“I am officially asking you to leave this property immediately,” I replied. “The owner has not granted you permission to be here.”
“So glad you’ve come to play. Smile for me.” He held up his camera and took a shot of my face.
Did hehaveto be so stereotypical?
I gritted my teeth. “You are trespassing on private property, and I have called the police.” Fine. Now Iwouldbe calling the police. Jack had probably already called them, for that matter.
“I’ll leave, but first I need to get what I came for.” The man snapped another photo, closing the distance between us. I forced my feet to stand still, not taking a step back.
Damn. What I wouldn’t give to be six feet tall and Amazonian. A presence. Why had my mammoth personality been stuffed into a pipsqueak body?
I stood there contemplating my options. Mace first, then run? Both simultaneously?
Then the unthinkable happened.
Jack drifted out of the wall and ivy behind thepaparazzo.
No. Just no.
Jack glared at the man’s back. Not a trace of teasing Jack on his face. No. His expression was nothing short of murderous.
Didn’t he know I was doing this to protecthim? What was Jack going to do? Poke the guy to death?
More likely, this doofus photographer would snap a photo of Ghost Jack and then what would we do? Say it was a weird prank? Enjoy the media circus that would erupt?
I studiously avoided looking at Jack. But I sent him super strongplease go back insidemental vibes.
Jack ignored me.
Thepaparazzotook another photo of me. Advanced a step forward.
“You need to leave. Now.” I swept a hand to the side, indicating the way the guy should go. “If you don’t, I’m going to have to stop asking so nicely.”
“Or what?” The guy snorted. He shot me another leer. “You gonna place those sexy little hands on me?”
Gag.
“For a lone man, you’re stupidly brave.”
“For a lonewoman, you’re stupidly naive.”
Jack’s expression morphed from murderous to homicidal.
Don’t do it, Jack.I mentally pleaded.Let me handle this.
“I’m serious about the police,” I repeated. “Leave. Now.”
Thepaparazzolet go of his camera, tucking it behind him on its neck strap. He walked toward me, casual but definitely crowding into my space. I tightened my grip on my can of mace.
The man stopped within arms’ reach. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, garlic and cheap cologne eddied out from him. Sweat beaded on his bald head.
“I’ll be going,” he said, “but I believe you owe me a kiss for all this trouble, don’t you think?”
Double-gag.
Jack darted closer, coming right up behind the man’s shoulder, brows drawn down into a thundercloud. Involuntarily, my gaze flickered to him.
Thepaparazzowasn’t stupid, his eyes followed mine. He whipped around.
