“SO IF I CHANGE THE angle of the lance a little, what will that do to the quintain? Will I hit it harder, or does a steeper angle deflect the blow?”
“Has anyone told you that your hair is like a molten river of fire?”
“Farrell, please, no hair similes. We’re here to practice, remember?”
“Are we?” Farrell smiled, picking up my free hand and bestowing a kiss on my fingers. I fought the urge to clench those very same fingers and smash his nose. No matter how much my heart was breaking, no matter how miserable Walker was making me, I had a job to do, and the only way to salvage the shreds of our future was to do it. Successfully. Which meant Farrell didn’t get a knuckle sandwich. “I thought perhaps you were simply trying to be discreet in your pursuit of me.”
I stopped walking, retrieving
