Molly raised her chin and glared at him.
“Need a repeat of the rules? Every class you miss requires a private makeup session. So you are now four classes behind. I will expect you in the training room next week. You do not want me to track you down.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I suggest you don’t test me on that.” He started to walk off.
“Doesn’t matter, Yondan. I quit,” Molly said to his back.
Before Molly blinked, Deacon was nose to nose with her. “No one quits my class without my permission. Including you. Maybe especially you.”
Not surprisingly Molly didn’t have a retort that time. But rather than huff and complain to Amery, she hightailed it in the opposite direction to Chaz.
When Amery turned to gauge Deacon’s reaction, the man had vanished.
Damn these guys and their stealthy ninja tricks.
Ronin’s warm hand settled on Amery’s lower back. “Problem?”
“What is it with your instructors tonight? They all need an attitude adjustment.”
“Maybe they’re high on victory.” His lips touched the top of her ear. “You look beautiful tonight.”
She smiled. “So you’ve said. Thank you. You are smokin’ hot yourself.” Didn’t matter what Ronin wore; her mind conjured up the image of him in his black gi pants with no shirt. Sweaty. His damp hair brushing his shoulders. Or pulled back in that sexy little ponytail.
Ronin tilted her face up to peer into her eyes. “You made the sexy hum that makes my dick hard.”
“I was just thinking about you almost naked.”
“I’m tempted to say screw it and haul you out into the alley and f**k you against the brick wall until you scream my name.”
“Why don’t you? It’d take me two seconds to ditch my panties.”
Ronin traced the upper bow of her lip. “But the small, sane part of me that’s not already mentally dragging you outside is reminded why I swore off sex in public.”
“You fingered me under the table at the sports banquet,” she reminded him.
“Not the same. I’m talking full-out pounding-into-your-wet-pussy, leaving-suck-marks-on-your-neck-and-feeling-your-nails-digging-into-my-ass sex.”
“Hard and fast with no time for romance and silken ribbons?”
“You’d get bored with me if I didn’t mix it up. And, baby, you loved being bound in softness.”
“That I did.” He’d artfully wrapped her mummy style with a long silk ribbon, winding the single long strand from her shoulders to her ankles. The colors morphed from mustard to pumpkin to scarlet to reddish black, so it appeared she’d sprung out of the embers as an undulating flame. Amery could admit she’d looked so amazing that she’d allowed him to take pictures. After he’d completely unraveled her, he’d made love to her in the pile of silk. She bit back another sigh. She loved when he showed his romantic streak.
“What in the hell is going on now?”
She turned in the direction Ronin was racing to see what’d snagged his attention. Sandan Zach and Deacon’s losing opponent were in each other’s faces. Amery scanned the crowd. No sign of Blue, Deacon, Knox, Ito, or Gil.
When Zach and the other dude came to blows, no one stepped in because hello? Martial arts guys throw elbows and kicks, and plenty of both were flying.
But that didn’t deter Ronin. After he warned them to stop, and neither did, he jumped in. He blocked a blow from Zach and twisted his body until Zach fell to his knees. Then he faced the other guy, and when he moved to strike, Ronin performed a hip throw and the dude hit the ground hard.
Ronin’s moves were so precise and well executed it seemed as if they were on the set of a martial arts movie.
“Out. Both of you.” He stood between them. “Separately.” Ronin angrily pointed to Zach as Ito and Gil raced up. Ito said something to Ronin, and then Gil handled getting Deacon’s opponent out of the room.
A shiver of want rolled through her as he strolled back to her. With his graceful don’t-fuck-with-me gait, the annoyed way he jammed his hand through his hair, and the tiny sneer on those full lips, the man epitomized sexy.
“This is why I f**king hate after-parties,” Ronin said when he reached her. “The winning fighters are pumped up and the losing fighters are pissed off. Add booze and it’s an unavoidable disaster.”
“Especially when you’re forced to deal with it alone because your minions are off doing . . . what?”
“Breaking up another fight in the hallway.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Why?”
“Who the f**k knows?” Ronin reached for her hand. “Remind me of these incidents next time it’s suggested Black and Blue hosts a post-fight party.”
“But it’s been a good turnout. I saw you schmoozing with potential sponsors.”
“I hate that part.”
“But you’re so smooth with that silver tongue of yours.”
“I’d like to use my silver tongue on you,” he murmured.
“Fights make you horny.”
He smiled wolfishly. “It’s an added bonus of the extra testosterone.”
Amery set her free hand on his chest. “How long before we can leave?”
“Let’s go. Grab your stuff, and I’ll tell Blue we’re heading out.” He steered her toward the door. Halfway there he stopped. “You’ve got to be f**king kidding me.”
“What?”
“Just stay close.”
Three guys approached them. The two men flanking the guy in the middle had to be some type of personal security, odd because the middle guy—a good-looking blond in his mid-fifties—was the biggest of the three. He wore a suit and a capelike topcoat. He didn’t smile as he approached. “I’m hurt you don’t invite Max to your party.” He tsk-tsked loudly. “Poor manners, my drugh.”
Ronin bowed slightly and offered his hand. “My apologies, Max. I wasn’t aware you were a fan of mixed martial arts.”
The man took Ronin’s hand, clasping it in his own and pulling Ronin to his chest before releasing him. “Why wouldn’t I be fan? Russians invented it. Of course, we kept it big secret from the west.”
“Of course.” Ronin placed his hand on the small of Amery’s back. “Max Stanislovsky, Amery Hardwick.”
She knew that name—another one of Ronin’s mysterious contacts—and held out her hand. “Happy to meet you, Mr. Stanislovsky.”