"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."
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