And Ralph, the fucker, grabs me back, pulling me against him even harder. “Can’t you feel how badly I want you?” he asks.
He jerks his hips at me, but thankfully, someone pulls me away from him before he can make contact. It’s Nathan, looking like an avenging god in the middle of the dance floor: his blues eyes are blazing, his mouth is set into a snarl, and his free hand is balled into a fist at his side. He looks like he’d rip Ralph’s throat out if given the chance.
“She said to stop touching her, fucker,” Nathan says.
To Nathan’s credit, he saved me from Ralph and then immediately stopped touching me, dropping his arm at his side. The distinction between the two men is clear as day.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ralph asks. “Candice and I have history, which is none of your business.”
I snort. “History? Sure, but it’s ancient,” I say.
Nathan steps forward, that same blazing look still in his eyes, and grabs Ralph by the collar. Nathan is a few inches shorter than Ralph, but still hauls him upwards easily.
“You listen to me you slimy little fucker,” he says. “When a woman tells you not to touch her, you listen. Not because I said so, or because I’m threatening you, but because she said so. Don’t be a creep.”
He sets Ralph down, and turns to face me, ignoring the fact that the other man is quivering with rage. Or fear. It’s tough to tell.
“Should we go somewhere quieter for a bit?” Nathan asks me, a kind smile on his face.
Beside him, Ralph starts to wind up like he’s going to punch Nathan, and I gasp. Nathan just turns around calmly, and catches Ralph’s slow-moving punch before it lands.
“Don’t try me, man,” he says. His voice is gentle and quiet, but his eyes are…well, his eyes are frankly demonic. And whatever Ralph sees in them has him slinking away.
“Well?” Nathan asks me.
“Um, yeah,” I say. “A quieter place would be great.”
Nathan helps me through the throngs of people, and guides me through the bar and out the back door by the bathrooms. It’s freezing outside, because October in Montana can be unforgiving. I’m not dressed for the weather, so I start rubbing my arms up and down, trying to chafe some warmth into them.
“Here,” Nathan says. He takes off his flannel, stripping down to his t-shirt underneath, and passes it to me.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want to have to explain to Beau why I let his sister get frostbite. Put it on.”
“Sure, whatever,” I say, taking it from him. “But I’ve lived in Montana my entire life, you know. I can handle the cold.”
“Doesn’t mean I can handle seeing you freeze, though,” Nathan says.
My mouth pops open in surprise, because it’s not what I’d expect from him.
“You know, because it’s rude. Not to give a woman your jacket,” he continues, clearly embarrassed.
Normally, I’d argue with him. I’d tell him that that’s rich coming from him, a known womanizer and playboy. That there’s no way he knows how to treat a woman. But he does, apparently, know how to step in and help a woman when she needs it. It conflicts with everything I thought I knew about him. The Nathan I thought I knew would be too busy with his tongue down Sarah Palmer’s throat to notice that I was in trouble.
I finish pulling the flannel on and Nathan clears his throat. I look down and see that the movement has caused my shirt to slip down, so instead of just showing off my collarbone, it’s now showing off quite a bit of cleavage, as well as part of my bra.
“Oops,” I say, and tug it back up. “I’m not used to wearing things like this. My friend Winnie helped me get dressed.”
“You look good,” is all Nathan says. Like that’s a totally normal thing forhimto say tome.Like we don’t totally hate one another. I assumed he was completely repulsed by me.
“Thanks. These are my mom’s jeans and wearing them makes me feel closer to her, so, um…thanks,” I flounder, embarrassed to be sharing so much with Nathan.
But his eyes go soft around the edges, like he enjoys hearing me talk about my mom.
“And thank you for helping me, back there,” I continue, unsure of what else to say. This moment has me feeling jittery, ready to jump out of my skin.
“No problem. That guy was being an asshole.”
