Page 22 of Heated Rivals
A waiter appeared at her elbow, and she set the menu down. Before she could speak, Chauncycut in. “She’ll have a Riesling, and I’ll have scotch—the most expensive you have.”
She barely tolerated wine as it was, and she despised white wine. Especiallysweetwhite wine. The waiter nodded and moved off, and Chauncy took that as his cue to actually speaktoher. “You’re just as beautiful as your father promised. A little thicker than I’d like, but there are personal trainers for that kind of thing.”
Carrigan stared, too shocked to be pissed. He was no prize, his skin too orangey from excessive tanning, his teeth too perfect, his comb-over not doing a single thing to hide the fact he was balding. He was carting around a thick middle that was more barrel than six-pack, and he was going to criticizeherbody? She took a sip of water, more to buy herself time than because she was thirsty. What was she supposed to say? Half a dozen careful responses flitted through her mind, but what came out of her mouth wasn’t anywhere near polite. “With all due respect, I don’t know if I’d be willing to take personal trainer recommendations from you.”
He turned a mottled shade of red. “You have a mouth on you.” But then he smiled. “Good. I like them spirited.”
Good lord, she could actually feel her blood pressure rising by the second. She wasn’t a horse to be broken. The waiter appeared with their drinks, and she gulped hers down, doing her best to ignore the sticky sweetness clinging to the back of her tongue. “So, Chauncy, you invest in real estate?” Maybe if she could get him talking about himself, he’d stop saying things that made the hair on her arms stand on end.
“Yep. Us Chauncers have an eye for a goodinvestment, especially when there’s land attached to it.” He chuckled like he’d made a witty joke. “Don’t you worry your pretty head, my dear—I have more than enough money to keep you decked out in diamonds and whatever you could possibly want.”
Carrigan finished her wine and resigned herself to a hellish evening. Once Chauncy got talking, he didn’t shut up. Part of her was grateful she wasn’t expected to do more than make inquiring and agreeing noises when he paused for breath, but the misogynistic comments he kept tossing her way made it hard to keep the bland expression on her face. By the time he told the waiter that no one at their tableneededdessert, she was ready to throw her drink in his face. Hell, she would have, but the Riesling had stopped tasting like shit two glasses ago, and she was loath to waste good alcohol on a pathetic excuse for a man like Chauncy.
She pushed to her feet after he paid the bill, doing her best to ignore the head rush that accompanied the movement—and Chauncy’s hand touching the small of her back. When James did that, it made her want to arch into his touch like a cat demanding to be stroked. With Chauncy, all she wanted was a bleach bath. They made their way back to the entrance, and she used the excuse of putting on her coat to create some distance between them.
He’d apparently decided he approved of her, though, because he was hot on her heels when she hit the door. “Carrigan.”
She gritted her teeth and turned, an unforgivably weak gasp flying from her lips when he grabbed her arm and pulled her close. She smelled the scotch on his breath a second before he kissed her. She went completelystill, her mind buzzing with white noise at howwrongthis was. He forced his tongue into her mouth, licking her teeth.
Thatsnapped Carrigan out of it. She pushed on his shoulders, trying to get some distance between them. Despite being on the soft side, Chauncy held her against him with apparent ease.Stop panicking and think, damn it. She willed her body to go soft, letting him back her against the wall.
Then she kneed him in the balls as hard as she could.
He went down like a chopped tree, making a high-pitched noise that was far more satisfying than it should have been. She gasped out a breath of air that felt a thousand times fresher than it had been when she walked out onto the sidewalk. This piece of shit thought he could put his hands on her? How many women had he tried this with before? She went cold at the thought. Not every woman was capable of defending herself, especially against a large man.Bastard. She used her toe to tip him onto his back and glared down. “I’m only going to say this once, you piece of shit. You touch me—or any other unwilling woman—again, and I’ll take great pleasure in slitting your throat while you sleep.” She stepped over his writhing body and looked up to find Liam in the middle of running toward her. “I have it taken care of.”
He ran a hand over his short dark hair. “I can see that.”
Thank God, because she was doing everything in her power to hold it together. She lifted her chin. “Shall we?”
Liam jumped to it, ushering her to the car. Only when he put it in drive did she finally lean back against the seat and give in to the shakes. She’d been in shitty positions before, but this seemed so much worse. Maybe it was because of her circumstances. It didn’t reallymatter. All thatdidmatter was scrubbing away the memory of his hands on her body and his tongue in her mouth as quickly as humanly possible.
Before she could think too much into it, she reached for her phone. It barely rang once when James answered. “Did you miss me, lovely?”
She knew she should play coy and keep the minuscule distance between them from shrinking any further, but she just didn’t have it in her tonight. “I need you.”
* * *
James had thought he’d imagined the fear in Carrigan’s voice when she called. If she was in actual trouble, she sure as hell wasn’t going to callhim—no matter how much he liked the idea of being the one to swoop in and save her from her problems. He liked the idea too much.
But then she walked into the quiet little pub where he was waiting, and he realized he hadn’t been wrong the first time. There were faint bruises beneath her eyes, like she’d been sleeping even less than he had, and she held herself like a woman who’d been beaten for the first time. He was on his feet before he made a conscious decision to move. “Who hurt you?”
“No one.”
“Don’t play that martyr bullshit with me, Carrigan. Who the fuck put that look on your face?” She’d gone through hell and back because ofhimand it hadn’t put that haunted expression in her green eyes. He clenched his fists, trying and failing to get control of his temper. She wasn’t his to protect. Hell, even if she was, he had a prettyshitty track record of keeping people in his care safe. There was no reason why she’d be any different.
Except that he wanted her to be different.
She brushed past him, drawing his attention to her clothing. “What the hell are you wearing?”
Carrigan spun and glared. “I don’t need your shit right now.”
“You called me, lovely, so my shit is exactly what you’re going to get.” She looked like an angel—one that had had its wings clipped. He wasn’t sure what gave him that impression, but the long white dress was opposite of everything he’d found the woman to be in the short time they’d known each other. She was wild and impulsive and free. She wasn’t… this virginal almost-bride. He didn’t like the change. He didn’t like it one bit. “Sit your ass down. I’ll get us drinks, and then you’re telling me what the fuck is going on.”
“Hold your breath on that.”
He wouldn’t have to. She might be prickly as all get-out, but she wanted to talk. She wouldn’t have called him otherwise. The bartender met him halfway, a nervous little mouse of a guy. James made an effort to speak softly because the man looked half a second from pissing himself. “Whiskey for me. Dirty martini for the lady.”
“Yes, sir, right away, sir.”
