Sebastian doesn’t look like he has any intention to move away from me. His grip is firm, protective, like letting go never even crossed his mind.
The look on his face is like a punch to my chest. He looks almost… anguished, which makes absolutely no sense to me. He’s massive. There’s no way bumping into me could have hurt him.
Before I can even process it, the pub door bursts open behind us, and a group of loud rugby players spills out onto the sidewalk.
One of them barrels straight into Sebastian’s shoulder as he moves to block me from being absolutely annihilated
Everything happens so fast I barely register it.
Sebastian moves instantly. One muscled arm slides around my waist and pulls me behind him in a single smooth motion, tucking me safely against his back like it’s instinct.
His other fist swings out, and the punch lands squarely against the side of the guy’s head.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” Sebastian growls, and even with everything else going on it registers to me that he’s American. The thought never crossed my mind that he would be anything other than Irish. This is definitely an interesting development.
The rugby player stumbles back, grabbing his jaw. “What the hell is your problem, man?” he snaps.
Sebastian doesn’t move.
His body stays between me and the group, completely blocking me from them. One of his massive arms is still stretched back behind him, holding me there.
Protecting me.
His voice drops low when he answers.
“If you bump into her again,” he says slowly, “I’m going to beyourproblem.”
The guy freezes and looks up at Sebastian, and then immediately backs down. “Jesus, man. Relax, tough guy.”
He mutters something to the others, and they shuffle back inside the pub.
Sebastian turns back toward me.
I suddenly realize his hand is wrapped around my wrist holding me to him.
My eyes drop to the connection between us without thinking, and I watch as his thumb slides across the top of my hand. I wouldn’t expect someone like Sebastian Vale to be so unbelievably gentle.
His fingers are large and rough from rugby, completely covering the delicate bones of my wrist.
When I look back up, his gaze is already on me.
Studying me.
Like he’s trying to memorize my face.
This is ridiculous on both of our parts.
The way my body is reacting to this man has my head spinning.
I gently pull my wrist back because we’ve been standing here too many beats for it not to be awkward. He’s not saying anything, and I feel like a sea witch swooped up and stole my voice. I’m perfectly content standing here looking at him.
For a moment he doesn’t move, but then he closes his eyes and lets go of my hand.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
“Uh… thank you,” I say awkwardly, looking anywhere but directly at him.
