The Marriage Beat. Doreen Roberts
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. It’s not as easy as it looks. Here.”
He grabbed her arm, frowning in the effort to think of her as a cloth dummy instead of a warm, vibrant, sweet-smelling woman.
The next ten minutes were pure hell. The more moves he showed her, and the more contact he had with her firm body, the more irritable he became. He was furious with himself, furious at his weakness, and even more furious at her for having the power to do this to him. In an effort to disguise his problem, he rapped out his orders, sounding like a sergeant major with a bad hangover.
Megan was having just as much trouble paying attention. From the moment she’d seen him standing on the mat, legs braced apart in black gym shorts and a large portion of his chest bared by a blue tank top, she’d had trouble concentrating.
Every time he came near her she jumped, and whenever he put his hands on her, she just about curled up inside. To make matters worse, he kept snapping out orders at her, making her even more nervous.
In fact her nerves were strung up so tight she just knew if he didn’t quit yelling at her like that she’d explode, and tell him to forget the darn lessons. She should report him for being the worst instructor she’d ever encountered. Period.
He’d shown her how to grab his arm and pull him forward, but when it came to getting her shoulder beneath him to flip him over, she kept forgetting to bend over at the right time.
She was getting tired, and her muscles were sore. She just couldn’t wait until the lesson was over so she could go home and soak in the tub.
“All right,” Tyler said, mopping his brow with the back of his hand, “we’ll try it one more time then call it quits for tonight.”
Wondering if he’d read her mind, she gathered up the last of her energy. This time she’d do it. Just once she’d like to see him flat on his back with her foot in his neck. She faced him, muscles tensed, ready for the attack.
He scowled at her, in his role of attacker. “Remember to yell.”
He started toward her and she yelled, raising her hands to reach for his outstretched arm.
“Grab and pull,” he shouted. “Get under, under, bend, bend...no bend!”
She bent. This time, for the first time, his feet left the floor. For one glorious moment she felt his weight shifting over her shoulder. In her delight she started to straighten up, then gasped as her arm twisted awkwardly under his weight. She hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet, she realized in alarm.
He crashed to the mat on his back, dragging her with him. She cried out as his full weight landed on her forearm. He rolled off her in an instant, but the pain brought tears to her eyes. She sank onto the mat, cradling her arm against her body.
“Damn! I told you to bend.” Tyler knelt in front of her. “Let me look.”
She tried to lift her arm to show him, but it hurt to move it.
“Try wiggling your fingers,” he ordered, his voice softening in sympathy.
She felt like crying as she gingerly moved her fingers. It hurt like the blazes, but they worked.
Gently, he reached for her arm and ran his warm fingers up and down it. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said gruffly, “but I’m taking you to the hospital to get it checked out.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary—”
“Don’t argue with me. You’re going and that’s the end of it.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
She kept it shut all the way to the hospital, even though she was aware of the worried glances he kept sending her. She’d had trouble getting into her jeans, and he’d had to help her. It had been embarrassing to say the least. Right then she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say to him.
Tyler did all the talking when they arrived at the check-in desk in Emergency. He’d pulled on a pair of black sweatpants over his shorts, and looked more like a high-school coach than a cop. Megan noticed the skeptical way the nurse looked at him when he explained who he was.
She had to sign the form with her left hand, something she hadn’t done since she was in grade school. Her effort looked unreadable, but the friendly nurse assured her it was just fine.
Told to wait in the lounge, she took a seat near the window, overlooking the parking lot. It gave her something on which to concentrate her attention.
Tyler sat down opposite her, his face creased in a worried frown. “How’s it feel?” he asked her, when she looked at him.
“Not bad,” she lied. “I’m