Page 299 of The Christmas Wife

"Let her the fuck go."

He looks between us. "Are you with him?"

"I’m not," she snaps at the same time that I growl, "She is."

He frowns. "Maybe it’s best I step back."

"That would be best for all of us, motherfucker," I growl.

"No need to swear." The man’s lips firm. "I’ll leave once I make sure Zara’s okay." He turns to her. "You all right, Z?"

"The fuck?" He called her by a nickname? How dare he call her by a nickname. No one gets to do that, except me.

I glare down at where the bastard still has his hand on her hip. "Let her the fuck go."

"And if I don’t?"

I raise my fist and bury it in his face.

"Really? Really?" She paces back-forth-back in the small room up the corridor from the ballroom where the gala was being held. "What were you thinking, Hunter?" she snaps.

I wasn’t thinking.

I saw his hands on her and I swung and connected with his face. The stranger took the hit, staggered back, only to recover and swing at me. I ducked, of course, and growled at Zara to step aside, which she did. When I was sure she was at a safe enough distance I swung at him again, and we both went tumbling to the ground.

"You were lucky that Michael Sovrano happened to be there and caused a diversion by pulling the fire alarm," she rages at me.

Which also opened up the sprinklers in the ceiling of the ball room, and water rained down on us. It hit me with the impact of a cold shower. Literally. I pulled back; so did the stranger. We stared at each other, chests heaving, breath coming in pants. Logic dictates that’s when I should have apologized to him for starting the fight. Which I hadn’t.

"’Stay away from what’s mine’? You growled at him to 'Stay away from what’s mine'?" She turns on me, eyes spitting golden sparks, her hair clinging in long damp tendrils to her shoulders, and that gorgeous dress showing off the curves of her spectacular hips. "Who says something so Neanderthalish?"

"Is that a word in the English language?" I ask in a mild tone.

Her already pink cheeks now flush red. "That’s what you take away from what I said?"

"Not only."

"Oh?" She plants her palms on her hips.

I nod. "I also know now that I can’t bear it if anyone else dares touch you. If any man dare look at you again, I’m going to kill him."

She throws up her hands. "You’ve declared you’re going to run for the top leadership position in this country. You can’t afford to lose your temper at such a trivial matter."

"Trivial matter?" Anger punches my guts with such force, specks of black dot my vision. I rise to my feet and prowl toward her. "He. Had. His. Hands. On. You." I stop in front of her and glare into her features. "He was dancing with you. You were laughing at something he said, you?—"

"He’s my brother, Hunter."

I still. "Eh?"

"He’s. My. Brother. Cade Kingston."

"That was Cade Kingston, aka the King, the Captain of the English Cricket Team?"

She nods.

I shake my head. "He looks different from his pictures."

"He shaved off his beard and his hair."

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