If he hadn't been interested in flirting with her, he would have headbutted her square in her pretty face. Yet, when he looked up into her daring eyes, all he saw was the outline of her lips and felt the brush of her breath as she whispered sweet threats against his skin. He should have been worried about his reputation if he lost to a woman, or his own pride, but he'd made bigger sacrifices for a pretty face before.
His hands tightened around her arms and pulled down, dragging her upper body closer to his. He felt her hair as it brushed along his cheek, sending a ripple of goosebumps along his warm skin. Despite the knee driven into his gut, he managed to lift his head just enough to speak.
"Uncle," he spoke low, in a terse whisper. His head dropped back to the mat beneath him but he refused to release her arms just yet, not until she moved her knee. He might have thrown in the towel, but he wasn't sure he trusted her not to throw one last punch for laughs. Spitfires were the most uncertain types of women.
Bluefire Dragonz