“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking private boxing lessons?” he’d demanded when they had a moment alone at the table.

She rolled her pretty brown eyes. “Because I knew you’d act like it’s a personal affront to you.”

To keep their friends from eavesdropping, he’d moved in close enough to count the freckles on her nose. “Whose kickboxing class are you in?”

“Yours.” She studied him. “You’re telling me you’re a more dedicated teacher than Fisher?”

“Do I look like I give a damn if my students excel in a fitness class? Huh-uh. I try to break them.”

“Why?”

“Survival of the fittest, babe.”

“Sorry, but that attitude does make you a shitty teacher, Deacon.”

“Fish-dick is a shitty teacher. I break my students down to build them back up stronger than they were before.” He had a hard time keeping his eyes off that lush fucking mouth of hers, which needed his mouth on it pronto. “So did you hire Fisher because you wanted private one-on-one time with him?”

“Yes, that’s it,” she cooed with sarcasm. “Instead of showing me how to increase my impact and speed, Fisher ties me to the heavy bag and fucks me in front of the whole dojo. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”

He forced himself to focus on the challenge dancing in her eyes rather than hooking an arm around Fisher’s neck and choking him out right there in the booth. Every time he inhaled, Molly’s flowery scent floated to him.

“But if you’re so desperate to prove your dick is bigger than his, I’ll bring a ruler next time.”

He laughed. “Better bring a yardstick for me, babe, not a puny ruler.”

“I’m surprised you can get pants on over that monster-sized . . . ego.”

Speaking of monster-sized. Jesus. All night he’d tried to keep his gaze off her truly spectacular tits. Something had prompted her to ditch the modest clothes she usually favored. And it made him fucking crazy to think she’d dressed differently because Fisher was here.

Needing to push her a little, Deacon lifted his hand to twine a long, shiny brown curl around his index finger. As his finger wound the spiral higher, the backs of his knuckles brushed the creamy swell of her full breast.

Molly’s refusal to slap his hand away intrigued him. As did the way her pulse hammered in her throat as he touched her.

“Tell me why you need to take more classes to increase your hitting power?”

“Are you asking if I’m still afraid of my own shadow?”

“From where I’m sitting, you’ve made great strides in confidence and the ability to defend yourself.”

She didn’t look like she believed him.

“What?”

“Do you know what I did today? I helped teach a self-defense class. I stood in front of fifty girls and told them about being attacked. How I’d felt like an idiot for being oblivious to my dangerous surroundings. How I’d felt lucky that at least I hadn’t been raped. Then I confessed I couldn’t go outside by myself after dark for more than a month after it happened. Even if I’d forgotten something in my car, I couldn’t make myself leave the safety of my apartment. A big, strong, tough guy like you doesn’t have any idea how it feels to be frightened out of your fucking mind. So getting to tell those girls today that I took control of the fear by enrolling in self-defense classes made me feel ten feet tall.”

Shit, he knew what was coming.

“But according to you, I’m still traumatized from that attack. I shouldn’t speak out publicly about what happened to me. I shouldn’t share the precautions other girls can take so they don’t end up in that situation.” She glared at him. “You think I’m weak. That’s why I didn’t ask you to teach me. Fisher has never seen me as a victim.”

When she attempted to pull her head away, Deacon held tightly to the piece of hair wrapped around his finger. His gaze encompassed every inch of her face. From the fire flashing in her big brown eyes, to the wrinkle in her brow, to the heat and alcohol turning her cheeks rosy, to the pursed set of her lips.

“Let me go.”

“You’ve had your say; now I’ll have mine. I told your friends not to assume you’d want to help with the class. The reason I said that? Because you’ve never spoken to me or anyone else at the dojo about the attack. So I assumed it still had a hold on you. That mistake is on me and I’m sorry. But I’ve never ever thought you were weak—especially since you faced down your fears and have been kicking them in the teeth. Do I tell you to toughen up in my class? Yep. But I tell everyone to push harder.