Chapter 9 #2
He’s clearly fit, wearing nothing but swim trunks and a slick smile as he leans one arm against the bar and turns toward me.
I’m suddenly very conscious that I’m in nothing but my bikini.
But it’s not the giddy, thrumming awareness I feel around Owen.
This feels… different .
Vulnerable. Uncomfortable. Icky.
I suddenly want to throw on a parka to hide my body from this man.
His eyes roam unapologetically, raking from my shoulders, down my chest, and over my waist before lowering beneath the waterline. My skin prickles with discomfort.
“Can I get you another one?” he asks in a thick, Southern twang. “My treat.”
I give him a polite smile and shake my head. “I’m good, but thank you.”
“Ah, come on,” he drawls out, waving me off. “You’re in paradise. One more won’t hurt.”
“No, really,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “I’m fine.”
He turns toward the bartender anyway. “Hey, get this beauty another one. Same thing she’s having now.”
“This one’s on me,” he adds, like he’s done me a favor.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
“You’re wasting your money,” I finally snap, meeting his gaze. “I said no. I’m not going to drink it.”
His smile falters for half a second before reforming.
“Where you from, little lady?”
I scrunch my nose at him and give him a look that says go to hell.
“That’s none of your business,” I grit out.
He chuckles like I’m nothing but a silly little girl.
This fucking asshole.
“Well, I’m from Texas,” he replies, leaning uncomfortably close to me before lowering his voice to a bone-chilling tone. “And where I come from, buying a woman a drink is just Southern hospitality. It’s rude to decline, honey.”
Honey.
I’ve never despised a word so much until now.
My blood turns to ice when his hand sinks underwater and grabs my thigh, way too close to my ass.
It happens so fast, I don’t even have time to react.
My first instinct is pure, blinding rage.
Get. Your. Goddamn. Hand. Off. Me.
When I reach down to yank his arm away, Owen is already there.
Fury bends every line of his handsome face.
Quicker than I’ve seen anybody move in my entire life, Owen plants his palms against the man’s chest and shoves him back forcefully, water sloshing violently as he falls off the barstool.
Instead of letting the man come up for air, Owen grabs the top of his head, tangling his fingers in his silver hair, and shoves his head underwater.
The man’s arms flail, slapping against the surface as he silently begs for air.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Owen bites out through gritted teeth, even though the man can’t possibly hear him. “You worthless piece of shit.”
A huge scene erupts as the patrons abandon their drinks and frantically back away from their stools. The bartender jumps over the counter and reaches for Owen, desperately trying to pull him off the man.
“Owen,” I shout, heart hammering. “Stop! Please.”
He’s shaking, breathing hard through his nose, knuckles white where he’s gripping the man’s hair.
Just when I think the man is going to flop over like a dead fish, Owen releases his hold, and the guy bursts out of the water, sucking in a straining breath as his eyes blow wide. He looks like he almost saw the light.
Hell, he probably did with the way Owen was holding him under.
Since the guy doesn't have a shirt to grab onto, Owen circles his fingers around the man’s throat and shoves him down onto the slippery bartop so hard I’m surprised the back of his head doesn't split the wood.
“Listen to me, motherfucker,” Owen seethes. “If you ever lay a hand on her again, you’ll be fucking fish food instead of flopping around in a pool like a pathetic old man. You got that?”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Owen is losing his damn mind right now. Because of me . Which is deeply inconvenient because it’s turning me on more than it should.
“That’s it,” the bartender says, “I’m calling Security.”
“No,” I rush out, pleading with the bartender. “Please don’t. This man was harassing me. He… I told him no multiple times, and then he reached his hand under the water and grabbed me. Please, just let me get my friend out of here. He’s just trying to defend me.”
The bartender looks at me, his eyes narrowing before he gives me a quick nod. “Get him out of here. Right now, before I have no choice but to call Security.”
Thank God.
I move fast, pressing my chest against Owen’s back and wrapping my arm around his waist. The skin-to-skin contact seems to calm him as his shoulders finally ease up and relax.
“Owen,” I whisper calmly, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Please, let’s just go. I want to go.”
As if I’ve tamed a beast, he sucks in a deep breath through his nostrils and loosens his grip. When the man goes to sit up, Owen shoves the man down once more, hard enough to make the message clear.
“Stay the fuck away from her,” he threatens. “This is your only warning.”
The bartender points toward the exit and looks directly at me. “Get him out of here. Now.”
I don’t argue. I just need to get Owen the hell away from this man before he murders him.
I keep my arms around Owen as we leave, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest with adrenaline and a newfound sense of safety.
Safe.
What an odd word to describe the way I feel right now.
Because even through the fear and the mayhem, one truth is impossible to ignore.
No one has ever stood up for me like that before. Protected me like that.
And that realization rattles my world just as hard as the confrontation itself.