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."
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.
He ignored the bulge still straining against his zipper and mounted the steps of her porch.
Definitely a judge's daughter, he decided. Raith could never afford a snazzy place like this, even before his divorce drained him of every penny he made. The front door would probably cost him a month's rent without all that stained glass embedded into the oak. Damn, even the knocker could feed him for a week.
He tried to lift the doorknocker before he realized it was only for looks and didn't even lift. Snorting, he pressed t
he bell and stepped backward, shoving his hands into his pockets. Not even realizing how he jingled his keys in a nervous habit, he idly wondered what he would look like right now if he were here to take her on a date instead of just training her. He had to admit, his outfit wouldn't differ much from his current state of dress. Hell, he would probably be wearing the same pair of dark jeans and the same damn cologne.
He winced. Yeah, he had showered and even put on the stupid fragrance before heading out the door. But there was no way he wanted to start stinking once they got up close and sweaty when he showed her a few tactical moves.
Then again, knowing him, he would probably lose his head and buy her flowers if he were ever to take her out. Because if he were standing here for a date, then he would have a lot better shot at actually scoring with her before the night was over.
His already throbbing penis pulsed excitedly at the mere idea.
"Cut it out," he muttered to himself and rang the bell again.
Would the woman let him in already? He was driving himself crazy out here, letting his thoughts get the better of him.
Five minutes later, he realized he had been stood up. Feeling duped and stupid, he spun on his heel and strode off the porch. He glared back one last time at the darkened windows as he stormed toward his truck, swearing to himself he would turn right back around, break into her house, and strangle her if he saw even a hint of her smirking expression peeking out a bended blind.
Raith vibrated with fury as he unlocked his truck. Already well aware he couldn't get Willow DeVane for himself, he wondered why she felt the need to rub it in by purposely making him look the fool and force him to come to her house like some kind of trained lap dog, eager for a mere glimpse of her?
Swearing retribution, he yanked open his truck door and paused one last time to stare at her house.
He really wanted to see her too, damn it. Pathetic as that sounded, he liked being around her. He liked annoying her and watching her big brown eyes go hot and irritated. He liked guessing what kind of challenge she might issue him next. He liked the way his blood surged every time she drew near. God, he even liked the way she made his body grow instantly heavy and tense with desire, wanting things it could never have. But no, she was going to deny him even that tonight.
And she was going to pay for it, big time.
Just as he pulled his door shut and shoved his key back into the ignition, dreaming up all manner of nasty paybacks, a silver BMW zipped into the drive behind him, blocking his exit. Raith growled, even more upset she had arrived after all.
"Why me?" he said aloud before once again clambering out of the truck and glaring at her with a feral scowl as she burst from her car.
"Sorry." She sent him a wince, genuine apology thick in her voice. "I got tied up with a client."
He stood, stiff and erect, shoulders unyielding as she paused to lean back into the BMW and retrieve her briefcase. He held his breath when her long skirt pulled taut across her backside. Then she shimmied back out, and he gritted his teeth, a muscle in his cheek bulging dangerously.
Taking in his rigid stance, she pinched her eyebrows together. "I tried to hurry," she offered, sounding less apologetic this time and more defensive. "I even called the sheriff's department, but you were already gone, and no one would give me a personal number to reach you."
He couldn't seem to unclench his teeth as he muttered, "Fine, whatever. Let's just get this over with."
Willow scowled at his unforgiving attitude and whirled away from him to march toward the house.
Raith shook his head, realizing once again how naïve she was to put her back to an upset man. That would be lesson number one, he decided, and stormed after her.
The interior of DeVane's place was just as fancy as the exterior. With some kind of motion sensor in the foyer, the lights blinked on as soon as she stepped over the threshold. Raith followed.
"Give me a minute," she said as she sashayed across the room. "I want to change into something more comfortable."
Raith skidded to a stop. More comfortable? He didn't even want to let his mind guess what that meant.
DeVane kicked off her shoes and lifted both arms to pull a few hairpins from the auburn heap on top of her head. With her arms up, the tiny buttons keeping her starched, pale blue blouse together threatened to pop off. Holding his breath in the vain hope they did just that, Raith was already a little lightheaded by the time her hair came free of its confining pins. Then she shook it free. He nearly passed out as all those luscious locks bounced over her shoulders and down her back.
Deciding the woman had to be the sex goddess supreme, he could only nod to let her know he'd heard her when she glanced questioningly at him.
"I'll be right back then. Make yourself at home."
He waited until she'd vanished through a door before letting out a snort. "Not likely." He'd never felt so out of place in his entire life. Welcome to lifestyles of the rich and famous, Malloy. Every bronze knick-knack and crystal-framed portrait of upstanding judges and top-notch politicians only emphasized how much he didn't belong.
At least the place looked lived in. It was cleaner than his own home but not spotless. He discovered dust on one miniature statue of a man fishing with his son and felt a little more confident. She'd even left her high heels lying forgotten in the middle of the floor.
When she returned, toting two bottles of water, he had cooled his jets and thought he could function normally again. That was, until he turned and got a look at what she'd changed into.
More comfortable my ass.
The outfit might be more comfortable for her, sure, but it made him extremely uncomfortable. Although she wore loose but short jogging shorts, her black tank top could've passed for a second skin. It molded to every curve and dip, showing him more than he'd ever seen of her before.
After she handed him one of the water bottles, he twisted off the cap and guzzled, hoping to rehydrate his mouth, which had gone bone dry.
Too much flesh available for the touching.
Couldn't think properly.
He took another drink, gulping as his eyes scanned the toned, creamy expanse of her disproportionately long legs. The only thing to top off such perfection would be if he could tear out the ponytail holder she'd put in her hair when she'd gone to change.
She stepped toward him, and he once again stopped breathing. The closer she came, the tighter his jeans fit.
But a beep he'd been hearing since they'd entered the house halted her. She glanced behind her and switched directions. "Do you mind if I check my phone messages before we start?"
Raith sighed as if the delay irritated him, when in truth he welcomed a second to collect his scattered wits. He leaned against a wall and crossed his arms over his chest. DeVane pushed play, and the list of messages began.
Five in all, they began with some guy named Kit. "Hey, Will," he called through the speaker. "It's Kit. Tina's out of town with the kids. So... I need some food. What've you got to eat over there?"
Raith frowned, not caring for the jab of jealousy prodding his belly over hearing the man's voice. "Who's Tina?" he asked, when what he really wanted to know was who this Kit guy was and how much of Willow he had seen and tasted.
But the damn woman had to be difficult, because she answered, "She's Kit's wife."
He rolled his eyes. Well, who the hell was Kit?
"Will, honey," the next message started, and thank God, this one owned a woman's voice. "This is your mother. I was just calling to remind you your father's birthday slash retirement party is next month. I need to get invitations out soon, and I'd like your help. Call me."
Raith crinkled his eyebrows. "The judge is retiring?"
Willow sent him an annoyed scowl, obviously not caring for the fact he openly listened to her messages. He lifted a challenging brow. Well, why was she playing them in front of him if she didn't want him to hear?
She sighed and gave in. "He's not going to announce it for another f
ew weeks, so don't go spreading that around. Okay?"
Raith nodded, amazed he actually knew the inside scoop on something political for once in his life.
The next caller—some asshole named Scott—left a message, confirming lunch reservations with Willow the next day. Raith's gut burned, and the indigestion only doubled, for the next voice came from Cole— whoever the hell he was—canceling his date with her on Friday.
Wondering what kind of moron would ditch out on her, Raith's gaze slid DeVane's way. But she didn't seem distraught over the cancellation. She merely shrugged, pushed delete, and moved to the next recording.
Three messages from three guys and one of them even married. Raith decided the gossip he'd heard about DeVane was probably true. She went through men like toilet paper, which drove him crazy because it still didn't mean he would have a chance with her himself.