Page 20 of Rescued By the Mountain Man Cowboy

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She comes down the steps warily, barefoot.

"Is there going to be hitting?"

"Eventually."

"Of me?"

"No, ma'am."

"Oh, good. I draw the line at being hit by a very large cowboy before coffee is properly in my system."

"Noted."

I step behind her. She stiffens.

"Luke."

"Easy. I'm not gonna touch you unless I tell you first. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Right. So. First thing. When a man grabs a woman, ninety percent of the time, he's grabbing her wrist. Like this. I'm gonna take your wrist. Alright?"

"Alright."

I reach around and wrap my hand around her wrist from behind. Loose. Deliberate. Not squeezing. Her pulse kicks against my thumb.

"Your instinct is to pull straight back. That's the worst thing you can do. My grip is stronger than your pull. Every time."

"Okay."

"What you do instead. You rotate your hand toward my thumb. The thumb's the weakest part of the grip. You break the grip at the thumb. Try it. Slow."

She rotates her wrist. Her hand slides out of mine like water.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"Again."

I take her wrist. She breaks it.

"Again. Faster."

Break.

"Again."

Break.

She's starting to smile. Not big. Just a tilt at the corner of her mouth.

"Both sides."

I switch hands. She breaks the second grip on her third try. Breaks it clean on the fourth.

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