MADELINE MERCY DELACOURTE quite liked looking at near-naked men. She had her favourites, of course. Smooth-skinned willowy young men were easy on the eye and heaven knew Singapore was full of them. Well-preserved older men could also command attention on occasion, although general consensus had it that they were far easier to admire when they kept their clothes on.
No, for Madelineâs moneyâand she had plenty of moneyâby far the most appealing type of near-naked man was the hardened warrior, complete with battle scars and formidable air. The ones who wore the giâthe loose martial arts robesâas if theyâd been born to them. The ones who didnât bother with shirts in Singaporeâs sultry heat. Instead they let their glistening skin caress the air and please the eyes of those who knew where to find them.
Right now, as Madelineâs eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the shabby little dojo in the heart of Singaporeâs Chinatown, she had the definite pleasure of happening upon not one shirtless warrior, but two.
The first was Jacob Bennett, a raven-haired steely-eyed Australian whoâd found his way to Singapore around the same time Madeline hadâover ten years ago nowâand never left. They understood each other, she and Jacob. Survivors both, no questions asked. This was his dojo Madeline was standing in and if he had a softer side to his formidable façade, well, sheâd never seen it. Heâd scowl when he saw her. He always did. That was what came of asking a kind man one too many favours.
Madeline had never seen Jacobâs opponent before. Not in the dojo, not in Singapore. Sheâd have remembered if she had. He had an inch or so on Jacob when it came to height, but when it came to muscle mass and the way it wrapped around bone the men looked remarkably similar. Same cropped black hair and skin tone too. A brother perhaps, or a cousin, and certainly no stranger to the martial arts. He had Jacobâs measure, and that was saying something.
They had the long sticks out, the Shaolin staffs, and they fought with the grace of dancers and the ferocity of Singaporeâs famous Merlion. Each man appeared intent on annihilating the other but where Jacob was ice, his opponent was fire. Less contained, thoroughly unpredictable. Reckless, even.
Reckless warriors were her favourite kind.
Jacob saw her and scowled. Madeline blew him a kiss.
âIs that him?â said the ragamuffin boy standing beside her.
âThatâs him.â
âHe doesnât look pleased to see us.â
âHeâll get over it.â
Jacobâs opponent must have heard them speaking or followed Jacobâs gaze, for he looked their way as well. Bad move. Moments later the unknown warrior landed flat on his back, swept off his feet by Jacobâs long stick. Madeline winced.
Jacob looked their way again and he really should have known better because the moment he took his eyes off his fallen opponent the warrior struck and Jacob too went down. A heartbeat later, each man had his hand wrapped around the otherâs throat.
âHe looks busy,â said the boy. âWe should come back later.â
âWhat? And miss all this?â Besides, she figured the warriors were just about done. With a reassuring smile in the boyâs direction, Madeline sauntered over to the two men, the heel of her designer shoes satisfyingly staccato against the scarred wooden floor. She crouched beside the warring pair and poked the mystery manâs sweat-slicked shoulder with her fingernail, barely resisting the urge to trace a more lingering path. âExcuse me. So sorry to interrupt. Hello, Jacob. Got a minute?â
The mystery man had expressive amber-coloured eyes; the predominant expression in them at the moment being one of incredulity. But his grip on Jacobâs throat loosened and Jacob stopped sparring altogether and raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. Madeline smiled and offered the mystery warrior her hand, primarily to ensure he removed it from around Jacobâs neck. âMadeline Delacourte. Most people call me Maddy.â
âOften they just call her mad,â rasped Jacob.
âFlatterer,â said Madeline.
The warriorâs eyes lightened and he smiled a dangerously charming smile as he rolled away from Jacob and offered up a warm and calloused hand. âLuke Bennett.â
âA brother?â And at his nod, âThought so. You fight very well. Tell me, Luke Bennett â¦â she said as she withdrew her hand and rose from her crouching position. Both men followed suit and got to their feet, seemingly none the worse for the bruising. âWhich one of you wins these fearsome little encounters? Or do you both pass out at around the same time?â