“Some of them do. But they also have tiny sticky fingers and absolutely no impulse control. Trust me, that’s worse.”
Someone—Posy, probably—made a muffled sound that might have been a laugh. Ben’s eyes narrowed.
“Go home, Sara.”
The command in his voice should have annoyed her. It did annoy her. But underneath the irritation, something warm and reckless was unfurling in her chest—some dangerous cocktail oftequila courage and attraction that made her step closer instead of backing away.
“Make me.”
His nostrils flared. The muscle in his jaw ticked.
“You don’t want to push me right now.”
“Maybe I do.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Maybe I want to know what happens when the grumpy bunny loses his temper.”
Behind her, Adrian choked on his drink and Varek made a low sound of warning.
But she was watching Ben’s face—the way his control visibly cracked, the way his hands clenched at his sides, the way his tall ears swiveled towards her like they couldn’t help themselves.
“Candy,” she said suddenly.
He blinked. “What?”
“At school. I want to have a party for the kids.” The idea had been swimming around in her head for days. Now, buoyed by liquid courage, it came tumbling out. “You should come and give out candy. The kids would love it.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You want me to come to your school and hand out candy.”
“Yes, like the Easter Bunny.”
The look on his face was indescribable—some combination of outrage, disbelief, and something else. Something that might have been hurt.
“No,” he snapped.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a prop for your classroom entertainment.” His voice was dangerously quiet. “I’m not some cute mascot you can parade around for laughs.”
His anger finally penetrated her tequila-fueled courage.
“I wasn’t… That’s not what I…”
But he was already moving, closing the distance between them in two swift strides. Before she could finish her sentence, before she could apologize or explain or do anything at all, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground.
“What are you—Ben!”
“You’re drunk.” He was striding towards the door, carrying her like she weighed nothing, ignoring the stares of everyone in the bar. “You’re saying things you don’t mean. You need to go home.”
“I’m not drunk! Put me down!”
“No.”
The icy winter air slapped her face as he pushed through the tavern’s front door and she started to snuggle closer to his warmth before she remembered what he was doing. She squirmed in his arms, but his grip was strong and warm and absolutely inescapable.
“This is kidnapping!”
“This is damage control.”
“I’ll scream.”
