Page 2 of Daddy's Wild Girl

The other man’s face started to grow red. He had a thick, dark beard and hair.

“Roger, there’s nothing going on here,” Noah said, walking up to them.

“Not interested?” Roger snarled. “Why aren’t you interested in my Mary-Anne? Are you saying there’s something wrong with her?”

“I’m going to be sick,” Mary-Anne slurred. Right before she threw up.

All over his boots.

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t winning tonight.

Half an hour later,his boots clean and his head thumping with a headache, Corbin headed outside to his truck.

His first mistake had been leaving the Ranch.

His second mistake was grabbing Mary-Anne when she started to fall.

Even after vomiting all over the floor and his boots, with her mammoth of a boyfriend next to her, she’d still been coming onto him.

Noah had finally gotten them both out the door, but by then, Corbin’s quiet night had been ruined.

So he was giving up and heading home after half a beer.

A noise caught his attention.

There was someone watching him, but he forced himself to keep moving.

He had the feeling he was about to be jumped.

Pausing, he dropped down to one knee to do up his shoelace. Of course, he was wearing boots, so there weren’t actually any shoe laces to do up.

But whoever was stalking him didn’t need to know that.

There. To his right. Someone was trying to creep up on him. They were doing a shit job, though.

They probably thought that the darkness covered them. But before coming to work for Jensen Security International, Corbin used to be in the CIA, where he’d participated in a number of Black Ops.

While most of his work was now conducted behind a desk, he was no slouch when it came to hand-to-hand combat.

The CIA sometimes still called on him for his skills, but that was all very hush-hush.

“I’d warn you against attacking me,” he called out. “Whatever you’re hoping to gain, you won’t get it.”

Standing, he stepped back and to his right as his stalker decided to run at him. The guy obviously wasn’t expecting him to be that fast, so his punch went wild, making him stumble.

His attacker was a big guy wearing a mask.

A suspicion formed as he moved his weight from foot to foot, waiting for the guy to regain his balance and come at him again.

Sure, he could have gone after him while he was stumbling around like a newborn elephant.

But where was the fun in that?

“Is that all you’ve got,” Corbin baited him. “You’re out of your league.”

The attacker let out a low rumble and ran at him again. Just as Corbin thought. He likely relied on his size to win any fights he got into, not his skills. And he let his temper get the best of him.

Corbin maneuvered out of his way, but slid a foot out, tripping the other guy, who stumbled and fell.

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