Zola's Pride Read Free Page B

influenced his decision to come back, even if it
wasn’t true. After all, he hadn’t dragged ass into John’s
restaurant past closing time, asking for help.
    No. He had come to her.
    She brushed her fingers over the
light switch, leaving the dojo lit only from the broken light
slanting through the blinds on the front window. “Yes, I
remember.” Her footsteps took her toward the stairs, as if she
expected him to follow. “I enjoy his cooking.”
    Surely John would have said
something if Zola had taken pains to introduce herself. “Have
you met him?”
    “ Of course.” She
hesitated, then turned while balanced on the first step, putting her
eyes level with his. “I told him only that I’d met you
during my travels, and that I’d considered you a friend. He
never indicated he knew otherwise.”
    Because his brother had never been a
meddling bastard, and it was a dozen kinds of wrong for Walker to
regret it now. “John’s the quiet type.”
    “ Mmm. Some say the same of
me.” A smile played at the corners of her lips. “So. Do
we spar?”
    So that was what had her in such an
all-fired hurry to get upstairs. Walker acquiesced with a shrug and
one raised eyebrow. “If you think you can handle me.”
    Laughter was her only answer as she
spun and launched herself up the stairs. He had to follow at a run,
and barely ducked a swing when he made it into the open room above.
    He circled out of reach, keeping a
sharp gaze on her center of gravity. “That wasn’t quite
fair, honey. Cheap shots are beneath you.”
    “ No such thing.” Her
weight rested nimbly on the balls of her feet, and she swayed a
little, smiling. “Never start a fight you don’t intend to
finish, no?”
    “ The cardinal rule,” he
agreed. “But you know dirty fighting exposes weakness.”
    “ So does friendly banter.”
She darted forward, a feint obvious enough to be easily avoided.
“Play with me, Walker.”
    He kicked off his shoes and rushed
her once. Instead of meeting her straight on, he pushed off on her
shoulder, using the momentum to spin them both around. She went with
it, flowing into the turn so fast she whipped around in a tight
circle and nearly struck his back.
    He broke away and let her come at
him, ready to pin down her technique. She didn’t have one; she
had at least a dozen, drawing on elements from various martial arts
so quickly, so fluidly, he could barely catalogue them.
    There was more than a little
capoeira influence in the way she moved, especially when she crouched
to avoid a blow and immediately retaliated by bracing her weight on
one arm and launching into a meia
lua pulada . Her legs
kicked through the air, spinning so fast they almost blurred, and he
barely dodged.
    Walker managed to get her on the
mat, but she hooked her feet under his legs and threw him off
immediately. He landed with a thump on the mat, and she sprang up in
another flurry of kicks.
    Walker rolled and swept her feet
from under her. She went down again—barely—and he threw
one leg over her and wrestled her wrists to the mat above her head.
“Should we count it off?” he panted.
    “ I don’t submit,”
she snarled, but something other than anger laced the words. Desire.
Heat. A heat reflected in her eyes, in the way her body twisted
beneath him, not so much testing as teasing. “It has been too
long since I fought for survival. I am becoming soft.”
    He only wished that were true, that
she’d reached a point—found a place—where she could
afford to let go a little. “You’re tough as nails and you
know it, Zola. I’m just stronger, that’s all.”
Stronger but stupid, because he couldn’t help responding to the
soft press of her body.
    “ I’m faster. Speed
should balance strength.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper
that invited him to test more than her strength. “It would
have, too, if the lion didn’t wish to be caught. She does not
have my pride.”
    Blood thundered in his ears as sense
memory overtook him.