Page 46 of Megan's Mate
“Nathaniel.”
But he didn’t look at her. Instead, he rapped Baxter hard against the wall. “Dumont, isn’t it?” His voice was viciously quiet, terrifyingly pleasant. “I’ve heard how you like pushing women around.”
Baxter struggled for dignity, though his feet were inches off the ground. “Who the hell are you?”
“Well, now, it seems only fair you should know the name of the man who’s going to rip out your damn heart with his bare hands.” He had the pleasure of seeing Baxter blanch. “It’s Fury, Nathaniel Fury. You won’t forget it”—he rammed a fist low, into the kidneys—“will you?”
When Baxter could breathe again, his words struggling out weakly, he wheezed, “You’ll be in jail before the night’s out.”
“I don’t think so.” His head snapped around when Megan started forward. “Stay back,” he said between his teeth. The hot leap of fire in his eyes had her coming to a stop.
“Nathaniel.” She swallowed hard. “Don’t kill him.”
“Any particular reason you want him alive?”
She opened her mouth, shut it again. The answer seemed desperately important, so she offered the truth. “No.”
Baxter drew in his breath to scream. Nathaniel cut it off neatly with a hand over the windpipe. “You’re a lucky man, Dumont. The lady doesn’t want me to kill you, and I don’t like to disappoint her. We’ll leave it to fate.” He dragged Baxter outside, hauling him along as if the man were nothing more than a heavily packed seabag.
Megan raced to the door. “Holt.” A shiver of relief worked down her spine when she spotted Suzanna’s husband near the pier. “Do something.”
Holt merely shrugged. “Fury beat me to it. You should go back in; you’re getting wet.”
“But—he’s not really going to kill him, is he?”
Holt considered a moment, narrowing his eyes against the rain as Nathaniel carted Baxter down the pier. “Probably not.”
“I hope to God you can’t swim,” Nathaniel muttered, then threw Baxter off the pier. He turned away and was striding to Megan before the sound of the splash. “Come on.”
“But—”
He simply scooped her up in his arms. “I’m knocking off for the day.”
“Fine.” Holt stood, his thumbs in his pockets, a look of unholy glee in his eyes. “See you tomorrow.”
“Nathaniel, you can’t—”
“Shut up, Meg.” He dumped her in the car. She craned her neck and wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to see Baxter heaving himself back onto the pier.
He needed quiet to pull himself back from violence. He detested the temper that lurked inside him, that made him want to raise his fists and pummel. He could rationalize it, under the circumstances, but it always left him sick inside to know what he was capable of if pushed.
There was no doubt in his mind that he would have come very close to murder if Megan hadn’t stopped him.
He’d trained himself to use words and wit to resolve a fight. It usually worked. When it didn’t, well, it didn’t. But he continued, years after the last blow he’d taken from his father, to remember, and regret.
She was shivering by the time he parked the car in his driveway. It didn’t occur to him until that moment that he’d forgotten Dog. Holt would see to him, Nathaniel figured, and plucked Megan from her seat.
“I don’t—”
“Just be quiet.” He carried her in, past the bird, who squawked greetings, and up the stairs. Megan was ready to babble in shock by the time he dumped her in a chair in the bedroom. Without a word, he turned away to rummage through his dresser drawers. “Get out of those wet clothes,” he ordered, tossing her a sweatshirt and sweatpants. “I’m going to go down and make you some tea.”
“Nathaniel—”
“Just do it!” he shouted, gritting his teeth. “Just do it,” he repeated quietly, and shut the door.
He didn’t slam it nor, when he was down in the kitchen, did he put his fist through a wall. He thought about it. But instead, he put on the kettle, got out the brandy. After a moment’s consideration, he took a pull of the fiery liquid, straight from the bottle. It didn’t calm him very much, but it took the edge off his sense of self-disgust.
When he heard Bird whistle and invite Megan to come to the Casbah, he set her spiked tea on the table.
