Page 69 of A Ryan Recollection

“It’s me, Jason,” he says with a big grin, launching himself across the bar with his arms wide open as though he’s about to drag me in for a hug.

He is stopped by a large hand grabbing the scruff of his neck, pulling him sharply backward and making him yelp in surprise. That’s when I realize who I’m looking at. Jason Donegan. I haven’t seen him in ten years. A ghost of Christmas past if ever there was one.

“What the hell, man?” he snaps at Shane who glares at him, practically foaming at the mouth.

“You do not fucking touch her,” he snarls. “Never fucking touch her.”

Jason shrugs himself free from Shane’s grip. “Who are you? Her bodyguard?”

Oh, crap!

Shane’s jaw is clenched tightly shut and I see the telltale drawing back of his shoulders. Jason is about to get a punch in the mouth — or much worse. But the club is packed. It’s almost Christmas. Everyone is drunk and happy — the last thing we need is my possessive husband tearing off someone’s head at the bar.

“Jason, this is my husband, Shane,” I shout, wishing I could get out there and stand between the two of them and diffuse some of the anger that is radiating from Shane in waves. But two feet of mahogany and ebony is in my way. I reach out instead, placing my hand on Shane’s arm.

Jason holds his hands up in surrender. “I just wanted to say hello. I knew Jessie way back, is all,” he says.

“I don’t give a fuck when you knew her, or how, you do not touch what belongs to me,” Shane snarls. “Touch her and I will break your hand. Do you fucking understand me?”

“She’s not your property, man,” Jason scowls at him.

“Shane?” I plead. “He’s just an old…” I stumble over the word. Fuck, what is he? “Friend,” I finally say. Deciding that is the best description I can offer right now.

Shane grabs him by his collar. “Sheismy property, asshole. Every single inch of her. So stay the fuck away.” He pushes Jason backward and a few seconds later he’s swallowed by the huge crowd.

I roll my eyes, watching the Santa hat bobbing away through the throngs of people. When I look back at Shane, he is glaring at me, his eyes narrowed. “Who was that asshole?”

“Just some guy I knew a long time ago,” I say with a shrug before I look at the woman dressed as a sexy Mrs. Claus who has just sidled up next to up him, and is waiting to be served.

“Knew him how?” Shane asks, speaking loudly enough that I can hear him in the club, but somehow keeping that low, menacing tone that turns my insides to warm butter, and also lets me know that this conversation isn’t over.

I glance back at him, unable to stop my eyebrows from pulling my face into a frown even though I don’t want to start anything with him right now. But I don’t know what to say. I can’t lie to him, but if I tell him the truth he might just run after Jason, pull off his arms and beat him to death right on the middle of the dance floor.

I falter for way too long before I reply. “I stayed with him for a few weeks one Christmas, that’s all. There’s nothing else to know.”

Then I turn back to sexy Mrs. Claus. “What can I get you?”

Clearly that is not an acceptable answer to my husband’s question and the next thing I know, he is vaulting the bar like a goddamn Olympic gymnast. Mrs. Claus stares at him open mouthed — a mixture of surprise, awe and desire on her face. I mean he is a pretty fine ass man and he just cleared a bar in one jump to get to me.

“Sha-” I don’t even get his full name out of my mouth before he is on me. One hand gripping my waist and one in my hair as he crashes his lips over mine, making my legs tremble. His kiss is brief but full of fire and when he pulls back I’m left gasping. The fact that he only did it to mark his territory, showing everyone in this club who I belong to, doesn’t make it any less hot.

He takes my hand and pulls me to the room behind the bar where the glasses are washed. He leads me to the back toward the storeroom, ignoring the looks of surprise on the two young glass collector’s faces as they pass us with full trays. Once we’re inside the small room, he closes the door.

I take a step back, pressing myself flat against the wall and trying to create a little space between us in this tiny room, because he looks a little pissed right now.

“Who is he?” he demands.

I fight every instinct in my body, willing my eyes not to roll — but they do anyway. Damn!

“Did you just…?” he snarls, advancing on me until he has me pinned against the wall. Placing one of his huge hands on the back of my neck, he runs the pad of his thumb along the curve of my jaw, causing goosebumps to break out all over my body.

He sucks in a breath and licks his lip, trying to control his temper. Meanwhile I’m trying to control the urge to push his buttons even more and make him fuck me over a stack of beer. It would be exactly what we both need right now, but I have to get back out to the bar before the crowd become a baying mob. There’s nothing as demanding as a bunch of drunk people at Christmas, who are intent on getting even more drunk.

“Do not make me ask again,” he says quietly, but there is no mistaking the threat implicit in his tone.

“His name is Jason. I met him in Virginia and I stayed with him for a few weeks when I needed a place to crash.”

“How many weeks?”

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