“You cannot just walk over here and?—”
“I absolutely fuckin’ can.” He leans down so his face is inches from mine. His voice drops lower, meant only for me. “Do you want to have this conversation here? In front of everyone? Or do you want to walk out of here with a shred of dignity intact?”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish drowning in air.
He straightens, his hand still on my arm. His second hand slides over my other arm, and he lifts me to my feet like I weigh nothing.
I think back to that night at his house—forgetting how much bigger he is than I am. How easily he can manhandle me. How utterly powerless I am against his strength.
Is this what it’s going to be? Is this how he’s going to treat me?
“Cavin, I—” I try to pull back, but it’s useless.
“Don’t test me right now, Erin. I’m not in the damn mood.” His jaw flexes, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. “You havenoidea what you walked into.Nofuckin’ clue. So you’re going to walk with me, and you’re going to go into one of those private rooms where we can have a talk. Understood?”
“Is that what we’re going to do? Talk?” My voice shakes. “Because it doesn’t seem like people go to those rooms totalk.”
My cheeks burn because it seems as if the entire club is looking at me now. Watching. Waiting.
I want to slap him. I want to scream.
But more than that, I need to get out of this spotlight. I need him to stop dragging me around like I’m his property.
“Fine,” I hiss, yanking my arms free. “But you don’t own me.”
His laugh is dark… humorless and cold.
“That’s something we’ll discuss in private.”
I look toward the dance floor, searching for Bridget. She’s there, somehow miraculously oblivious to my confrontation with Cavin McCarthy, grinding against the masked man as if the world isn’t watching me fall apart.
Cavin’s hand moves to the small of my back—proprietary, possessive, burning through the thin fabric of my dress.
I remember the way he punished me, and heat coils low in my belly.
And for one crazy, stupid moment, I wish thiswerereal. That he was mine and I was his, and he wasn’t leading me away to lecture me or punish me or remind me that I’m just a fucked-up political arrangement.
That maybe,maybe, the proprietary, possessive part of him wanted to protect me. That he did it because he… cared.
Whispers follow in our wake like ghosts.
The second we’re in the cool dimness of the hallway, I whirl on him.
“What the hell do you think you’re?—”
He cuts me off by caging me against the brick wall, his hands planted on either side of my head, a move that’s laughably easy for him. He’s not touching me, but he’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him—can smell the whiskey and smoke and danger clinging to his skin.
“What were you thinking?” His voice is lethal and controlled, a barely restrained snarl. “Coming here. To my club.”
“Yourclub? It’s not?—”
“It’s notpublic, Erin.” He snaps the words like a whip. “It’s mine. And youdon’tbelong here.”
“I can go wherever I fuckin’ want?—”
“Not anymore, you can’t. Jesus,” he growls, his teeth grinding together. “I had half a mind to call off the wedding for this shite.”
“What?” My voice cracks, and for the first time, real consequences for my actions loom. I gulp hard.
