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Finally, the hands left her, and footsteps respectfully shuffled off.
Blinking to clear her vision, she slowly and hesitantly sat up, only to wince at the pain spiking through her temples. It hurt so bad she nearly vomited all over the dirty concrete, which would've been a real shame because she had stopped by her sister-in-law's restaurant that morning for breakfast and eaten the most delicious omelet. She bet her paycheck it was tastier going down than coming up.
Muttering under her breath about stupid, restraining order-breaking ex-clients, Willow worked past the agony and wobbly pushed to her feet. She had to press a hand against the wall to steady herself, and even then, she swayed for a moment until her equilibrium settled and her stomach stopped heaving.
Grateful the room had cleared of all men, providing her with a moment of privacy, she pulled herself back together before anyone could see her rattled. But, gawd. No one had ever attempted to kill her before.
Trembling, she bit her lip and desperately checked the impulse to cry. Yet the threat of tears already stung her eyes.
"Jerk," she grumbled to the absent Theo. No one scared Willow DeVane and made her bawl. She had a reputation to uphold. Crybaby lady lawyers got no respect.
Willow brushed her quivering fingers down her clothes to wipe away all sign of wrinkles and floor grime. She might be as shaken as a James Bond drink but she certainly didn't have to look it.
Still, as she swept dirt and small pebbles off her banged knees, she cursed. "Perfect. I have a run in my hose."
"You just about got a w
hole hell of a lot more than that," a voice growled as a large hand grabbed her already-sore elbow and jerked her upright.
Willow's eyes flared, and more dizziness assailed her. If the man's grip hadn't been holding her steady, she might've tumbled flat on her face.
She blinked Malloy into focus, irritated by the flash of comfort she felt realizing it was him. For a nanosecond, temptation urged her to fling herself into his arms and burrow into his chest so she could sob her eyes out.
But he didn't look too willing to play nursemaid. The man was livid. His reddening cheeks and clenched teeth were nothing compared to the icy chill in his gaze. Willow paused with a thoughtful frown, realizing she had never before noticed how incredibly blue his eyes were.
Then he shook her, making her teeth clatter around like dice in her head. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"N-Nothing," Willow said, instantly upset with herself for letting him cause her to stutter. She wrapped her hand around his forearm, balancing herself. But once she could see straight, she shoved away. "I'm quite fine," she added on a more authoritative note, though she had to refrain from touching her head, which felt as if someone was pounding a spike through both temples. "Thanks for your concern, though."
Malloy scowled at her dry tone. "What in God's name did you think to accomplish by provoking a man like Franklin?"
Willow straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "Excuse me? I wasn't provoking anyone. He's the one who—"
Malloy grabbed her arms and shook her again. "You idiot! Do you even know what he could've done to you?"
Imagining in horrid detail exactly what he could've done sent a shiver up her spine. But she wasn't about to let Malloy know how seriously Franklin had spooked her. She gave him a dirty look and coolly answered, "I try to limit it to one jerk a day manhandling me. So, if you could remove your paws..."
Molloy blinked at his fingers wrapped around her arm as if he hadn't realized he was holding her. Immediately, he let go. But he didn't back off. He hovered close enough for her to smell the coffee on his breath as he scanned her from head to toe.
"You have a red mark." He lifted his hand to her forehead, but he barely brushed the pads of his fingers over the spot before Willow sucked in a pained breath and slapped his wrist away.
He met her gaze. Grateful he didn't comment on the tears she rapidly blinked away, she ignored the hot blush covering her body as his expression turned gentle.
"Jesus," he breathed. "You don't even know how to defend yourself."
Willow frowned. "I would've kicked him in the nuts if he hadn't tackled me from behind." Now that he had stopped jostling her, she grew steadier.
Malloy shook his head. "I'm serious, DeVane. If you're going to represent slime like Franklin on a regular basis, you need to invest in some protection."
"What? I sharpen my claws nightly." Willow shot him a cheeky smirk. "Doesn't that count?"
He sighed. "There're some self-defense classes at the Y. You're enrolling in one of them. Today."
His authoritative tone of voice amused her as much as it grated on her nerves. She arched a brow. "Is that a command, Sergeant?"
"It's Lieutenant, not Sergeant," he growled, stepping closer. "And you bet your sweet ass it's a command."
If he was trying to intimidate Willow by breaching her personal space, it wasn't working. The more clearly she could smell his musky male scent, the more she wanted him to linger—a realization which daunted her more than his massive, hovering bulk could. She edged a micro-step backward and snorted. "Get real, Malloy. I'm not paying for some stupid class just to make you feel better."
