Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 16175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Her mouth parts slightly, and her eyes glaze over, pupils blown wide. Wicked need buzzes just beneath my skin. If she so much as touches me again, I might just come in my pants.
A hand slams on the counter, and Tess jerks back, flush creeping on her chest and cheeks as she casts her eyes downward, unable to meet my gaze.
“Yo, buddy. You taking orders around here?”
A rush of emotions threatens to overwhelm me—my blood on fire at Tess’ simple touch and boiling fury at whoever dares to interrupt our moment. Casting the guy standing beside her with a look of pure menace, I grind my teeth. “What do you want?”
The fucking prick has the audacity to rake his eyes up and down Tess’ body, and it takes every ounce of slim control I have not to grab his collar and gouge his eyes out. He stands just an inch or two shorter than me, wide and heavily muscled, like he spends a whole day at the gym, alternating between sets and taking mirror selfies.
He wears a fitted black tee and, of course, flexes his biceps while sneering. “Negroni for me and whatever this gorgeous lady wants for herself.”
Tess whips her head to him and narrows her gaze. “No thanks. I can buy my own drink.”
It’s a struggle not to smile at the way she cuts him a glance and flicks a nonexistent lint on her dress.
My girl has claws.
Apparently, he’s either stupid or drunk or both because he leans forward, elbow almost touching hers. “Let me buy you one. I promise I’m a better company than this scar-faced bartender.”
My pulse pounds in my ears, vision goes red. It’s one thing to make fun of my scar when I’m alone and I can just ignore them and go about my day. It’s another to do it in front of the woman I will lay my life for.
I’m one second from jumping over the counter and dragging his ass outside—I may have never hit the gym but I’m no slouch when it comes to fighting either—when Tess’s face twists in anger, nostrils flaring as she jabs a manicured nail at him. “Fuck off, asshole. You’re the freak and the creep.”
What the—
Gym bro stands from his slouch and squares his shoulder. His face is so red I think he might be having a heart attack. He tries to grab her, but before his filthy fingers can even touch her, I burst into action, propelled by the primal urge to protect Tess.
My muscles tense as I grab the edge of the counter for support and leap across, landing on the other side with a thud. Before he can even react, I rear my arm back and clock him in the jaw.
For someone big, it’s fairly easy to make him sway unsteadily. Maybe it’s more from the surprise than the actual blow, but either way, he staggers back and looks momentarily confused as two bouncers—bigger than him—flank him on either side and grip each of his arms.
He struggles and tries to pull away to no avail.
My glasses slide down my nose and I push it back up. I nod to both men. “Get him out of here and remember his face. Never let him in again.”
I don’t take my eyes off them until they’re out of my sight. There’s no shortage of drunk assholes here, and I normally let the bouncers take them on. His mistake was making a move on my girl.
My shoulders are still stiff when I turn around to face Tess. She’s in her seat, eyes wide and jaw hanging open.
I keep a respectful distance from her since I’m not sure what’s gotten her so afraid—the other guy or me. Also because this close, with nothing standing between us, it’s harder for me to pretend like she’s just another customer. “Are you okay?”
She darts her eyes around uneasily before landing them on me. Tess tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her hand shaking. “C-can you get me out of here please?”
The impulse to wrap my arms around her and promise to keep her safe is so strong I have to physically lock my body in. Instead, I shrug off my black denim jacket and hand it to her. She gives me a soft smile and wears it over her dress.
Yep, she’s drowning in it. The sleeves fall over her fingers. The collar rests against her cheeks, framing her face. It’s the last thing I need but I’m flooded by a vision of her wearing one of my t-shirts and nothing else.
Mentally shaking the image, I touch the tips of my fingers on the small of her back to lead her out, at the same time protecting her from the unwanted and unwelcome attention of the other drunks in the bar. No one will dare to go near her when they know she’s with me.