Page 8 of Faking It at Sea

I nodded.

“Text me if you need me to save you or if you leave the steakhouse. If I don’t hear from you in,” she checked the imaginary watch on her wrist, “two hours, Iwillcome looking for you.”

“Yes, mom,” I mocked, though her protectiveness was sweet.

“I know you’re some big, tough disaster relief woman in real life?—”

“Emergency relief coordinator,” I corrected.

She waved me off. “You’re also the closest thing I have to a sister, and I would never forgive myself if something bad happened to you on my watch.”

I opened my mouth to tell her nothing would happen but snapped it shut before the words slipped out. Tempting fate seemed like a bad idea in the middle of the ocean. “I’ll be careful, and I’ll check in.” I traced an ‘X’ over my heart. “Promise. As long as you promise to text me if you leave here.”

Missy nodded once. “Deal, and afterward, I expect to hear all about your date.”

Of course she did.

On my way out, I was stopped twice by guys looking to chat. The first one was friendly enough, though I could barely hear my own voice over the din when I told him I had other plans.

The second, on the other hand, seemed to take my very polite refusal as a personal attack on his manhood, going so far as to stand between me and the exit. All he managed to do was pissme off. I’d dealt with my fair share of assholes over the years, but the entitled ones were the worst. As if their mere interest in me meant I owed them my time or attention.

I was about to shove past him when a scarred hand landed on his shoulder and moved him aside. Rather than make a scene defending my honor, Sutton just stepped in front of the guy, wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, and pressed his lips to mine.

It was a chaste kiss by most standards. No groping or tongues tangling, but the possessiveness in it kicked my pulse up a few notches.

He pulled back, his focus entirely on me, as if the guy behind him wasn’t boring a hole in the back of his head with that glare. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, because even if I’d found the words I wanted to say, I didn’t trust my voice. He took my hand, laced our fingers together, and turned to lead me out without casting so much as a sideways glance at the jerk who’d been standing in my way.

Once the glowing sign for the Opulent Oasis Martini Bar was at our backs and the spike of adrenaline was fading, I pulled my hand free. “I could have taken care of that guy on my own.”

“I have no doubt,” Sutton replied.

“Then why did you kiss me?”

He paused to study me with a smolder that made the ache pulsing between my thighs that much worse. “If we’re going to make this thing look convincing, I have to be me, and deep down, I’m a possessive sonofabitch.”

Yeah, I’d picked up on that. “Next time, ask first.”

He blinked a few times and straightened. The fire in his expression dimmed. “You are absolutely right. I’m sorry.”

It was a genuine apology, but a twisted little part of me didn’t really care. That kiss, that possessiveness, did something to me.

I liked it.

My inner diva wanted to preen over being desired like that.

None of the guys I’d dated in my past were even the slightest bit possessive, and that was my choice. I’d always been attracted to guys who looked like Sutton. Big, tattooed, bordering on frightening when you got close, but after seeing what my mom went through, I never let myself date them.

Guys like Sutton were my naughty little fantasy, a secret kept between me and my vibrator.

Out in the real world, I only dated good guys. The nice, dependable type.

Safe.

And safe wasn’t a word that came to mind when I looked at Sutton.

“Next time,” he said, his serious expression softening into a subtle smirk, “I will make sure I have your explicit permission.”

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