The Marriage Beat. Doreen Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ sighed, and slipped the report he’d just filled out into the file. He hadn’t joined the force to give self-defense lessons. In fact, there were some days when he wondered why he’d ever wanted to become a cop. It certainly wasn’t the glamorous, exciting life he’d imagined when he’d first started as a rookie.

      The job had its moments, of course...the feeling of satisfaction of a job well done when he’d seen a criminal locked away. Watching a thug get what he deserved—those were the moments that made his job worthwhile.

      There was also the downside. The innocent people hurt, maimed or killed by a lawbreaker—children on drugs, wives beaten half to death, families crushed in a car hit by a drunk driver—these were the nightmares that haunted him.

      In comparison, he thought, as he scanned the information Megan Summers had given him, wrestling a defenseless woman to the mat seemed like a picnic. Even so, he wished he’d never mentioned the lessons. A little learning could be dangerous.

      He could just imagine Megan Summers taking on the entire criminal population of Portland if she thought she could overpower them. He’d have to make darn sure she understood that her ability would be limited. He’d have to warn her not to start something she wasn’t sure she could finish.

      Tyler closed the file and dropped it into the out bin. He could understand her frustration, of course. She was a helpless victim, and she wanted to hit back. He knew that feeling very well. He’d watched his own brother struggle with his inadequacies.

      Tyler had fought many a battle for Mason, defending his brother against the ignorant bullies who taunted him. It was Tyler who had been suspended from school for fighting, and it was Tyler who had been grounded for two weeks for blacking both eyes of the kid next door. He’d considered it a small price to pay for the satisfaction of teaching his brother’s tormentors a lesson.

      Tyler shook his head as he got wearily to his feet. That was him, the almighty protector. He’d done it so much for his brother it had become a way of life for him. And it was still getting him into trouble.

      He closed his mind to the vision of a delicate face and beautiful green eyes. Megan Summers’s looks were deceptive. There was nothing fragile about that lady. He was worrying over nothing. Might as well accept the situation and get it over with as quickly as possible.

      

      He tried to keep that thought firmly in mind as he watched Megan walk across the floor toward him on Thursday evening. She was wearing black tights and a bright pink leotard that hugged her body as close as a second skin. The tiny sleeves left most of her arms bare and the scooped neckline hovered just above the line of decency. The second he saw her he knew he was in deep trouble.

      He lowered his gaze to the floor and massaged the back of his neck, giving himself time to reconstruct his shattered composure. He was glad he’d put on shorts and tank top. He was going to need all the help he could get to keep his cool.

      He had to force himself to look up when she reached him. If it was any comfort, she looked as nervous as he felt. She’d tied her hair back with a pale pink scarf, and wore no makeup, save for a dash of color on her lips. The effect made her look much younger than the twenty-nine years she’d stated on the report.

      He was just seven years older than her, but right then the gap seemed much wider. It helped. A little. “I’m glad to see you’re on time,” he said, his uneasiness making his voice sound harsh.

      She lifted her chin. “I’m always on time.”

      Her cool voice made him think of a creek trickling through the forest on a hot summer afternoon. Unnerved by his poetic thoughts, he turned away from her and waved his hand at the mat. “Okay, let’s get started.”

      He made her stand on the very edge of the mat, as far away from him as possible, as he went through the usual routine of explaining some of the easier ways she could defend herself. She seemed uncomfortable at his demonstration of poking fingers into an assailant’s eyes or throat, and looked sick when he told her that if she thrust the heel of her hand hard enough up under an attacker’s nose she could drive the bone through his brain.

      That one usually got to the more squeamish students, but Megan seemed to recover fast enough to ask questions. In fact, by the time he’d finished his initial briefing of what the lessons would entail, she seemed anxious and eager to get on with them.

      A glance at the clock told him he still had thirty minutes. Half an hour of pure torture, if his body was any indication of what to expect.

      “Before we start the first moves,” he announced, hoping his dry throat wouldn’t affect his voice, “we’ll do a warm-up session to relax your muscles.”

      “My muscles are perfectly relaxed,” Megan announced, doing a swift knee-bend to prove it. “I work out every morning.”

      Her muscles might be perfectly relaxed, Tyler thought grimly, but his were as tight as a drum. “I don’t care what you do in the mornings. When you’re in my class you do warm-ups. I don’t need a pulled muscle on my conscience.”

      Her magnificent eyes sparkled with resentment. “I’m not likely to pull a muscle, but if you insist—”

      “I do insist.”

      She looked put out, but followed him through the warm-up routine, making it all look so effortless his normally active body felt sluggish.

      When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he braced himself for the hands-on procedures. “The first thing you have to remember when attempting to use a defensive move is to act with aggression. Yell, scream or swear, but make as much noise as possible. It will unnerve your opponent.” He took a stance, jabbed at the air and let out a bellow that made Megan jump backward off the mat.

      Pleased that he’d got his point across, he braced himself. “Now come and take a shot at me.”

      She blinked, took a hesitant step forward, then stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

      He pounded his chest. “Here. Come and hit me here. Use as much force as you can.”

      She gave her head a slight shake, poised herself on her toes, then rushed at him with a yell that would have scared Geronimo. He was so taken with her effort that he almost forgot to sidestep. Pivoting on his heel, he caught her raised arm, pulled her forward, tucked his shoulder into her armpit and bent double, flipping her neatly over his shoulder.

      At least, it was supposed to be neatly. The sudden shock of her lithe body slithering over his made him check for an instant, enough to make him lose the momentum. He had to grab her to prevent her from falling awkwardly.

      Luckily she didn’t seem to notice as she sprawled safely and somehow elegantly onto the mat. “Wow!” she said, sitting up. “That was great. It looks so easy. Can I do that?”

      Tyler was still trying to get his wits back after suffering the exquisite agony of grasping her slim waist with both hands. “Only if you pay attention to what I tell you,” he barked hoarsely.

      She looked taken aback at his tone, and he pulled in a deep breath. Get it under control, Jackson, he warned himself. This was serious stuff. He needed his concentration.

      He forced himself to speak more naturally. “What I did was use your momentum to pull you off balance. I pulled you in the direction you were already going, and the rest was leverage. СКАЧАТЬ