."
"I'm not paying you to have a good time. Take your cell phone with you and keep it turned on."
"Now how dumb would that be?" she asked. "I wouldn't be incognito if I had to stop and answer a call from my boss every five minutes. What's so urgent?"
"Okay, okay, you're right. Listen, you know I'm in the process of courting Limerick Air."
"Yes."
"Well, they were all gung-ho last week. We were this close to inking a deal, and suddenly they're acting coy, not returning my calls, being evasive when I do talk to them. My gut tells me they've got another suitor and I'm pretty sure it's Taylor Corben," he said.
"So what do you want from me?"
"Find out for sure. If I know what's going on, it will give me more leverage."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"Talk to the staff at Eros. Snoop around. See what you can dig up. You have my full permission to do whatever it takes. Even if that means bending a few rules or even breaking a few laws."
Roxie blew out her breath. "I'm really not comfortable with this. I'm having second thoughts about this whole thing. I hate lying and spying and---"
"It's too late for regrets," her boss snapped. "You're in this up to your neck. Find out if Taylor Corben is in negotiations with Limerick Air or you can kiss that PR position goodbye."
That's fine, tell him you quit. You're a good assistant. You can get a job anywhere. Don't let him intimidate you. You've already compromised your values. Stop before it's too late to come back.
But as much as she might want to do that, she knew she couldn't. Stacy was depending on her. She swallowed hard. "I'll do my best."
ROXIE FIGURED THE INFORMATION she needed could be found in the resort's main computer room. The investigating she'd done to date told her that the staff who worked inside the room went home at five. It would remain empty until the following morning, although getting into the room would require a little breaking and entering.
The thought of crossing the line from spy to burglar made her stomach hurt. You're not really a burglar, she tried to convince herself. You're just breaking in, you're not stealing anything.
Who was she kidding? She was stealing information. It might not be physically tangible, but it was theft all the same.
She wrestled with her conscience, torn between calling up her boss and telling him to go to hell, and the very real fact that if she lost her job, Stacy would be forced to drop out of college.
It's almost over, whispered her practical voice that had gotten her through many tough times. Just grit your teeth and get Porter the information he wants. You'll be on your way home in a few days and then you can put this whole thing behind you.
Of course the biggest question weighing on her mind was how to get by the locking mechanism on the door, which was like the ones used on the bungalows. They opened with an electronic key card. She'd need one to gain entry. The housekeeping staff wore their master keys on lanyards around their necks. Somehow, she was going to have to steal one.
Fresh anxiety deepened the pains shooting through her stomach and she pressed her palm against her belly. Her mind spun and she felt guilty, guilty, guilty.
If Dougal knew what she was up to...She hitched in a breath. He'd be so disappointed in her. She was disappointed in herself.
Just do it, get it over with.
Squaring her shoulders, she left her bungalow under cover of darkness and crept into the main building, her mind working out the details of how she was going to get her hands on one of the master key cards that would give her entry to the computer room.
It turned out that luck was with her. She found a housekeeping cart parked outside the computer room and the door propped open with a mop. She wouldn't have to steal a key card after all. She could slip in while the housekeeping staff was inside and find a place to hide until they left.
Still, her pulse was pounding as she eased past the mop and into the room crowded with computers and other office equipment. She heard someone cough in the room beyond the main one she'd just stepped into.
Quick, find a place to hide.
Frantically, she cast her gaze around the room and spied what appeared to be a free-standing metal supply closet with double doors. On tiptoes, she darted toward it and then twisted one of the handles. A hinge creaked. Heart pounding, she thrust herself inside with the copy paper, toner, paper clips and staples and pulled the door closed behind her. She held her breath, waiting, her heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears.
After a few seconds she slowly let out her breath, gathered up her courage and pressed one eye to the thin crack between the two doors. A minute passed, then another. Just when she thought she couldn't stand the suspense a second longer, she saw a man in a housekeeping uniform toddling around emptying the trash cans. What seemed like an eternity later, he finished up his duties, picked up his mop, clicked off the light.
Roxie stayed put for a bit longer, making sure he was truly gone. Then she eased from the closet. Her breathing had slowed, but her legs were shaking. She went to the nearest desk, clicked on a light and quickly scanned the papers stacked there. Nothing of interest. She moved to the next desk and then the next. She didn't have a system and she wasn't really certain what she was looking for or where to find it. At this rate, she'd be here all night.
Sighing, she plopped down in a chair at the last remaining desk and played the flashlight over the papers there. A green file marked Confidential caught her eye. She picked it up. The file was sealed. Did she dare open it?
Put it down, move on, directed her conscience.
But what if the very thing she needed was inside the file folder?
Knowing she really had no choice, she reached for the letter opener sticking from the container full of pens and pencils by the side of the computer monitor. With trembling fingers, she slid the letter opener underneath the sealed flap and sliced it open. She pulled the document from the file.
It took a second for her to realize what she was reading, but when she did, she understood she was facing another big dilemma.
The documents were copies of confidential financial reports about Taylor's company intended for the director of IT. These were proprietary details that would cause her boss to salivate. Should she tell him or not? That was the loaded question. She could keep her mouth shut and he would never know she found it. On the other hand, delivering this kind of information would guarantee her that promotion.
Pushing back the guilt chewing her up inside, Roxie stuffed the documents in the file folder, then stood up, lifted her blouse and shoved the folder into the waistband of her jeans. She pulled her blouse back down. Her palms were sweaty and her heart was thumping faster than ever. She needed to get out of here before she was caught.
Just as she was about to shut off the light, she noticed a calendar on the wall with something scrawled across the bottom of it. Squinting, she stepped closer to read: Taylor arrives May 22 for a stopover on her way to Dublin.
Bingo. Here was proof that Taylor was heading for Ireland.
Roxie had found out far more than she'd bargained for.
DOUGAL WALKED THE CORRIDOR of the Eros resort, his nostrils filled with the sexy smell of burning incense, his ears teased by mood music, his mind wrapped tightly around Roxie. He'd come back from the trip to Cambridge in a daze, his body achy in all the right places, and he couldn't seem to stop smiling. It was almost 11 p.m., and most of the guests had retreated to their cottages for the evening.
After getting back from the day trip, he'd had a meeting with Gerry McCracken. There'd been no further incidents of sabotage, and Gerry was of the mind that the incidents weren't related, but Dougal wasn't so sure. Still, there was no evidence that tied the autopilot problems on the plane to the tampered spotlight or the beheaded water sprinklers. And by now he was completely convinced that if someone was behind the incidents, it wasn't Roxie.
That feeling of certainty stirred other feelings inside him, tender feelings that urged him to take another risk on love. With Roxie, he was finally willing to let go of the foolishness he'd felt after Ava's betrayal and take a chance on the chemistry that sizzled between him and Roxie. The trick was taking that first step and admitting to her that he wanted more.
He'd taken his dinner with the guests, and after the meal was over he made his rounds of the resort, on the lookout for anything suspicious. He found nothing out of the ordinary, and he was debating whether or not to show up at Roxie's cottage when he heard a door open, saw a swath of light fall onto the marble floor.
Not just any door, but the door leading to the nerve center of the resort---the main room that housed the computer systems, which should have been locked at this time of night. Was someone working late? Or could it be the cleaning staff?
Then a shadow crossed the doorway and the light clicked off.
The hairs on Dougal's neck lifted and his gut squeezed. Something wasn't right. He stepped back into an alcove where he could watch the room without being seen. He held his breath, waited. Someone emerged.
Dougal narrowed his eyes. It was a woman---medium height, curvy, jet-black hair. She pulled the door closed behind her, looked furtively up and down the corridor and then turned for the exit.
He stepped from the alcove and called her name. "Roxie."
AT THE SOUND OF HER NAME, Roxie froze.
Footsteps hurried toward her.
Okay, don't panic. Act cool and calm. She coached herself, slipped into the role and turned to face Dougal.
"Hi!" She smiled brightly. Did she sound too cheerful? Was she trying too hard?
"Hey," he said softly, but his eyes looked troubled. "What are you doing here?"
"Um...I was just out for a walk."
"Did you need something?" He glanced toward the door of the office she'd just exited.
"Er...no...um...I was walking by and saw that the office door was open," she lied, cradling her arms across her chest so he couldn't see the outline of the file beneath the blouse.
"No one was inside," she went on, "so I just turned out the light and closed the door."
He looked as though he did not believe her.
"So," she said, anxious to distract him. "Where are you off to?"
"I was coming to see you."
"You were?"
He smiled. "I was hoping you were free for the evening."
"Um..." Her body yearned to be with Dougal again, but she was feeling far too guilty. Plus, she wanted to get this information to Mr. Langley straightaway and tell him that she'd more than delivered on her promise and now she wanted out of the spying business. "It's pretty late, maybe tomorrow night."
His eyes darkened with a meaning she could not read. "Okay."
"I had a good time today," she said.
"As did I."
If that was the case, why did he look so stiff and why did she feel so leaden? They stood looking at each other. The moment was awkward and tense. She wasn't sure what she should do or say next.
"So, good night," he finally said.
"Good night."
Was he going to kiss her? She held her breath.
But he did not. He simply touched her shoulder, gave her a wistful smile and walked away in the opposite direction.
DOUGAL LAY ON THE BED in his room in the staff quarters at the back of the castle, his mind troubled over his encounter with Roxie. Why had she been in that office? Could it be true? Had she really found the door open and just shut it to be thoughtful? He wanted to believe her.
But his certainty of her innocence had been shattered.
From the first moment he'd seen her, he'd known she was different. That she wasn't who she seemed to be. He cursed his heightened instincts that allowed him to see trouble ahead of other people. It was an important skill in the security business, but sometimes it made you see and feel and understand things you didn't want to see and feel and understand.
Roxie Stanley was up to something and he was going to do what he should have done days ago---run a thorough background check on her.
He flipped onto his other side and thought of their day punting on the Cam. It had been simply one of the best days of his life. Sadness twined through him.
When had it happened? When had he started falling for the wrong woman? When and why? He'd known better and yet he'd let it happen. No two ways about it. He was going to get hurt. Again.
Stupid, stupid.
The phone at his bedside rang. He sat up in surprise, glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning. Who was calling?
He picked it up as a bad feeling curled through him. "Hello?"
"Dougal, it's Gerry."
"What's wrong?"
"The computers have all gone down, nothing's working. We can't take reservations. It's chaos."
"At all the Eros resorts or just this one?"
"Just this one so far."
"What caused it?" he asked, trepidation creeping up his spine. "Do you think it's a virus?"
"I doubt it," Gerry said. "All the backup batteries have been shut off, as well. The whole system has crashed. It looks like we've lost everything."
FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, the staff worked to fix the problems caused by the crash while Dougal and Gerry talked with an expert in computer forensics to find the source of the sabotage. Their research led them to determine that someone at the resort had let a Trojan loose on the Eros system, and it had happened around the same time Dougal had discovered Roxie in the offices. But of course the Trojan horse could have been released remotely so that didn't necessarily mean someone on site had caused it.
He didn't want to believe her capable of such a thing, but the evidence was damning, although he wanted to be absolutely certain before he confronted her. Instead, he had to go on the remaining tours and pretend nothing had changed between them. He kept Taylor apprised of the developments, but stopped short of implicating Roxie, since he had no real proof it was her.
Saturday was the big finale of the scheduled events of the tour. A Renaissance Festival to end all Renaissance Festivals, and the event was open to the public. He used prepping for the event as his excuse to avoid going to Roxie's cottage every time she invited him in. Finally she stopped asking.
But he hadn't stopped wanting to go to her.
Saturday's schedule was chock-full of events from the opening parade featuring actors hired to play King Henry the Eighth and Jane Seymour. The slate included jousting, crafts, animal herding and other live dioramas depicting life in the sixteenth century---fortune-tellers, falconry, games of chance and weaponry demonstrations, including knife throwing and fencing. The minute Dougal saw Roxie dressed as a saucy serving wench, his heart flipped.
He was in big trouble. If she was the saboteur, she'd been leading him down the primrose path and he'd stupidly followed his dick where she'd led.
Roxie met his glance and quickly looked away. Dougal's pulse leaped. It was all he could do not to make his way through the crowd to her. And if Lucy Kenyon hadn't brushed past him with a worried expression on her face, he probably would have.
"Lucy," he called to her, "what's wrong?"
"It's nothing, no big deal, and you've got enough on your slate without hearing my tales of woe."
Had something else happened? He touched Lucy's arm. "Talk to me. Maybe I can help."
"The men we had coming to do the fencing clinic called in sick with food poisoning. I've been on the phone trying to find replacements, but on such short notice I'm not getting anywhere. I'm probably going to have to shut down the demonstration."
"I know how to fence," Dougal said. "I could step in."
Lucy's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. So now you only need to find one replacement."
"You know what? One of the guests put down on her profile that she fences. Of course, she might not be willing to participate, but let me go ask her." Lucy hugged Dougal around the neck. "Oh, you are a lifesaver."
"When do you need me?"
"The first demonstration starts in an hour...Oh look, there she is." Lucy rushed up to Roxie.
He blinked. The guest who knew how to fence was his Roxie? She's not your Roxie.
"Dougal." Lucy waved him over. "Come here."
Heart thundering, he went.
"Roxie's agreed." Lucy beamed.
Roxie's gaze seared into Dougal's.
"Well," Lucy said. "I'll just leave you two alone to talk strategy and get changed into your fencing outfits. So much to do."
She fluttered off, leaving Roxie and Dougal standing together in the thick of the crowd pouring over the moat bridge onto the castle grounds.
"So," he said, "you know how to fence."
"You sound surprised."
"It's not a skill many young women possess."
"Right back at you. I've never dated a guy who fenced. I mean...um..." she stammered. "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean to imply we have any kind of relationship...I---"
"We have a relationship."
"Yes, sure, of course, but I didn't want to assume anything. This is a vacation for me, a fantasy. We might be totally different in the real world." She slapped a palm over her mouth. "I'm babbling."
He grinned. He couldn't help it. She was just so adorable. How could a woman so cute and open and vulnerable be a saboteur?
"Why don't we go get changed and pick out our equipment and do a few practice moves before the demonstration?" he suggested. "We can meet out behind the jousting area. It's isolated and we won't be interrupted."
"Yes, good, great." She still seemed a bit off balance at the prospect of fencing with him. To be honest, he was a bit nervous himself.
"It's okay," he said. "Just relax. You'll be fine."
"Thanks for calming me down. I haven't fenced in years."
"Neither have I."
"My dad was a fencer," she said as they walked toward the equipment tent. "He was all set to go to the Olympics, but my mom got pregnant with me and he decided to forgo it."
"That's impressive."
"What? That he was a potential Olympian or that he chose my mother and me over his passion for fencing?"
"Both," Dougal said.
"Dad started teaching me to fence when I was five years old. He had dreams of me following in his footsteps, but I was never that good. So, what about you? How did you get into fencing? You don't really seem the type."
"What does that mean?"
"There's something poetic about it. Romantic." She cocked her head at him. "You don't strike me as either particularly romantic or poetic."
He splayed a hand over his heart, feigned a hurt expression. "I'm wounded, truly wounded."
"Yeah, you look utterly shattered." She laughed.
"Actually, my football coach suggested it. Said it would help my balance and coordination. It was either fencing or ballet. That was a no-brainer."
"Ah, football, now it all makes sense."
"I see," he teased. "So you're saying instead of romantic and poetic I'm more the cave-dwelling, Neanderthal type?"
"You said it, I didn't."
"Well, the fencing worked to refine this caveman. The year I learned to fence, our football team went to the district play-offs."
"What position did you play?"
"Wide receiver."
"Well, at least you weren't quarterback."
"What's wrong with quarterback?"
"Too much of a cliché. You're good-looking, rugged, confident. If you'd been quarterback, as well..."
"Nope, I wasn't quarterback."
"Class president?"
"Not that smart."
"Prom king?"
He hung his head. "Guilty as charged."
"I knew it," she crowed.
"From the way you're scoffing, I take it you weren't head cheerleader, class president or prom queen," he said.
"Not even close."
"You hung out in the library."
"And proud of it." She lifted her chin.
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, you should have owned that high school."
"A lot of things can change in ten years. In high school I had braces and I was horribly shy. The two places I felt like my true self was when I was on stage pretending to be someone else or when I had an épée in my hand."
He narrowed his eyes and leaned in so close he could smell the scent of her soap. "You're quite the mystery, Roxanne Stanley."
"No more so than you, Dougal Lockhart."
"Touché."
"Pun intended?"
"An insider fencing pun," he confirmed.
They weaved through the crowd. At just after nine in the morning, the place was already packed; excitement rippled through the air. On the way to the equipment tent, they passed the fencing area. A banner overhead proclaimed, Classical Fencing: The Martial Art of Incurable Romantics.
That made Dougal smile. He'd told Roxie he'd taken fencing at his football coach's suggestion and that was true, but he'd had a secondary reason for taking up the sport. The martial art component appealed to him. Not that he was an incurable romantic by any means. Rather he'd been interested in the weaponry. Fencing was just another fighting technique in his arsenal. During high school, before he'd switched to football, he'd taken up boxing and been a Golden Gloves contender. He'd become proficient at Krav Maga, and he'd been a wickedly good marksman long before he'd entered the military.
The thing was, Dougal had been dedicated to taking care of his mother, especially after her loser boyfriend had cleaned out their bank account and skipped town. He flashed back to the memory of the ten-year-old kid he'd been, helplessly patting his mother on the shoulder, trying to comfort her as she sobbed her heart out.
It had been a pivotal moment. He'd already been trying to fill his father's shoes after the old man had abandoned them two years earlier, but seeing his normally strong, practical mother dissolve into tears made Dougal realize what a poor job he'd been doing. Mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, helping her cook dinner wasn't enough. He had to step up to the plate and learn how to protect her.
The next day he'd asked her to enroll him in boxing classes and she'd agreed. And he'd spent the rest of his life trying to be a good and honorable man.
"I'm worried," Roxie whispered, leaning against his shoulder.
He shifted toward her. "What about?"
"It's been so long since I've fenced, and I'm not exactly in peak physical condition."
Dougal drew a languid gaze over her body. "I wouldn't say that," he drawled.
She swatted his arm. "You know what I mean. You're Mr. Bulked Up, and the most exercise I get is walking from the subway to the office. Granted it's ten blocks, and I often take the stairs to the sixth floor, but still...it probably won't take much to wind me."
"You did fine at ballroom dancing the other night."
She pondered that. "I guess I did."
"You're probably in better shape than you think you are."
They stepped into the equipment tent, and Dougal explained to the property clerk they were taking over the fencing demonstration. The guy led them over to the weaponry section.
"Which shall we spar with?" she asked, running her hands over the hilt of the weapons lined up in a wooden rack. "Foil, épée or saber?"
"I never learned to use the foil."
She stared at him as if he'd said something blasphemous. "You've got to be kidding. Everyone starts with the foil."
"Not at my high school. Our coaches decided right off the bat which weapon suited you because they needed to train fencers quickly for interscholastic competition. Besides, the foil just didn't suit me. I'm too large."
"Ah, I get it. You're one of those guys who believe the foil is for girls."
"I don't." He did, but he wasn't going to tell her that when she was standing there with a saber in her hand.
"You were misinformed," she said.
"There are too many rules with the foil. It's unrealistic. You couldn't use foil rules in a real fight. You'd be killed."
She made a tsk, tsk noise with her tongue. "You miss the point entirely."
"Pun intended?"
"It's going to be one of those days, isn't it? Don't try to charm your way out of a lecture. You know you're wrong."
He chuckled, beguiled by her inflexibility on the topic. "I'm wrong, huh?"
"Here's the secret of the foil," she said. "Pay attention because this is the key to fencing with all weaponry. The foil teaches you personal control. Control yourself and you control your opponent. The rules teach you how to think logically in combat. Having been in the military you should understand that. The rules are based on truth. You attack when you have a clear opportunity and you defend when threatened."
"Your girl is right." The clerk nodded. "Dead-on."
"That's a matter of opinion," Dougal countered. What he wanted to say, but didn't was, "Who asked you, buddy?" See? That showed personal control.
The clerk shrugged. "I'm guessing you two will be going with the saber?"
"Obviously." Roxie rolled her eyes. "Since it's the only thing he knows how to handle."
"Hey, if you can handle a saber, you don't need anything else." Why was he feeling so defensive? Was it because in his heart he knew she was right? That he hadn't learned personal control?
"Everything is not about brute force, as I'll soon school you," she said.
They collected their gear---fencing jacket, a mask, a glove, the underarm and chest protectors and shoes---and went into the changing room. They emerged a few minutes later. Then, with sabers in hand, went to the quiet spot behind the wooden bleachers set up for the big joust scheduled for later that day.
Grinning at each other, they squared off on the soft ground.
"En garde," Roxie said, using the fencing equivalent of "On your mark."
They lowered their masks and struck their positions, sword outstretched, one leg forward.
"Prêt," she said, meaning "Get set."
Dougal's muscles tensed.
"Allez." Roxie lunged, taking him off guard with her ferocity. It was saber play, so naturally attacks were fast and furious, but after her speech about personal control, he did not expect such immediate flurry.
Dougal parried in defense, moving his weapon to push aside her attacking blade. He immediately followed with a riposte, and it was Roxie's turn to parry.
The sound of their clashing blades rent the air, clacking and clanging.
She stamped her front foot on the ground, producing a sound known as an appel. The intention was to startle him. He anticipated the lunge, raised his saber to meet hers, gliding it down her blade, keeping her in constant contact.
They went at it in a free-for-all. The sound of their meeting weapons filled the air.
She looked so mysterious, dressed in the white outfit, the mask hiding her features and he loved the way the material of her fencing pants clung to her curvaceous thighs. A sexual thrill jolted through him, but he had no time to enjoy it. Relentlessly she came at him.
Dougal defended.
Roxie lunged.
He parried. Enough of this. He was taking control. Dougal countered, lunging hard, sending her back.
Or so he thought.
But it was a feint tactic and he hadn't seen it coming. She caught him unaware with the feint-deceive, doubling back to hit him with the completion of her lunge.
"Touché." She'd earned a point.
He'd gone for the full-on aggressive speed and power. She'd finessed him by moving around on the tactical wheel, not following the conventional moves. The woman was amazing.
"Foil fencing is for girls, huh?" Roxie came at him with a fluidity that stole his breath.
And just like that he was back on the defensive.
"I think you're lying," he said, in a flurry of blade activity. His goal was to knock her off guard with a provocative statement. Everyone was lying about something.
His ploy worked. She fumbled, letting down her guard for a split second and the edge of his saber clipped her shoulder, giving him the right-of-way and a point.
"One-one," he said.
Her breasts rose as she chuffed out a breath of air, just before she attacked again. He felt the tension in her blade; something had changed. She'd lost focus.
"Give up the deception, Roxie. Admit the truth." He scored another hit and she let out a cry of frustration. "I know your secret."
"Huh?" She hesitated.
He scored another point. "Touché."
"Dammit," she mumbled.
"About that secret..." Their sabers clashed.
"I don't have any secrets." Her voice sounded reedy, breathless.
"I know you're lying," he said, attempting to rattle her into telling him the truth right here, right now.
"Okay," she chuffed. "You've got me."
He held his breath. Was she going to confess?
"I have fenced since high school."
"I knew it," Dougal went on, in spite of the disappointment knotting his chest.
She recovered from her slipups, returning full force, dazzling him with fancy footwork, her mental strategy, her lightness of action, her point control.
And just like that, she scored again.
They dueled in a smooth, loose rhythm as if they'd been fencing together for decades. Thrust and parry. Lunge and defend. Feint and deceive. It was like great sex with all their clothes on.
By the end of their allotted time, they were flagging and breathing heavily. Roxie seemed to be losing steam---her saber wasn't held as high as previously. He had her if he wanted to take her.
Did he want to do her in? His killer instincts said yes.
Unless this was another deception.
They rounded on each other. She was weakening. His competitive instincts, his familiarity with the saber, his desire to prove her wrong about the foil drove him in for the final point of the match.
He lunged with the brute force, take-your-opponent-down-as-soon-as-possible strategy he'd been taught.
Roxie parried, sank back.
Dougal came on strong, prepared for her riposte. It didn't come. Aha, he had her for sure. He made one final lunge.
And suddenly the tip of her saber was centered squarely at his breastplate.
He stared down in disbelief, the pressure of her weapon pressing against his chest. How had that happened?
"The true art of fencing," Roxie gloated, triumphantly ripping off her mask, her face flushed, her black hair spilling over her shoulders, her blue eyes snapping with delight, "is to make the other guy run into your point."


