Page 110 of A Forgotten Promise

“I can take care of myself,” I argue, just to regain some sort of control.

“I know.” It’s a terse statement, said with the same unwavering confidence he usually oozes.

My poor heart.

“I’m not your wife.” I desperately cling to… what? An upper hand? A winning point? Our usual bickering mode?

“Technicality.” He shrugs and swirls me toward the staircase.

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs.”

Asshole. “Why?”

“I got us a room.”

Butterflies set off in my stomach. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer. Fuck, the man is infuriating. I glance over the banister and see my assailant talking to security.

I rub my arm; his touch is still repulsive even after it’s gone.

Corm stops, takes my hand into his, and turns my arm slightly, glowering. I follow his gaze to the red handprint on my upper arm. Shit, that will leave a bruise.

Corm’s nostrils flare. “Wait here.” He turns and jogs back downstairs.

What the hell?

He reaches one of the security guys engaged with the asshole and exchanges a few sentences with him. The guy nods slightly.

Corm taps the stocky asshole on his shoulder and before the other can fully turn, Corm draws his arm back and delivers a punch. Two. Three.

The man doubles down, swearing, and falls to his knees, blood staining his face.

Corm shakes his hand, cracks his neck, and adjusts his cuffs. He saunters toward the stairs while security drags the other guy outside.

I swallow.

I blink.

I take a deep breath.

My heart is still beating like a spooked horse. But a smile ghosts my face as well. I shouldn’t condone violence, I really shouldn’t, but fuck, that punch was satisfying.

Almost as much as my kick was. Almost.

Corm takes two steps at a time and joins me. He seizes my hand and steers me down the hallway, flanked by doors on either side.

At the end, he taps a card against a pad on the door and opens it.

“After you.” He bows his head quickly, the energy from the altercation still seeping from him.

I step inside a dark room, my palms sweating and my heart fluttering. Jesus.

Corm flips the switch and steps behind me. I gasp as he snakes his arm around my waist, yanking me to his chest. I fight not to lean my back into his firm body.

It’s always like this with us. Push and pull—neither of us willing to give in.

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