Kate blinks up at me, lips parted, totally thrown.
I let my hand slide along her jaw, just enough to make Wade watch every second of it.
I know I should walk away. But I don’t because I can’t, I’m mesmerized by her, and there’s no goddamn chance I’m leaving Wade Mitchell alone with my wife. Not tonight. Not ever.
He’s leaning in too close, talking like they’ve still got something toshare. His hand lingers at the back of her chair, fingers inching toward her shoulder like he has the right to touch her.
Wade leans back slightly, sizing me up like this is some casual reunion.
“Didn’t know you were coming out tonight, Callahan,” he says, all fake charm.
“Didn’t know they let trash in the VIP section,” I shoot back, voice flat, steady.
Kate stiffens, her eyes are as large as dinner plates—but I don’t wait for her approval to act. My gaze is locked on Wade, and then the air hangs thick, like the humidity before a summer storm. I don’t bother pretending that it’s okay for him to be here.
I reach down and take Kate’s hand, threading my fingers through hers, and squeezing hers tight enough so that she feels it—and so does he.
She tries to pull back, instinctively, probably because she doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing—but I hold firm.
Wade laughs, all smug like. “Easy, man. No need to get territorial.”
“Oh, I’m plenty territorial,” I say, leaning in and dropping my voice so it cuts like a knife. “Especially when it comes to my wife.”
Kate lets out a gasp, but I can’t stop. I pull her into my chest, wrapping an arm around her waist like it’s second nature. And it is, because there’s no one else I want in my arms. She’s mine. Mine to hold, mine to defend, and mine to protect.
Wade hurt her twice; he doesn’t get a third strike.
Kate settles into my chest as if she were made for it, and relaxes, knowing I have the situation under control.
“You’re done here,” I say to Wade, my voice threatening enough to leave no room for argument.
He stares, but even the cocky bastard knows when he’s lost. There’s a brief flicker of resentment in his eyes, and then, the quiet acceptance that he’s already lost.
Because I’ve alreadywon.
I turn to Kate, ignoring everything and everyone around us, and tilt her chin up until she’s looking at me, her lips parted in stunned silence.
Then I kiss her. It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. It’s hard. It’s a kiss that saysmine—a kiss meant to burn. I’m branding her. She gasps, her body tensing at first—but then her hands fist in my shirt, and she’s clinging to me like a woman lost at sea, and I’m her life raft.
The whole room watches, but I don’t care.
When I finally pull back, her eyes are glazed over, and her breath is shaky.
And then I walk her out—she’s still in shock, but I’m as steady as stone. It’s time he realized he doesn’t have a hold on Kate.
Back in the room. She’s pacing again. I shouldn’t be jealous of her past with Wade, but she’s mine, and I want the world to know it.
She’s curled up on the couch in her faded blue jeans with holes that aren’t there because it’s the brand, they’re there because they’re old and worn.
I lean back on the couch, watching her. She has her favorite journal in her hands. The quietness of the room is broken only when she mutters under her breath, incoherent things to me, and then she scribbles on the crisp white pages. The dim lighting gives her an angelic glow, and the look on her face is of a woman who’s driven, or is trying to outrun something she’s too damn stubborn to name. I know she has to get her thoughts out when they hit, so I let her work.
She’s got no idea how easy she is to read when she’s like this—barefoot, wild-eyed, chasing lyrics like they’re gonna slip through her fingers if she stops moving. Her pen flies across the paper, and then she flips the page and writes some more.
I take a slow sip of my iced tea, letting the silence stretch so she can work, before I decide I need to speak my mind. It’s been wearing on me for some time. We made a deal. We have a contract, but I’m not happy. I want to break the agreement. I’ve waited as long as a man in love can wait.
“You always twiddle with your pen like that when you’re trying to outrun your feelings?”
She freezes mid-step, shooting me a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
