19. Monroe
19
MONROE
P ure shock courses through me when Cash drains the bourbon, then slams the crystal glass down on the wooden table. A rare grin touches his lips.
“You fuckers ever been in a bar fight with a Texan?” His tone is genuinely filled with glee, the thick Texas accent more pronounced than usual.
Holy fuck …
I’ve never seen him like this. He’s actually itching to beat this guy to a pulp. The broody, reserved cowboy has come unleashed, the rage and excitement in his green eyes glittering in the low light.
It is, unfortunately, hot as fuck.
“Who the hell are you?” the man across from him challenges.
Oh no.
I don’t think Claude has any idea what kind of bear he just poked. I gasp as Cash lunges forward and grabs him by the lapels of his suit coat .
“I’m the dick who’s about to decorate your face with pretty little bruises if you don’t exit this bar in less than five fucking seconds. Five. Four. Three?—”
Claude’s eyes widen with fear at the sudden display of aggression and the threatening tone in Cash’s voice. He’d be a complete moron not to. He throws up his hands and slides to the left, followed by his friend. Cash releases him with a shove toward the door.
“Of course! Ah, we were just leaving. We don’t want any trouble.” Claude gestures to Jean, who tosses a few euros on the table before quickly scurrying out behind him.
They practically run toward the door. Brooks follows them for a few steps. I huff, exhaling out an annoyed grunt as Cash slides into the booth Claude and Jean just exited, followed by Brooks.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Cash deadpans, sliding almost close enough to touch me in the moon-shaped booth.
I lean back against the worn brown leather, folding my arms across my chest and leveling him with a glare. “We happened to be enjoying our time with Claude and Jean before your rude interruption. You owe us an apology .”
Cash smirks, raising his hand to signal for the nearby waiter.
The middle-aged man approaches us, eyeing the newcomers. “What can I get you, gentlemen?”
“Two bourbons, doubles. And another round for the ladies.” Cash throws out another unnerving smile.
Since I’ve known him, he wears a permanent frown.
Brooks reaches for Ember’s hand. “We were really worried. Why’d you leave without a detail? ”
Ember looks down sheepishly, telling them that this was clearly my idea.
Cash looks over at me. I raise my chin stubbornly.
You’re not in charge of me. I try to laser the message into his gaze.
“You think you can just walk around, do whatever you want, when everyone on this damn planet wants a piece of you?” He gestures around the bar. His words spew out of his mouth like poison, but he doesn’t care how much it hurts.
I lean forward, gripping the seat with my fingertips. “Why do you even fucking care so much about what happens to me? What’s the worst he could do, take me back to his apartment and kiss me once before freaking out and running away like a coward?” My voice rises higher than I intended, drawing stares and attention from other bar patrons.
The waiter returns, dropping the drinks down before dipping out as quickly as he can. I pick up the glass of rosé, draining it far too quickly and signaling for another. I relish in the burn down my throat, craving the distraction of the tingling in my body.
“Maybe we should continue this conversation back at the hotel.” Brooks sips on his drink slowly.
Ember nods in agreement.
Their calm demeanor seems to register with Cash. He finishes his bourbon in one long drag.
He draws himself up, sitting up straighter. “You’re right. We should return to the hotel and discuss this matter.”
I gape at him. He can try to control me all day long. I’m not in the mood.
“You boys have fun walking back. I’m not leaving. ”
Brooks and Ember look at each other before glancing back at us with uncertainty. Brooks sighs, tapping away on his phone.
“What are you telling Fidel?” Cash bites out.
“That we’re staying here, casually grabbing a drink nearby. Danny is back at the hotel.”
“We really didn’t think it would be a big deal. We stayed close to the hotel. Monroe had her sunglasses and hat on until, like, two minutes before you guys got here.” Ember tries to lighten the mood.
“Right, and those guys were just innocently buying you drinks with no idea who they were talking to.” Brooks rolls his eyes.
Ember shrugs. “They didn’t seem to recognize her. It’s France. She’s not as well known here.”
Brooks shakes his head. “You’re kidding yourself. This was reckless. Not to mention the stalker.”
Cash turns to me, leaning forward so that he’s only inches from my face. “What the hell were you thinking? Are you actively trying to get taken?”
My mouth drops open at his words. He really thinks that low of me.
“Oh, yeah, I was praying that they’d kidnap us. Now you know my deepest, darkest desires.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
The waiter returns again with a full glass of wine for me. He removes the empty one.
“I’ll take another,” Cash says. “She will too.”
Apparently, he’s drinking on the job now .
The man glares at him before turning on his heel to get the drinks.
Brooks and Ember finish their drinks in silence. Cash glares at everyone in the bar, except for me. I glance from his face to my wine and back again, boiling with anger at his sudden lack of apathy.
Oh, he cares now that it makes him look bad for losing his charge. It’s always an ego thing with men.
“You know, maybe you two should talk this out while we make our way back,” Brooks suggests.
Ember looks up at me hopefully. I gape at her incredulously.
She’s abandoning me with this raging jerk.
“I think a nice walk back would be good. You can talk it out and meet up with us before dinner,” she rushes to explain.
I don’t even get the chance to respond before she’s slipping out of the booth.
Brooks lays his card down on the table. “Don’t take advantage, but the next round is on me if you two promise to hear each other out and attempt to resolve wherever this conflict stems from, all right? We’ll see you back at the hotel by four so we can all get ready for dinner. If it’s any longer than that, we’ll send out a search party.”
He taps the blue credit card on the table before grabbing Ember’s hand and exiting the bar. I watch them leave, feeling a strange combination of sadness, excitement, and lingering anger.
The waiter returns with yet another round, this time bringing us both a drink. Cash grabs his glass, closing his eyes as he slowly drains it all in one gulp. This is by far the most alcohol I’ve ever seen him consume.
“I genuinely don’t see what your problem is. You don’t want me, so why do you care if other men do? We were perfectly safe.” The words spill out before I can check myself.
I sip on my fourth glass of rosé, the alcohol spreading a tingly warmth through my veins. He studies me with more rage and desire than I’ve ever felt from any one man. My chest caves in with the intensity. My core is pulsing with desire.
“I need to pee,” I choke out. I really do. I haven’t gone since I left the hotel, and I’m desperate to escape this, just for a moment of reprieve to get my pulse to slow down.
I crawl out of the booth. I roll my eyes as the brooding bodyguard follows me to the restroom at the back of the bar.
“Am I not allowed to go to the bathroom without an escort?” I throw back at him, rolling my eyes.
He doesn’t respond.
Back to the silent treatment, I see.
“Good. I like you better when you’re seen and not heard.”
He still doesn’t respond.
The restrooms are around the corner in a quiet hallway. The individual stalls are all unisex, so I push open the door to one of them. When I turn to close it, a broad-shouldered cowboy blocks the doorway. I open my mouth to protest, but he shoves himself through the opening, slamming it closed behind him.
“What are you?—”
My voice halts when his big, callus hands close in around me. One cups the dip in my waist, the other gathering around the side of my neck, his thumb forcing my chin up to meet his gaze. Green eyes glint with annoyance down at me.
“You’re kind of a brat—you know that?”
I gasp, desire mingling with the alcohol and blurring all my senses, except for lust. He presses my back against the wall, taking up my personal space.
“You genuinely think I don’t want you? You think watching you walk around with every man on the planet vying for your attention is easy for me? Is torturing me like this fun for you, Princess?” His skin is hot on mine, the rough pads of his fingers sending sparks down my spine.
“I—I don’t—” I scramble for a response, but all I can think about is how badly I want him to keep touching me, looking at me, and calling me that damn nickname. “I don’t know what you want from me,” I finally get out.
He’s furious, neck veins popping and gritted teeth making it clear as his grip tightens around my throat and waist.
“I’m about two seconds away from busting through every moral conviction and professional boundary I’ve ever had—is that what you want?” he grits.
He wants me to admit what I want. After his display of desire, followed by blatant rejection, he’s still not willing to show his cards.
I lift my chin. “What do you want?” It doesn’t have the effect I was hoping for because my voice drops and my eyes get watery.
Damn it!
I’m attempting to be tough and unaffected by him, but his concern for my safety, those callus fingertips, and the sudden intimate setting make it impossible for me to stay strong. My eyes dip down to look at his lips. I bite my lower one, holding back my desire to kiss him.
I’ll fucking die before I make the first move again.
He leans into me, his thick scent of sweat, mixed with rain and leather and cedar, permeating my senses. He leans his face into mine, pressing his lips up next to my ear. Tingles race down my skin as his body closes in on me, eliminating the sliver of remaining space between us with his big frame.
“Is this all a game to you? Your life—is that what we’re gambling with?” he whispers.
I sigh into his hard, unrelenting muscle. “I just needed a minute. Sometimes … sometimes, I feel like a prisoner in my own life.” I choke out the words, hating myself for being vulnerable with him when he gives me none of it in return.
His breathing begins to slow. He holds me still, waiting long, slow seconds before pulling back slightly. He releases my waist, using his hand to brush my hair back from my face and tuck it behind my ear.
“You put on a good show, Monroe,” he whispers.
“You don’t know me.” I’m fighting for control and failing pathetically.
He hums, his inked fingers trailing down the side of my cheek as he studies me way too closely. I’m fully clothed, but I feel naked under his gaze. His jaw tics under his five-o’clock shadow.
His voice is low as he speaks, and my chest tightens with every slow and steady word that spills from his lips. “I know you think wine is at the top of the food pyramid. I know you only let yourself break down in private. I know you hate wearing high heels, but you do it for the photo ops. I don’t know much about your past, but because you never talk about it I assume you’re ashamed of where you came from even though you probably miss the simplicity of life back then. I know that your friends are all fake, except for one. And that man you’ve pretended to love for the cameras? He doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”