Page 33 of Dirty Play

“Who the fuck are you?” he sneers.

“Her boyfriend.” I step closer, towering over him, my voice dropping another octave so I know he’s the only one who heard me. “And I’m going to break every bone in your hand if you don’t take it off her right fucking now.”

He falters, his grip loosening, but not fast enough.

Livia pulls her arm free, stepping back, but I’m not done.

I grab the guy by the front of his shirt, yanking him closer.

“Rowan,” I hear Livia shout over the music.

“Touch her again,” I say, my voice deadly calm, “and I’ll bury you so deep they’ll need a fucking map to find you.”

“Alright, man. Chill.” His face pales, his bravado crumbling. “I didn’t know she was your girl.”

“Walk,” I snap, shoving him back hard enough to send him stumbling into the crowd. A few heads turn, but people are too hammered to pay attention for more than a couple of seconds.

The asshole doesn’t need to be told twice.

I turn to Livia, my chest still heaving, the adrenaline still pumping. She’s staring at me, wide-eyed, her lips parted. The way she looks at me like she’s seeing something in me she didn’t want to, makes me wonder if I’ve just made this better or worse.

I look around, and a few more bastards are looking at her, waiting for an opening. Not a fucking chance.

I don’t say anything. I just take her wrist gently but firmly enough that they know they don’t have a choice and lead her toward the stairs.

“Rowan,” she protests, her voice sharp, trying to tug her arm free. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking you back upstairs,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.

She plants her feet, forcing me to stop, and pulls her wrist from my grip. Her blue eyes blaze as she steps closer, tilting her head back to glare at me.

“I didn’t need your help,” she snaps. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looked real controlled when he had his hand on your ass.”

“I don’t need you to play protector. I can handle myself.”

I step closer, crowding her space, and she doesn’t back up. Of course, she doesn’t. Livia doesn’t run.

“I know you can,” I say, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “That doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand back and watch some asshole put his hands all over you.”

“Well, I don’t want to go upstairs. I came here to dance.” She places her hands on her hips, making sure I know she means it.

“Dance? Very well, then.”

Her lips part like she’s about to reply, but I don’t give her the chance.

My hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer, and my other hand catches hers.

“What are you—” she says, so breathy that I have to read her lips to understand her over the music.

“You said you want to dance,” I say, cutting her off.

She stares at me, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths, her body stiff in my arms. But she doesn’t pull away.

“Rowan,” she says, her voice louder now but still holding that edge. “This isn’t—”

I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear, and her breath hitches.

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