Cinched tight at the waist.
Emphasizing those incredible hips.
And that arse—sweet merciful hell.
I’ve thought about that arse more times than I care to admit.
Fuck.Me.
But then something registers.
She’s stiff.
Not relaxed.
Not laughing.
Her posture’s tight, shoulders drawn in.
And then I see him.
Some pasty little maggot leaning too close, talking at her while she frowns.
Every instinct in my body goes cold.
Hell.
Fucking.
No.
I start moving before I even realize it.
Long strides cutting through the crowd.
Because there’s a line in my world.
And this bloke just stepped right over it.
Then he does the worst possible thing.
He grabs her.
Closes his greasy little hand around her wrist when she tries to step away.
And that’s it.
I’m done being polite.
I’m done standing back.
“Get your hands off the lady, bucko.”
My voice cuts through the music like a blade.
He barely has time to blink before I’ve got a fist in his collar and lift him clean off the bloody floor.
“Or I’ll bloody fucking remove them.”
