Page 88 of Javier

I’d never been in a situation like this, with the key to the men’s room in my hand, and both guys looking at me expectantly. I had a bad case of the jitters, but it was now or never.

“Who is it going to be,ma chérie?” Gerard asked eagerly. “Me? Him? Both?”

“We shall honor your wishes.” Pierre assured me, setting his other hand over his heart.

“No pressure.” Gerard planted a chaste kiss on my forehead.

I couldn’t lie to myself. I was terrified. But I was also determined. I opened my mouth to make a choice, but closed it when Pierre’s eyes widened and his body tensed. He let go of my hand, grabbed Gerard by the sleeve, and knocked his chin to somewhere behind me. Gerard’s compact figure straightened. His eyes matched the size of Pierre’s.

I whirled around and discovered the source of their fears. Javier stalked toward us, his hands fisted, his jaw clenched, and his face set in a ferocious scowl that would’ve frightened the crap out of anyone with a sound brain. The fury radiating from him burned through my skin and iced my spine at the same time.

“No.” I jumped in front of Pierre and Gerard and waved my hands. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Javier came to a stop before me and shot both men a hard stare.

“This.” I braced my hands on his chest and pushed only to discover he wouldn’t budge, not even an inch. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “We talked about this. You have no right to beat up these men.”

“Who says I’m gonna beat these jackasses to a pulp?” His voice was deceptively placid.

“You look the part.” I tapped him on the chest. “Hey, look down. Eyes on me.” Reluctantly, he lowered his gaze to me. “Don’t ruin my chances. This ismydecision to make.”

His heart pounded like a war drum under my palm, and every one of his muscles bulged beneath my touch. His body vibrated with what felt like repressed violence. I couldn’t understand. He’d had his chance. And now he was angry about… what?

It didn’t matter. I had to stop a fight from happening. A cursory glance over my shoulder showed me that Pierre and Gerard had taken a step backward, but they weren’t running away, at least not yet.

“Monsieur,” Pierre said, recapturing Javier’s attention. “You have no right to control this lovely woman.”

“Controlling men like you give all of us a terrible reputation.” Gerard’s accent thickened with his accusation. “Liberté, égalité, fraternité.” He quoted the French Revolution motto. “She’s free to decide.”

Judging by the vein that popped up on Javier’s forehead, I feared the men had spoken their last words.

“We’re Renaissance men,” Pierre proclaimed, his throat grating with indignation. “We’re not possessive trolls.”

“Renaissance men?” Javier rumbled. “Did you just call me a troll?”

The muscle that ticked on his jaw silenced Pierre, butGerard opened his mouth to speak again, forecasting the very disaster I was trying to prevent.

“Don’t say anything else,” I snapped at him before I tugged on Javier’s T-shirt in an effort to shift his attention to me. “What’s going on? Tell me. Please?”

Javier reluctantly disengaged from the three-way glaring contest. When I arched my eyebrows at him, he must’ve seen my distress, because his scowl relented. Instead, he pasted a grin on his face and aimed it at my companions. The smile was nice, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Excusez-moi, met amis,” Javier said. “I’ve given you the wrong impression.”

Tilting my head, I stared up at him, fighting to keep my mouth closed. Had Javier Guzman just issued an apology to the men? I shook my head. An afterthought. Did he speak French?

“I may not look like a Renaissance man, but I am one, too.” He reached over, settled his arm over my shoulder, and maneuvered me to his side, muttering under his breath. “At least I’m trying to be.”

He certainly seemed to be making an effort. I was too astonished to intervene. Without me standing between the men, he faced off with the other two. Pierre and Gerard glowered suspiciously at him. Their squared postures revealed they weren’t convinced.

“You’re right,messieurs, mysœurcan do whatever she wants to do.” Javier definitively had a working knowledge of French and a lovely pronunciation to boot. “She’s smart, this one.C’est one femme trés intelligente.Comprendez vous?”

“Oui, bien sûr.” Pierre nodded.

“Évidemment,” Gerard agreed.

“She knows what she wants,” Javier continued in this unexpected course. “But…”

“But what?” I asked, hanging on his every word.

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