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His eyes sparked as he pressed even closer. "Yes, you are. Or I'm calling your daddy and telling him exactly what just happened."
Gasping, Willow's mouth fell open. "You wouldn't."
He grinned. "You'll learn some self-defense if I have to teach you myself."
That caused her to laugh. "Oh, I'd just love to watch you teach a girl how to defend herself."
He lifted his brows. "I could teach you a hell of a lot more than you know now."
"Fine, then," she said, lifting her chin. "You're on."
Malloy paused. Blinking as if he had just caught the punch line of a joke and it wasn't so funny, he straightened. "What?"
"If you want me to learn how to protect myself, then you have to teach me. Isn't that what you just offered?"
After staring at her as if he couldn't understand her language, he suddenly chuckled. "Yeah, right. I was joking, DeVane. Haven't you ever heard of a joke?"
"Well, I'm not joking." Somehow she managed to keep a straight face. But at Malloy's dumbfounded expression, she just wanted to cackle. Yes! She had the man right where she wanted him. "You're insane if you think I'm going to spend my own hard-earned money purely for your comfort. If you want me taught, you're teaching me yourself."
There. She knew he would never agree to that.
"I'm not teaching you self-defense," he insisted, looking panicked by the mere idea.
"Fine," Willow answered with a careless shrug. "Then I guess I'm not going to learn." She turned away, fully prepared to flounce off, but Malloy caught her arm and swung her back.
"Fine," he echoed, studying her with a challenging glint in his blue eyes. "We start tomorrow."
Willow swallowed. Crap. She hadn't thought he would call her bluff. His eyes glittered with amusement, and she could tell he knew he was winning this round.
So she sniffed as if it was nothing. "Fine," she said. "Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. My place."
Three
Raith pulled into the vacant drive and parked his truck, wondering, not for the first time, what he had gotten himself into. Blowing out a tense breath, he killed the engine and studied the sprawling, single-story home.
Five minutes late for his first "lesson" with Willow DeVane, he had to believe he'd lost his mind. He was fixing to enter the goddess's den and spend the evening with her, teaching her self-defense.
During his academy days when he'd trained with other officers in his class, there'd been a hell of a lot of physical contact, learning each move. Back when he'd wrestled around on floor mats in a gym full of sweaty guys, he'd never thought about how intimate such contact could be. But as he stared at DeVane's elegant mansion and realized how close he'd get to her tonight and how much he'd be touching her, he couldn't think of anything else.
"Damn it," he muttered and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, trying to ignore the fact he'd grown painfully hard.
He'd worn this specific pair of blue jeans to hide any physical evidence of his attraction. For double measure, he'd even given himself a quick hand job before coming over, hoping to smother his libido for a few hours. But that little appetizer had only primed him for action, because just thinking about going inside her house had him so ready, he had a bad feeling merely smelling the poor woman right now might set him off.
He couldn't do it. Two years of bottled craving had turned him into a pressure cooker. He didn't think he could get so close to Willow DeVane without blowing his top and doing something stupid like, gah, putting the moves on her. And he already knew the frosty, sophisticated lawyer would never go for that.
This was such a bad idea.
Reaching for the keys still hanging from the ignition, Raith had every intention of restarting his truck and getting the hell out of there. He cursed under his breath. If he left now, however, he would only be a coward. Closing his eyes, he debated his options.
Coward or fool?
Horny idiot or fleeing weenie?
He cursed again, despising both alternatives.
Then a vision struck him. He saw her with that ugly red bump marring her perfect forehead and trembling tears clogging her lashes. She could've been hurt a lot worse than she had been. Whether she wanted it or not, she needed help, yet the irritating woman was just stubborn enough to keep her word about not getting defense lessons if he didn't personally tutor her.
Mind made up, he pulled the keys from his truck, pocketing them as he opened his door, and climbed out. One hour of soft training wouldn't kill him. Hell, he probably didn't even have to touch her. Merely explaining the moves might prove adequate enough.
