her to—well, if she knew what had happened, she’d look at him differently, wouldn’t she? Yes. Of course she would. And why that mattered he wasn’t certain, but it did. It mattered to him that Jax Rousseau never looked at him with sympathy or pity.
“What else did he say?” he asked roughly, feeling pissed.
She shrugged. “Not much. He was surprised when you applied for this job. Said you used to be a detective for the SVU before retiring. Said you helped him out with a couple of cases he worked on at the DA’s office. And he said you were a really, really great cop.”
Something inside of him twisted at her words. Not because she meant to hurt him, but because he had been a good cop, and he had loved his job. He searched her face, looking for signs of pity, but he didn’t see any. “So…?”
“So last night you told me I should take a self-defense class if I plan to hang around rapists.”
He raised his eyebrow, giving her a dry, impatient look.
“And since most of the guys I know are…well, like Tripp, you know, when they drink…well, I was thinking that maybe you’re right. It couldn’t hurt to take a few classes…so…”
Something about her tone made him anxious. “So take a class.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I want you.”
I want you.
His brain short-circuited for a moment. His skin flushed hot. His dick jumped behind his sweat pants, every fast beat of his heart making it throb.
“Wh-what?”
“I want you…you know, to teach me.”
“Teach you what?” he asked in a rush.
“How to defend myself,” she said, her forehead wrinkling in annoyance. “What have I been saying?”
You’ve been saying “I want you,” which is something you should never say to a man unless you mean it in the only way that matters.
Gard rotated his neck from side to side, listening to it crack as he took a beat to catch his breath and try to focus on what she was saying, not on the dirty fantasies lapping through his head.
Self-defense. Wait. Self-defense classes?
“I don’t teach self-defense classes.”
“Oh, really?” She stood up, giving him a sour look. “You have no idea how to defend yourself?”
“Of course I do. But I’m not a teache—”
“If you know how, you can teach me.”
“Go to your local YMCA. They must have a class.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, her whole body seeming to deflate before him. When she finally spoke, her voice wasn’t as strong or sassy as it had been a moment before. “I can’t.”
“Why not? Too good to take a class with the unwashed masses?”
She grimaced, drawing back as she would if he’d slapped her. “No. That’s not it at all.”
“Then what?”
“I’m…”
“You’re what?”
She took a deep breath. “They’ll take pictures.”
“Who?”
“They’ll…I mean, they…forget it.” Her voice was soft and tired as she dropped his eyes. “I should go.”
“Wait jus—”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
He blew out a frustrated breath, hating the conflicted way he felt as he watched her sidestep between the coffee table and sofa, her head down as she neared the door.
“Jax,” he said gently but firmly, drawing his fingers into fists by his sides. She stopped. “Who will take pictures?”
“Everyone,” she said softly, turning to face him with glassy eyes. “I won an Oscar last year for producing The Philly Story. My last name is Rousseau. Suddenly I was linked to every actor and director in Hollywood. They sneaked into my gym and tried to get pictures of me coming out of the shower. Another one chased me on his motorcycle until I rear-ended another car. Thank God no one was seriously hurt.” Her eyes flooded with tears, and she reached up to brush the Band-Aid still affixed to her temple. “It’ll be all over Instagram and Jax Rousseau with a black eye. Jax Rousseau taking a self-defense class. Who beat up Jax Rousseau? They’ll make up stories and say things. It’ll start all over again and I can’t…” She shook her head, one hand swiping away the wetness on her cheeks. “Forget it. Not your problem. I’ll find someone else.”
His chest clenched, watching her get emotional over the possibility of professional gossipmongers invading her privacy, and he knew instinctively it was why she’d been so standoffish last night. And damn it but it made him angry. It made him furious. It made him desperate to protect her, even though he couldn’t—even though he was a shadow of the man he once was.
“I’ll do it,” he blurted out, releasing his breath