Chapter 2
TOMáS
“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” I spew with ample sarcasm to the asshole who touched her without permission.
His brows quirk up in confusion. “Considering this will be the last time you ever step foot in here,” I say, meaning it with every ounce of my being.
There’s no way in hell this prick is ever going to step foot in here again. I’ll make sure of it.
The man scoffs. “Who gives a fuck? It’s New York City, this isn’t the only place like this in town. Besides, she’s a b—”
I click my tongue, interrupting him. “I’d stop right there if I were you.”
“Oh yeah, tough guy? What the fuck are you going to do? And while we’re at it, who the fuck are you anyway?”
Shit. I didn’t think this through. Technically, I’m no one to this woman that I felt this instinctual urge to swoop in and protect. But the truth isn’t going to help me any right now.
I don’t know if it’s because the conversation with Trent from minutes ago is still fresh on my mind, or the exhaustion I’ve learned to muddle through has finally caught up to me, along with the alcohol not allowing me to think straight, but what happens next truly feels like an out-of-body experience.
“I’m her husband,” are the first words that come to my mind and fly out of my mouth.
A stunned expression flashes across the man’s face, as I step to him with her hand still in mine.
My shoulder square, chest puffing outward by default as I unintentionally size him up.
“Why do you look so confused? You asked who I am, didn’t you?
I told you. I’m. Her. Husband,” I reiterate, fully committing to this outrageous lie.
“Bullshit,” he mutters, “I don’t believe you.” The man averts his attention to my bare ring finger, and then to hers. “If you’re her husband, then where’s her ring?”
I think fast on my feet. “At the jeweler.”
He looks unconvinced.
“Being upgraded,” I add.
“Right, and let me guess, that’s where yours is too?” Before either of us can come up with yet another lie, he drones on. “Besides, what kind of self-respecting man allows his—” He pauses to air quote. “—wife to dance at a place like this?”
A level of anger arises in me that causes my vision to tunnel. The only thing able to snap me out of it is a tug for attention at my arm.
I lower my head, as she whispers in my ear, “Say whatever you need to, but I need him gone.”
“You got it.”
I straighten my posture, looking him in the eye again.
“Let me make myself clear, I will not tolerate you, or anyone else for that matter, disrespecting my wife. Ever. Especially not in my presence. How she chooses to spend her time is just that, her time to spend however the fuck she wants. As long as she comes home to me at night, that’s all I care about.
So, you have five seconds to get the fuck out of here or I’ll press charges. ”
“For?”
“Touching what doesn’t belong to you,” I say with such vigor that no one would guess I’m lying through my teeth. “You wanted to know the kind of man I am. Well, I’ll tell you. I’m not the kind you want to mess with.”
Amusement flashes upon his brow. “Is that right?”
“Do I look like I’m lying?”
Before he can respond I motion to the bouncers and they escort him out.
Relieved that he’s gone my gaze drifts to my hand, expecting it to be occupied by my mystery woman’s, but it’s empty.
Panic, or maybe disappointment, or a combination of both fill me, and as I scan the room, searching for her, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Great. I scared her away.
My foot lifts ready to leave the way I came – alone – when I’m pleasantly distracted by the sound of high heels scuffing my way.
“I’m sorry about that, I just —”
She wags her finger at me to stop talking…so I do. And nerves that weren’t there before when I stood up for her make their presence known.
Now that the sea of nosey onlookers has dissipated and we’re as alone as two can be while standing in the middle of a crowded gentleman’s club, I’m finally able to take her in.
Not only are her eyes the most striking shade of blue, but every feature, from her defined cheekbones framed by black hair styled straight and skimming her shoulders to her full and kissable lips, to her warm olive skin that glows beneath the dim lights, every feature from head to toe is nothing short of a work of art. A masterpiece.
“What the hell are you sorry for? The last time I checked, someone with a set of balls as big as yours doesn’t need to apologize for a damn thing.” She winks, lowering her hand to the lapel of my suit jacket, tugging it.
My throat tightens.
“Aww, don’t go shy on me now,” she coos with pouted lips since I’ve apparently lost the ability to speak. “Who knew all that was hiding under all this.”
A rush of heat skids across my cheeks.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I am now,” she says with a smile I return by default.
“Good.”
“Sooo…” She steps back, shifting her weight from her heels to her tiptoes, flirtatiously at that. “Since my boss just told me that I should take the rest of the night off, I feel that consummating our marriage with a drink… or several, only feels right.”
“When did he say that?”
She mutters to herself before looking in the direction she walked over from, glaring at the man I’m assuming is the owner talking on the phone. “A few seconds ago. Anyway, it’s for the best. I rather drink with my husband.”
Fuck. What did I get myself into?
I glance at the bar near where we’re standing, it’s packed with no empty stools in sight.
“Not here,” she snaps, directing my attention back to her.
“You got it, but under one condition.”
Her lashes flutter. “Yes?”
“You allow me to pay for you.”
“Are you seriously, after all we’ve been through in the last ten minutes, attempting to tell me what to do?”
I cling onto the flirtatiousness in her tone, letting it give me the dose of courage I need to push through the nerves wreaking havoc on me. “No, I told you what I’d like to do. I’m your husband, remember?” I wink. “I’m only treating you how you deserve to be treated.”
“Right.” There it is again, that sadness I saw hidden in her eyes before. However, this time, it dissipates as quickly as it rose to the surface as she changes topic. “Nice suit. Armani?”
I lift my hands up, shrugging playfully. “Guilty.”
“Thought so. Custom?”
“Guilty again.”
“I know a custom Armani suit when I see one. The gray looks good on you. It brings out your—” Her gaze falls to my groin. “Features,” she settles for. “You’re not in the mafia, are you?”
I can’t help but laugh at her bluntness. “No, sadly my career is not that interesting.”
“Damn. Honest too.” She snaps her fingers, and I can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing if you were. Trust me, after surviving one of the worst relationships ever, I’ve learned there are far worse things than getting caught up in a mafioso’s web.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“Like dating an attorney.”
My airway tightens as she once again abruptly shifts the conversation. “Enough about that. I need a drink sliding down my throat, stat.”
“Sounds good to me. Where to?”
Mischief settles onto her face. “It’s a surprise, but before we go, can you promise me something?”
“Of course.”
“No names or numbers exchanged. We’ll just have a few drinks and see where the night takes us.”
“Deal.” For a split second I debate telling her the truth of what I do for a living. But she said it herself, no names, no numbers, it’s just a couple of drinks… with a beautiful woman who appears to have a deep-seated resentment for what I do.
What’s the worst that can happen?