The Right To Remain Mine (6 page)

        Both Willow and Malloy glanced over to give him similar looks of horror. From where he sat on the armrest of her couch, her cousin sent them both an innocent smile. "What? I just want to show Tina a couple of moves when she gets home."

        Willow had no idea what the deputy had been explaining, because she had been too busy trying not to ogle him and wondering what kind of cologne he wore. It was intoxicating, whatever it was.

        "Well," Kit urged, motioning toward her as he sent Malloy an expectant look. "Let's see some action. She can't learn unless you go through each step manually."

        Malloy turned to her and sketched an eyebrow. "Ready?"

        She took an immediate step back, her eyes popping wide. "Wait. What?"

        "God, DeVane." He dropped his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"

        "No, not really," she smart-mouthed back. "All I heard was a bunch of blah, blah, blah."

        He let out a long sigh through his nostrils; she could tell he gritted his teeth inside his closed mouth. "Why don't I just show you how the move works," he suggested. "You come at me, and I'll demonstrate the counteraction."

        "Come at you?" she repeated in confusion.

        "Try to attack me," he clarified and curled his index finger in invitation.

        She blinked. "You want me to, like, hit you?"

        Malloy sent her a grin. "I want you to, like, try to hit me, DeVane. You won't actually lay a finger on me."

        Oh, that did it. He needed to be pounded down a peg or two. Why, an innocent bystander might trip over his inflated ego if they got too close to the conceited deputy.

        Convinced she was going to knock him into next week, Willow balled her fist and let it fly.

        Two seconds later, she found herself lying on her stomach on the floor, dazed, with Malloy standing above her, looking down at her with his hands on his hips and that same cocky smirk on his face. She closed her eyes and moaned in utter mortification. He'd barely put any pressure into his move, but he'd still been able to fling her to the floor like a limp rag doll.

        It was sobering.

        Mortifying.

        And totally not cool.

        Her hand stung like hell where he'd grabbed her and jerked her about, too. She rubbed the red skin around her wrist and gave Malloy an irritated frown. She knew he'd been as gentle as possible, but her entire hand throbbed as if it had suffered from a severe case of carpet burn.

        "It's called nerve control," he told her as he stepped back and watched her struggle to her feet.

        He didn't even hold out his hand to help her up either, the jerk. Not that she would've accepted. But still, it would've been nice to refuse his offer.

        "You want to use the nerves in your opponent's wrist to gain control, or better yet, you just want to do it long enough to distract him so you can get away." He kept talking as if he didn't notice her total humiliation. But then he extended his arm toward her. "Want to take a try?"

        Oh, hell yes she wanted to take a try. It would be her ultimate pleasure to flatten Raith Malloy to a pulp.

        Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and wrenched, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor. He sent her a bland look for her pathetic efforts.

        She scowled. "Well, you're three times bigger than me." Talk about unfair.

        He shook his head and sent her an intense, heated look. "It's not about size. It's how you use it."

        She rolled her eyes. "That's lame, Malloy."

        He grinned. "I'm serious. Just watch. And pay attention this time." After lifting her fingers from his wrist, he took her hand. "Crank the wrist, not the arm," he instructed calmly. "You want to keep control of the wrist. Remember... it's all about control."

        To demonstrate, he kept hold of her wrist, and by touching only her wrist, he once again spun her around until she moved in whichever direction he prodded, merely by exerting the slightest amount of pressure to the joint holding her hand and forearm together.

        She tried to squirm out of the hold, but as soon as she began to struggle, he flipped her back down onto her stomach.

        "Damn it," she muttered and smacked her open palm against the carpet as she glared up at the still-standing deputy.

        "Like I said," he replied, looking excessively smug. "It's how you use it."

        She opened her mouth to spit back something scathing and rude, but her cousin's belly laugh interrupted her. "Oh, I like this guy."

        He would. Willow glared toward the sofa as she picked herself off the floor. Kit continued to sit on the armrest, his feet planted on her couch cushions as he grinned and scraped the last of his supper from his dinner plate with a fork.

        "Are you still here?" she muttered. When his eyes only brightened and his lips spread mockingly, she spun toward Malloy. "What else?" Her mind no longer wandered but paid rapt attention to every word he had to say. He was not going to fling her to the floor again.

        "You always want to use distractions."

        "Distractions?" she repeated and made a face. "Like, 'oh, look at that huge dancing penis over there?'" She pointed to a place behind him, trying to make him turn.

        He arched his brow. "You think about penises a lot when I'm around, don't you?"

        She growled. "Don't flatter yourself, Malloy."

        He chuckled. It was a deep, husky sound that made her think very intently about his penis.

        "I meant, distraction," he emphasized. "As in nerve control." When she looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language, he tried a simpler term. "Pressure points?"

        "Ooh," Kit said, coming off the couch and flinging his empty plate aside to join the lesson. "You mean like Spock when he pinches people on the shoulder and they pass out? I want to learn how to do that."

        Malloy blinked once at Willow's cousin, and she almost burst out laughing by his confounded expression. The poor deputy wasn't quite sure how to take good ol' Kit.

        Deciding to ignore him, Malloy returned his gaze to Willow. "Using distraction can help you move the aggressor's stance from attack to defense. So, when you go for his wrist, try to hit a pressure point along the way to throw him off guard long enough for you to perform your move."

        "Okay," Willow answered, nodding and rubbing her hands in anticipation. "How do I do that?"

        He grinned, no doubt amused by her sudden enthusiasm. Willow wanted to snarl at him for smiling indulgently as if she were an eager child demanding a piggyback ride from Uncle Malloy. But she was too worried about paying attention and getting the next lesson right to berate him.

        "Well," he said. "Aside from the all-too-famous knee-to-the-groin jab, one thing you can do is knee him on the outside part of the upper thigh when you reach for his wrist."

        He grabbed her wrist before she had time to prepare. And a split second later, a sharp pain ran up her leg just as her arm was being wrenched around and she found herself once again on the ground with a mouthful of carpet.

        "Mother f—" Her voice was muffled by the floor. Damn it. He'd done it again. The infuriating man.

        "Cool," Kit cried. "I want to try."

        After a rude glare at her cousin, she pushed herself to her feet and turned to Malloy. "How the hell do you do that?"

        Instead of taunting her ineptness, he shocked her by merely dishing out more instructions as if he hadn't just shown her who was boss.

        Having her face off with Kit, he said, "Press your thumbs into the joint on the back of his wrist." He paused to frown at her fumbling attempts, then muttered, "Here," and manually positioned her fingers around Kit's hand. "Dig the rest of your fingers into his pulse and keep his own palm facing him."

        Willow took a moment to study how she held Kit's wrist. Her cousin made a bored-sounding sigh and yawned loudly as he stood passively, waiting for her to get it right.

        "You want to keep your hand close to you too," Malloy advised, his voice right behind her, tickling her ear with his breath. "Pull his wrist up against you so you'll have more control over him."

        "Like this?" Willow asked, jerking Kit closer. He stumbled off balance, his arm bumping her left breast.

        "Jeez, Willow," he muttered, moving back to put a little space between them. "You're nice and all. But I only like you as a cousin."

        "Shut up," she hissed, sick of his smarmy attitude. Twisting on his hand as Malloy had done to her, she spun him around and pushed him toward the floor. As he landed with an "Oomph," her startled gaze flew to Malloy's.

        "Ohmigod! I did it."

        He laughed and grinned. Willow's breath caught as she stared at him. Wow, he had a gorgeous smile. She had to physically restrain herself to keep from flinging her arms around him and giving him a little victory hug… and kiss.

        Muttering from the floor, Kit pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his knees. "She didn't use any kind of distraction," he pointed out, trying to get her into trouble with the teacher.

        But Malloy merely shook his head. "She didn't have to. You were already unprepared."

        His roundabout praise made Willow glow. "So, what are some of these other pressure points, then?" she asked, wanting to do something else to impress him so she could put another quick, approving grin back on his face. "In case we can get Kit here to pay attention next time?"

        As Kit sputtered out a comeback, Malloy moved closer to her until that intoxicatingly earthy smell of his enveloped her.

        "If you curl your index finger into a hook," he said, doing so himself to demonstrate, and seemingly unaware of the effect he had on her, "you can run your knuckle down an attacker's ribcage, here, and distract him long enough to gain control." Barely touching her, he gently ran his knuckle down almost between her breasts.

        Dear Lord, if this defensive move was supposed to make her attacker's nipples twitch and throb, it worked. She stared up at the sexy man in front of, more than ready for him to touch her again with another pleasurable defensive move.

        But Kit stepped in and imitated Malloy. Reaching out toward Willow, he quickly scraped his knuckle down the center of her breastbone.

        She jerked back at the searing sting and slapped his hand away. "Ouch."

        Kit only grinned and looked at Malloy, nodding his approval. "I like it. What else?"

        Malloy glanced her way, silently asking if she wanted him to show her cousin any more torture techniques. When she met his gaze with a cool nod, he began talking.

        "There's a spot here, just under the nose." He pointed to a place above his lip at the base of his nostrils. "If you chop at that area with the side of your hand, it'll make your attacker's eyes water like crazy. Doesn't work on a cocaine user too well, though," he added as an afterthought, as if he'd gained that tidbit of information from personal experience.

        "Cool," Kit said. With his hands on his hips, he nodded, urging Malloy to continue. "What else?"

        Malloy shook his head in amusement. "There's also a pressure point under the jaw, about an inch in from the end of the jaw bone. You want to press up into the head in a fishhook-like action."

        Eyes lighting, Kit stepped toward Willow, looking determined to try the move for himself. She lifted a hand and gave him a look. "Don't even think about it."

        "If I had my handcuffs," Malloy said, speaking over the two cousins. "I'd show you the iron wristlock."

        "Man," Kit muttered, making a face of supreme disappointment. "I would've liked to see that." Then he snapped his fingers and turned expectantly toward Willow. "Hey, Will. I bet you've got some fuzzy handcuffs in your bedroom, don't you?"

        Willow's mouth dropped open. She was so going to murder her cousin. When Malloy glanced her way, she ignored his curious expression and treated Kit to a killer glare.

        "The hell if I do," she lied.

        Kit frowned and sent her a strange frown. "Really? Hmm. How boring."

        For a second, she was too flustered to reply. Kit had always been tremendously annoying, but she'd never wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze as much as she did right then. How dare he say such a thing in front of Malloy?

        "You are such a pig," she muttered, only to pierce a scowl Malloy's way and add, "Men are such pigs," in case he decided to put in his two cents worth.

        "Hey." He lifted his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh, but you were thinking it."

        He didn't answer, but he didn't have to. The smoldering glance he sent her said he'd like to do more than just think about it. His eyes held a glittering intensity that caught her low in the stomach.

        Willow swallowed.

        Dear God. Malloy wanted her. It was written as plain as day on his face.

        The realization panicked her because, damn it, she wanted him right back. Every inch of her skin tingled. She could already picture them together. Those strong, warm fingers of his wrapping around her wrist and flipping her to the floor, only to follow her down and cover her with his hard, hot body, wrap her in his intoxicating scent and kiss her until—

        Across the room, Kit cleared his throat loudly, causing both her and Malloy to jerk their gazes guiltily away from each other and focus on him. "Well, anyway... Yeah, I'm out of here," he announced before sending Willow a conspiring wink. "Don't do anything you wouldn't want to explain to the paramedics."