Page 61 of When He Hunts

“My wife.” The words might have come out guttural and possessive. Fair enough, he was guttural and possessive. Particularly when it came to Luna. The blond was also in his way. The man was a few inches shorter than Ronan, so he had no trouble seeing beyond the guy and noting that the pianist still had his hand curled around Luna’s wrist.

You need to let her go, now.

“Dude. I want her.”

Ronan blinked. His gaze left the pianist and focused on the fool right in front of him. “You want to say that again?”Clearly, so that when I beat the hell out of you, you understand why you had the pain coming to you.

The blond gulped. His muddy brown eyes went very, very large. “I’m married!” He threw up his hand. “Married. Happy. Super happy. Deliriously so.” He pointed to the right where a curvy brunette with warm brown skin and laughing, dark eyes sipped champagne. She wiggled her fingers back at him. “Monique and I own a club in Key West and one in Miami. We’re holding auditions for new talent soon, and your wife would be perfect.”

Too bad his wife was running for her life.

“When I said I wanted her…I meant at my clubs. She’d be a hit. That sultry voice, that control…damn. She probably already has deals somewhere, huh? She’s really incredible.”

She was also tugging against the hold of the pianist. Why was the man still touching her? “Excuse me,” Ronan said, stiffly polite. “I have to go and break someone’s fingers.”

The blond craned his head to see where Ronan was looking. Then, “Oh, shit.” He yanked his hand into his pocket. Pulled out a card and shoved it at Ronan. “Just—ah, keep this, would you? In case she wants to talk.”

Performing in a busy club wasn’t currently an option for Luna. She could be spotted by the wrong person. Especially in a place like Miami. Too many connections there led back to Atlanta. Word could spread to Marcus that she was still alive…

Exactly what Gray wanted to happen.

Tricky bastard.

Jaw locking, Ronan took the card. He shoved it into his pocket and shouldered past the blond.

“Great meeting you!” The blond called after him, “Name’s Harris, by the way. And your wife is?—”

He didn’t hear the rest of the words. He was in front of the stage. A leap had himonthe stage. A second later, he was behind Luna. “It’s going to be hard to play the piano with broken fingers.” Just a helpful observation for the pianist. Ronan could be kind that way. Giving out pro tips left and right.

The pianist blinked at him. Dark hair. Tanned skin. Golden eyes. Hair carefully tousled. White shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. Young, maybe early twenties. “My fingers aren’t broken.”

Ah. Clearly someone who was not too fast on the uptake. “They will be if you touch my wife without permission again.”

The man shot up from the piano and staggered back. His hands immediately flew in front of him. “It’s not like that!” He wore thick, leather cuffs around each of his wrists. He looked at his upraised hands and hurriedly placed them behind his back. As if that would protect him. “I was just asking her where she’d performed before. No way is this her first time on a stage.”

And Luna hadn’t been able to respond because she couldn’t tell him that she was from Atlanta and that she was a middle school drama teacher on the run.

“I was just impressed, that’s all. She’s a hundred times better than the guy I’ve been working with. Look, we get drunk people up here singing all the time.”

“I’m not drunk,” Luna hotly denied. “Or maybe I am. A little.” She curled her hand around Ronan’s arm. “Let’s go to our room.”

“No, she’s not drunk.” The pianist nodded. “She’s talented, that’s what she is. We could work together. People are always looking for singers around here. I can’t sing for shit, but I can play like nobody’s business.”

“Only if your fingers aren’t broken.” That pro tip again.

The guy backed up a step. “I don’t want broken fingers.”

“Then keep your hands to yourself.”

Luna’s grip tightened on Ronan. “What are you doing?”

His head turned. He stared into her eyes. Kept seeing her as she’d been on stage. Seductive. Passionate. His left hand lifted and skated down her cheek. “Protecting what’s mine.”

“Your husband is a dick,” the pianist muttered. “Controlling asshole. Don’t want to tell you your business but…run.Run, lady. Far and fast.”

Ronan’s head turned back toward the pianist. “My wife knows I would never hurt her. But I would destroy anyone who so much as bruised her skin.” He reached for the delicate wrist that the man had been clutching.

“Oh, God.” Ronan could hear the pianist gulp. “Just was trying to get contact info. That’s all I was doing while we talked. I was not hitting on your lady. I could use a good singer. We could partner up?—”

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