“What the fuck, Stone?” Shannon shrieks, staring at me. Her eyes are wide with shock, glittering with fury. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Nothing,” I mutter gruffly, drawing her into my arms. She struggles against me, but I hold her fast. My large hand presses against the bare skin on her back and I close my eyes, not caring if she can feel my hard cock through my jeans. The music changes to a slow number, and I feel her begin to relax. This is what I want, what I’ve needed for so long. We sway in time to the beat and by the time she lifts her head up, there’s no question in my mind that she feels it. Her eyes have an almost dream-like essence as she looks up at me through her heavy fringe of dark lashes. She smells fucking delicious, a warm mixture of vanilla, honey and some kind of flower. Shannon tucks her head beneath my chin, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. Unable to suppress my desire any longer, I tilt her chin gently up, my eyes searching hers. Shannon’s eyes slowly drift closed, her lips slightly part, and I take that as my cue.

I kiss her. Right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other couples, I kiss Shannon as though she's a well in a desert, and I'm dying of thirst. All too soon, though, the kiss is over. Interrupted. I’m swung around by the arm and I duck, narrowly missing being hit by the drunken guy I’d punched just moments earlier. I watch, warily, as the guy circles me, staggering slightly on his feet.

Fourteen years of combat training takes over, and I crouch down in a defensive stance as I wait for the man to make his move. People crowd around us and I can hear Shannon pleading with me to stop, but I’m already back in Afghanistan, facing down an enemy. The man dives at me and I expertly kick my right leg out, knocking the man’s legs out from beneath him. A slight grin forms on my lips as I dive on top of the man, punching him in the face and quite possibly breaking his nose. I’m in my element. This is me; this is what I was born to do. I’m a trained fighter, a born fighter. I feel the bones crumble like dirt beneath my knuckles, and the man’s head drops like a sack of potatoes.

The club is dead silent, and I’m acutely aware of people standing around me, staring at the scene in shock. I gradually get to my feet, my chest heaving as I turn in a slow circle. My eyes fall on Shannon, and I flinch at the fury I see on her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she growls, her voice unusually loud in the silent club. I instinctively know I’ve done the wrong thing, but I’m not sorry for it. I watch as she kneels down next to the man and tends to his wounds. Another, older man also kneels beside her. “Keep the pressure on it,” he’s saying. “An ambulance is on its way.”

“Should we call the cops?” a man yells in the background.

“No,” the injured man says, struggling to sit up. “No, no cops.”

“Shh,” Shannon soothes him, pushing the hair back off his face. “You need to lie still and wait for the ambulance.”

I watch the exchange, a sick feeling settling in the bottom of my stomach. Why is she protecting this idiot who practically mauled her? And why did she allow it to happen? I have to get the fuck away from her. I feel her accusing eyes on me as I turn away and head to the bar, holding my hand up to the bartender for a fresh beer. “Are you sure that’s wise?” Keets asks, sliding onto the bar stool next to me. I look at my friend and swivel on the stool to face him.

“What does it matter?” I ask, gesturing to Shannon, who’s back on the dance floor with Ruth. The injured man has been taken to the hospital under protest, and the club seems to be back to normal. Except for the scathing looks Shannon continues to throw my way.

“I know it can’t be good to drink that much beer,” Keets says, gesturing to the bartender for his own drink.

“Yeah, well, desperate times, my friend,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder as I grab my fresh beer and drain half of it immediately.

“Why are you doing this?” Keets demands. “Why can’t you just leave her alone?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask. My voice is starting to slur, and I have to squint to see him in front of me.

“I saw you out there,” he states, his face twisting into an ugly scowl. “Didn’t we have this chat the other night? She’s not for you.”

“Dude, it was just a dance.”

“You just punched the shit out of some guy for dancing with her!” Keets is livid.

“I punched the shit out of some guy for pawing at her like she was a piece of fucking meat,” I yell as I stand up, towering over Keets on the barstool.

“Why do you care?” Keets stands up, back in my face.

“Why do you not?” I shoot back.

We stand there in silence, neither one of us wanting to back down. Finally, Keets looks away, visibly swallowing a lump in his throat. “Whatever,” he says quietly. “I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

I attempt to calm down with slow, deep breaths. “I know, man,” I respond. “I appreciate it. But you need to stop. I’m fine, and I promise I would never do anything to intentionally hurt Shannon.”

Keets nods slowly. “All right,” he agrees.

We hug each other awkwardly, patting one another on the back as we part. Keets returns to the dance floor, and a smile spreads across my face as I watch my old friend politely incline his head to Ruth and offer her his hand. My eyes move over to Shannon who stands there, a glare on her beautiful face as she looks back at me, not even attempting to mask her anger.

I’m in deep shit.

 

I’m fucking furious. Who the hell does Stone think he is? He can’t just go barging into a situation, all guns blazing and expect to save the day.

Okay, I concede. If I’m perfectly honest, I wanted him to see that guy all over me.

After Stone’s rejection of me in Saddles this afternoon, I wanted to prove to him … to myself, that some men find me desirable. I just never expected … that. He was like a caged tiger, all pent up rage and frustration. And lust.

My pulse quickens as I think about that searing kiss. What did it mean? Was it just the heat of the moment, or do I have Stone wrong? Is he attracted to me after all? There was no denying the feel of his hard cock pressed against me as we danced, but if he is, why does he insist on fighting it? Does he think I want more? Hearts and flowers? He’s no Prince Charming, and I’m not Cinderella. If we were, this would be one fucked-up fairy tale. I slam my glass down on the small round table and stare around the darkened club. I can see Stone over at the bar, drinking yet another beer. How many does that make tonight? Nine? Ten? I’d lost count after five. My hair has come loose, and curly tendrils tickle the back of my neck. I impatiently pull the tie out and pin my hair up into a bun as I watch the couples still dancing. As I finish fixing my hair, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head to the side, my eyes widening in surprise as I see Ruth pinned against the wall of the club by Keets, locked in a kiss so primal, so powerful it seems to charge the air. I almost feel like a voyeur as I watch them, and force my eyes away, back toward the bar. I see Stone as he sits there, talking to a man who joined him on one of the tall bar stools. There’s something eerily familiar about him, and as he turns, I see his profile. I suck in a breath.

It’s Troy. What the hell is he doing here? What is he saying to Stone?

I stand up a little too quickly, knocking over the chair, but I hardly give it a second thought as my eyes stay trained on Troy and Stone. It takes me just seconds to reach the bar, and then Troy looks up and sees me.