Page 15 of Dublin Beast

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Harper

I storm down the narrow side street, my boots striking the pavement harder than necessary, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. Behind me, the big Irish beast is still standing there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

I’ve seen that look before—stunned disbelief—like a man can’t quite process the idea of a woman not falling to the feet of her big, burly protector, to gush in gratitude for him pounding on his chest.

Is thereanyman who believes a woman can take care of herself? Any man who doesn’t think we’re delicate flowers waiting to be rescued?

I don’t stick around to see if he recovers from the stroke he seems to be suffering. Putting distance between us, I turn sharply, my pace quick and full of frustrated energy. The morning air cools my flushed skin, but does nothing to temper the fire in my veins.

That outburst just pissed away two weeks of my time, all because some testosterone-fueled hulk with a hero complex couldn’t leave well enough alone. Two weeks of cautious observation, of subtly playing a role, of cultivating the interest of the wrong kind of people.

Heavy footsteps thump behind me, closing in on me fast. I glance back and roll my eyes. Perfect.

“Ye have no idea what those men are capable of, ponytail,” Irish guy shouts, his deep, rolling accent cutting through the alleyway.

The nickname makes me bristle—being reduced to a hairstyle. I throw a glare over my shoulder. “I was doing just fine!”

His laugh is sharp, disbelieving. “Fine?And do ye realize ye were thirty seconds away from bein’ stuffed into the back of a car? Ye wouldn’t have been doin’ fine much longer after that.”

I whirl around mid-stride, forcing him to pull up short. “That was the wholepoint, you big dumb ox!”

His brows shoot up, his incredulous expression lit by a glow of fury in his eyes that turn them an almost supernatural shade of emerald green. “Sweet Mother Mary, yer off yer nut.”

I catch myself before I admit I wanted them to take me. Ineededthem to take me! No. I don’t know this guy and I certainly don’t want to overshare.

Instead, I scoff and turn back around, picking up my pace. “And you’re an arrogant, hotheaded, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.”

There’s a sharp huff behind me, then another quick thud of boots as he catches up. His stride is longer than mine, but I refuse to jog to maintain distance. “Call me whatever names ye like, sweetheart, but I saved yer precious little peach of an ass from a fate worse than death.”

I throw my hands up, exasperated. “Oh, and you know everything, do you?”

“Aye.” His gaze is menacing as he prowls forward, using his height and his incredible size to try to intimidate me. “About this sort of thing, Ido. And if ye had a lick of sense in that pretty head, ye’d be grateful I pulled ye out when I did.”

My mind short circuits. “Grateful?Grateful?”

I have been working forweeksto get close to someone like Jamie Rowan, and now, thanks to this musclehead, I’m right back where I started. How do I go back to the hotel and tell Anton our best chance at getting his sister back just blew up in my face.

I realize it’s likely too late for Macie and Chantal, but it dulled the pain of losing them a little to think I could help save someone else. To think I could expose the people who hurt them, to balance the scales somehow.

Now, it’s all ruined.

Drawing a deep breath, I poke a finger into the chiseled plane of his chest. My fingertip meets solid resistance, like stone wrapped in a soft knit Henley.

Holy hell, the man is built like he’s been chiseled by the gods out of the hardest marble.

I push that thought out of my head, wrapping myself in the anger firing hot in my blood. “I get that you thought you were playing the part of a good Samaritan. Yay, you. But you don’t know me or my situation, so next time butt out!”

His open hands lift like he wants to shake me. “Aye, I’ll do that. The next time ye decide to walk on the wild side, I’ll let them toss a bag over your head and whisk ye away to the cage they’ve got waitin’ for ye in a warehouse somewhere near the docks.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re finally getting it.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks and I can practicallyfeelthe frustration radiating off him. The energy between us is thick and charged like the air before a storm. It crackles in the space between us, dangerous and electric.

I let out a sharp breath and turn to keep walking, this time refusing to acknowledge the steady thump of his boots behind me. The heels of my boots click against the pavement in counterpoint to his heavier footfalls, creating an odd, tense rhythm.

We make it to the hotel, and I spin around so fast he almost barrels into me.

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