you been crying?’ he asked incredulously.
Her nose and eyes looked red and she ducked away even further from him. Her shoulders were slumped and defeated. Her sniffling grew more pronounced. This was quickly becoming embarrassing.
‘Li Fe—Miss Wen?’ It was awkward having to be so polite to a prisoner, but there was no other way to address a woman. ‘What is this?’
She pushed at him, flinging his hands away. ‘No. Don’t touch me!’
Heaven and Earth. ‘Stop this nonsense,’ he demanded.
She scrambled off the bench and cowered away. ‘Please don’t beat me again.’
Too late, Han realised a crowd had gathered by the stand. A crowd of rather concerned, rather angry-looking townspeople and some of them quite large. There was no chance to explain. Rough hands grabbed at him. He shoved them away, took a punch in the jaw, threw a couple of strikes of his own.
He drew his dao and a few of the men backed off, but not all of them. They were in a fervour. He was grappled from behind while two other men clawed for his weapon while swearing and calling him a kidnapper and a slaver.
‘She’s a thief!’ he growled, throwing another would-be hero off his back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the serving woman cutting away Li Feng’s bonds with a kitchen knife. Li Feng wrestled the iron rings past her knuckles with no more effort than a couple of twists and turns. The chain was left behind in the grass like a lifeless black snake.
Damn his stupidity. With her training, he should have guessed she had that ability.
Han freed himself in time to see his former prisoner galloping into the distance, leaving a cloud of dust behind.
Chapter Four
Li Feng walked through the front door of the public bath house, slipped the host a quick coin to assuage any protests about impropriety, and entered the dark and tepid interior.
Business was slow early in the morning. The day labourers and tradesmen who served as regular customers were hard at work, leaving the communal bath and lounging areas nearly empty. Steam hovered over a wide pool where several bathers, all male, lay soaking. No one gave her more than a cursory glance.
She slipped through the adjacent chambers, finally finding what she was looking for behind a bamboo screen.
Thief-catcher Han was reclined in a wooden tub behind the screen. His legs were bent, pulling his knees above the water line. His eyes were closed, head rested back against the rim, and his hair was untied and loose about his face. The effect, combined with the fullness of his lips, was disturbingly sensual.
It had been two days since her escape and she’d managed to evade him while still remaining close. She had been tied up and tossed about too many times by this scoundrel. This time, she had him at her mercy.
Han didn’t open his eyes even as she stood over him. His breathing remained deep and relaxed. It must be wonderful to feel so confident in one’s skin. To feel so safe without fear perpetually hanging overhead.
A light mist hung in the air. Through it, Li Feng let her eyes roam over the bared contours of his chest and shoulders, confirming what she’d known from the few times they’d battled. Zheng Hao Han was made of hard, unyielding muscle. The dark line of a scar curved from below his collar bone to disappear over his shoulder. It was the remnant of a blow that had just missed his throat. She found herself wondering who had made the wound and with what weapon?
She had practiced fighting stances for thousands upon thousands of days, had been forced to defend herself many times with the knife and the sword, yet she’d never suffered serious injury. It reminded her that Han had knowledge that she didn’t—knowledge of fierce battles survived—and that she should never overlook that or underestimate him.
‘A private bath, thief-catcher?’ she remarked lightly.
His eyes snapped open and he started, sending a cascade of water splashing on to the floorboards.
‘Wen Li Feng,’ he choked out. His hand gripped the edge of the tub and his muscles tensed all up his arm and throughout his body.
There was something both vulnerable yet undeniably virile about the sight of Han naked. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She attributed the warmth creeping up the back of her neck to the steam that surrounded her, dampening her skin. Needless to say, she was no longer thinking about battle scars.
She worked to keep her gaze on his face. ‘Your work must be quite profitable.’
His breathing had quickened and he fought to regain his composure. ‘You should be careful of your reputation, Miss Wen. Everyone will assume you are here to provide me an intimate service.’
Men’s bodies weren’t unknown to her. Li Feng had lived in close quarters with other performers. She might have lost her first kiss along with her virginity recently, but even before that she’d simply never learned to be shy. Despite having had a lover in the past, it was still a shock to see Thief-catcher Han’s naked form.
The two of them had wrestled, fought and had so much physical contact that now the sight of him unclothed completed the picture. Her knowledge of his body was nearly as intimate as a lover’s.
She moved to stand over him. All that shielded him from her view was a layer of bath water and the haze of steam. Neither the water nor the steam was clouded enough.
An unwelcome heat flooded her cheeks. She hoped it wasn’t accompanied by a blush that Han could see. Li Feng had chosen this particular location to confront him so she could finally have the thief-catcher at a disadvantage and she hated the thought of losing it.
‘You should know that I can track you as easily as you can track me.’
Han made no effort to curl up his knees to hide that part of himself. ‘You are relying on my sense of modesty to prevent me from capturing you right now,’ he said as he started to rise.
With a flick of her hand, she unsheathed the short sword hidden beneath her sleeve and pressed the tip to his chest. ‘I’m relying on this blade.’
His gaze remained on her, unflinching, but he did sink back into the tub. ‘Have you ever killed anyone, Miss Wen?’
She cocked her head. ‘You can be my first,’ she said with a smile.
His eyes darkened at that and the air thickened between them. She suddenly wished she had brought a longer blade. The length of the sleeve sword kept her too close to him. The point of it remained over his heart, pressing firmly against flesh without breaking skin. He seemed unafraid. She, by contrast, was suddenly very afraid. Not of him, but rather the skip of her pulse.
‘It is customary for disciples to take on the name of their shifu,’ he continued, as if they were conversing over tea. ‘Wen Zhong is the name of a renowned master of the Wudang sword style and rumoured to be a disciple of the Sword Immortal. I wondered if he was the one who trained you.’
‘I told you, I have no master. Why won’t you be done with it?’
‘I’m—’
