Page 71 of Her Remarkable Protector
I draw back slightly, not to pull away but to see him fully. “Intentions, Chase, they’re like honeymoons—you’re on cloud nine, full of hope. But commitment? That’s an unbroken horse. You might tame it and go far, or it might throw you and leave you in pieces.”
His expression hardens. “I’m not scared of wild things,” he says. “Sometimes the tame ones betray you.”
I sigh, my resolve faltering. “Honeymoon. That’s all I can give you right now.”
He nods, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Then that’s what I’ll take.”
I hug him tighter, my arms wrapping around him like he’s the only solid thing in a world. Fear? Gone, like it never existed. I breathe deep against his chest as the jukebox sputters, the music fading into silence.
When I finally lift my head, he offers a small, lopsided smile. “Drink?”
“Please,” I say, letting him guide me off his feet and off the dance floor, back to the table.
“I’ll bring it to you.” He brushes a kiss against my temple before heading to the bar.
Across the bar, I spot her first—tall, blonde, with nails so manicured they could probably double as weapons. She leans in close to Chase, her laugh too loud, her hand grazing his arm like a cheap prostitute. My stomach tightens, and I’m not sure if it’s the whiskey or the sudden rush of something I don’t want to name.
Chase notices me watching and straightens immediately, brushing her hand off with an easy charm. “Oh, you don’t wanna do that,” he says, glancing my way. “That’s my girlfriend over there.”
She laughs, tossing her hair like it’s a performance. “You two were hilarious on the dance floor,” she says, but her tone changes, turning sly. “She’s got three left feet, doesn’t she?”
I’m out of my seat before I realize it, closing the distance between us. I don’t even have a plan—just this rising heat in my chest and a sudden urge to see how that dainty wrist of hers would feel twisted just a bit too far.
Chase steps in quickly, intercepting me before I can get too close. His body moves between us, his hand touching my arm. “Drinks are here,” he says, his tone casual. He motions toward our table, but I barely hear him.
Instead, I grab his shirt and pull him down, kissing him like I mean it—because I do. My fingers curl into the fabric as if holding on to him might steady the storm brewing inside me. When I finally let go, her presence has vanished, and I don’t bother looking to see where she went.
Chase raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Jealous much, Huckleberry?”
My face twists into a scowl. I’m not even sure which part of his question to tackle first—the jealousy or the Huckleberry.
I settle on the more urgent one. “Jealous? Not even a little.” I brush my thumb over my mouth. But the burn in my chest refuses to die down.
“It wasn’t about the three left feet, was it?” he teases, clearly enjoying himself.
My eyes roll before I can stop them. “All right, maybe a little. But don’t you dare read into it! And what’s with this Huckleberry thing, anyway?”
He laughs, flashing a deliberate point, like he’s nailed it. “Exactly that.” He follows it up with a few teasing jabs at me. “Rugged with a touch of sweet—or maybe the other way around, depending on your mood.”
“At least it’s original.” I exhale. “Better than the usual clichés, like ‘Honey.’”
“I’d never call you that.”
“Or ‘my dear,’” I keep at it.
He grins. “Well, in my head, you were always Huckleberry. But since that wasn’t quite appropriate yet, I figured ‘my dear’ wouldn’t offend you too much.”
I nudge him under the table with my foot, lighthearted but intentional.
Just as I think the whole jealousy topic is behind us, he grins, sing-song and insufferably playful. “You do love me.”
“Samson, don’t.” I shoot him a warning look, but it only makes him laugh harder.
We return to our table, and the smoky bourbon waiting for us helps ease the tension. The warmth of it spreads through me, but not as much as Chase’s grin still aimed my way.
“Are you sick of surprises yet?” he asks, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
I raise an eyebrow. “Kind of.”
