Page 43 of The Forbidden Billionaire
“Because that’s what Dom did to me?”
He shrugs, but I know that’s why he suggested it. “I don’t like the thought of anyone holding you against your will,” he states. His gaze flicks to mine briefly before he looks away.
I still don’t know exactly what he and Dom discussed when Luke went to his office, but his words make me frown. What did Dom tell him, exactly?
“If someone grabs you here…” Luke moves closer and takes hold of my wrist. “You need to locate the weak spot here.” He gestures at the small opening where his thumb meets his fingers. “You’re going to aim to move the narrowest part of your wrist through this gap.” He demonstrates how to rotate toward the attacker’s thumb and pull free. “Now you try it.”
I give it a go. And fail miserably. God, he’s so strong. I remember the way Dom held me, and panic flares inside me.
Luke must see the look on my face, because he immediately lets go. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
“No, I want to keep going. I want to know how to do this.”
“Okay.” He moves behind me and tucks my elbow against my ribs. “Use your core weight, not bicep strength. You’re going to step inward, like this.” He maneuvers me, holding my hips and showing me how to twist. “If his grip is loose, you’ll literally just snap your arm up or down right through the thumb gap.”
“What if it’s tight?”
“Clamp your free hand onto your own trapped fist like this.” He takes my other wrist in his and lifts my hand onto the other one. “Then use both hands together to pull violently back toward your chest or shoulder to break free.” He jerks them back, bringing me against his chest.
Gosh, he’s so big, and his chest is warm against my back. His arms are practically around me. And he smells so nice. Mmm.
“Can you show me again?” I ask innocently.
“Sure.” He keeps his arms around me and runs through the steps again.
When he’s done, I say, “One more time?”
He hesitates, and then he looks down at me. I lift my eyebrows, and his lips curve up. “Concentrate,” he scolds, releasing me and circling to stand in front of me. “This is important.”
Sighing, I stand with feet apart and brace myself.
“Okay,” he says, “slow motion first. Show me how to do it.” He closes his left hand around my right wrist.
I show him how I’d step inward and tug my arm down and out of his grip.
“Good,” he says. “Now, if it was tighter.”
Slowly, I rotate my hips, put one hand on top of the other, and pull both toward me.
“Perfect,” he says. “Okay, let’s do it for real.”
This time, when he grabs my wrist, his grip is firm but still loose enough so that when I immediately yank my hand down, I can break free. I feel a swell of pleasure at my success.
“Good,” he says. “Again.” This time his grip is tighter, locked around my wrist.
I wince. “Ouch.”
“Sorry.” He doesn’t loosen his grip, though.
I step toward him, rotate inward, and tug my arm toward me, but it doesn’t break his grip.
“You’re too strong,” I complain, feeling another bubble of panic. “I’d never be able to break free if a guy did this.”
“You’re not really trying. Go for it, girl. You won’t hurt me.”
I look up into his eyes. They’re warm, but his gaze is firm—he means what he says.
Steadying my feet again, I brace myself, then step forward and tug. It doesn’t work.
