Page 23 of Surfer's Paradise

“You lost, buddy?”

The guy’s mouth opened, closed. He looked at Rosie, then back at Isaac. “I was just—”

“You were just making her uncomfortable,” Isaac said flatly.

The guy twitched. “Look, man—”

Isaac stepped closer, voice low, quiet, sharp as a blade.

“Listen real fucking close, alright?” His eyes flicked to the empty street, then back to the guy. “You ever pull this shit again, with her or with any woman waiting alone at a bus stop? You won’t like how it ends.”

The guy’s face went pale.

“Got it?” Isaac pressed.

The guy nodded, too fast.

“Then get the fuck out of here.”

The guy bolted.

Isaac barely watched him go.

His focus was already back on Rosie.

She was still sitting, stiff, silent, her hands curled into fists on her lap.

And fuck.

Fuck.

She was furious.

He could see it. The tension in her jaw, the fire behind her blue eyes, the way she wasn’t looking at him because if she did, she might actually kill him.

Didn’t matter.

Isaac reached down, grabbed her duffel, swung it over his own shoulder like it was nothing.

Then he grabbed her hand.

Her small, tense, trembling hand.

And he pulled her behind him.

“Let’s go.”

She yanked at his grip. “Isaac—”

“I’m parked nearby,” he said, ignoring her protests, ignoring the way her skin was warm against his, ignoring the way she was still breathing too fast.

Ignoring all of it.

Because she was safe.

Because she was still his to protect.

Even if she hated him for it.

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