Nightfire. Barbara McCauley

hard, he waved her back into the room as he wiped at the sweat on his face and neck. “You’re early.” He gasped between breaths.

      The rapid rise and fall of his chest held her attention. Sweat rimmed the top of his sweatshirt. She pulled her gaze from his body. “What do you mean, ‘I’m early?”’

      He glanced at the clock on the mirrored wall behind Allison. “You don’t work out until six-thirty.”

      Was there anything this man didn’t know about her? Frowning, she stepped into the room. “And where did you happen to get that little bit of information?”

      “Your father mentioned it.” He dragged the towel over his damp hair, then wrapped it around his neck.

      “After you asked, you mean.”

      He reached for the thermos beside the weight machine, twisted the top off and poured the steaming liquid into the cup. “Coffee?”

      No sane person turned down coffee at this hour of the morning. She took the plastic cup out of his hand, hoping that something hot would steady her shaky nerves. “Just a swallow,” she said, taking a sip.

      “Go ahead and finish it.” He stood and tossed the towel over the weight bench. “The extra caffeine will do you good before we start.”

      She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean ‘before we start?”’

      “Your lessons.”

      “What lessons?”

      He shook his arms out, then planted himself in front of her, his feet spread slightly apart. “I’m going to teach you self-defense.”

      Self-defense? Allison lowered the cup and stared at him incredulously. “You mean like karate or judo?”

      “Not exactly. I’ll just work with you on some simple but effective techniques to protect yourself.”

      The coffee obviously wasn’t helping her nerves at all. She tightened her fingers around the cup, struggling to hold on to her composure. “I thought it was your job to protect me.”

      “And what if I can’t?” He stared down at her. “What if these guys manage to get you alone, or what if I’m shot or even dead. There’ll be no one but you, Allison. Then what?”

      The thought of Kane being hurt while he was protecting her horrified Allison. And the idea of violence, even in her own self-defense, made her stomach twist painfully. “I don’t know.”

      “You have to know. You either take responsibility for yourself or you’ll be a victim, no different from your kids at the center.”

      The anger that shot through her was as swift as it was furious. She leveled her gaze with his, and the fact that he was a good nine inches taller was irrelevant. “You leave the children out of this. They have no choice in their lives.”

      He nodded stiffly. “That’s right. They had no choice at all. But you do. You can walk out of here, or you can be a headline in the morning newspapers whom everyone feels sorry for. What’ll it be?”

      She wanted to walk away, needed to walk away. But the truth of Kane’s words permeated the fist of anger gripping her. He was right. She did have a choice.

      Setting her jaw, she drew in a slow, deep breath and handed him the cup back. “Just get on with it.”

      Kane took the cup from Allison’s hand, watching her eyes shift from the hard edge of anger to the rigid set of determination. Good. Tenacity was always the best pupil, not size or gender. He forced himself to hold her gaze, refusing to give in to the impulse to skim over the curves beneath the skintight outfit she wore that—much to his discomfort—more than defined her gender and size.

      Setting the cup behind him, he faced her again. “The first rule, and most important, is to be aware of what’s happening around you. Watch the movements of anyone walking close by. Keep track of the traffic around you. Always know what your options are, what street you can pull onto, where you can run for help. Be alert to anything, or anybody, out of the ordinary.”

      “Someone like you, maybe?” Sarcasm edged her words.

      One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Especially someone like me.”

      He moved closer to her and Allison realized he was intentionally trying to intimidate her. Though the impulse to step back was strong, she held her ground, trying to ignore the rapid-fire beating of her heart. “And what if I can’t get away?”

      He moved closer still. “That’s when you need to keep calm and assess the situation. Does he have a gun? A knife? What’s close to you that you might use as a weapon yourself? Your keys, your purse, a picture frame or rolled-up magazine. Anything you can strike with quickly, that will give you the extra seconds you need to run.”

      What she wanted to do was run out of here. Dammit. He was too close. The clothes he’d been wearing yesterday hadn’t revealed how muscular he was. His arms were like cords of steel, his chest as wide as a doorway. She knew that fact should make her feel safe, but at the moment she felt anything but.

      “Most assailants,” he went on, “expect pleading and acquiescence, not a counterattack. Use that to your advantage. Beg with them not to hurt you, then let them have it while they’re gloating over their dominance.”

      “Hit hard, hit fast and get the hell out,” she quoted Kane from yesterday.

      “Good girl.” He smiled. “You pay attention.”

      She wondered if he had any idea just how true his statement was. With no more than ten inches between them, he definitely had her undivided attention. The masculine scent of his skin, the waves of heat radiating off his body. And his eyes. His eyes were deep blue, as brilliant and endless as a moonlit sky.

      Dealing with an attack was beginning to look like a piece of cake next to dealing with Kane.

      Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Now what?”

      “Now—” he grabbed her suddenly “—you’re going to learn how to take the offensive.”

      With his hands wrapped tightly around Allison’s wrists, Kane wasn’t sure who was surprised more—Allison or himself. He’d intended to catch her off guard, of course, but he certainly hadn’t planned to be caught as well.

      Her skin was cool and soft beneath his hands, her scent distinctly feminine. As he stared down at her wide green eyes and softly parted lips, he had to remind himself—again—that Allison Westcott was a client. A beautiful one perhaps, but a client nonetheless. When she tried to pull away from him he held fast.

      She narrowed her eyes. “You really expect me to be able to break out of your hold?”

      “Every hold has a weak point. Mine is here—” he lifted her arms “—between my thumb and forefinger. Twist your arms,” he instructed, “then quickly pull down and away.”

      He had to be kidding, she thought. His hands were like twin bands of iron on her arms. Still, she did as he said. And all she managed to achieve was two sore wrists. She glared at him. “Kane, I can’t—”

      “Just think of it as a dance movement,” he encouraged. “Fast and furious, yet smooth and even. Concentrate. Focus on that weak point and pull your own strength from deep inside.”

      “I can’t—”

      He drew her closer to him. “I’m not giving you a choice. You either break out, or we’ll be standing here all day.” One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Just you and me, Allison. Alone.”

      The suggestive tone in Kane’s voice was all the incentive Allison needed. Jaw set, shoulders straight, she twisted her arms, pulled down and away.

      It worked.

      She stared at her free arms. She’d done it. She’d actually broken out of his hold. Amazed, she looked