He put his hand on my arm. “Now, I know you can take care of yourself. You wouldn’t have made it through half the crap you have if you couldn’t, right? But I’m a guy,” he said, moving even closer, “and my pride is at stake.”
I wanted to tell him he need not measure his manliness by his ability to protect me, but I was too distracted by the heat radiating off his body at this close proximity. I couldn’t form words as the warmth soaked into my own skin next. With everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, I was in sensory overload, and every time Dalton moved, every nerve in my body tingled in response.
He brushed my cheek with his fingers. “My girl was in trouble, and I couldn’t save her.” He leaned in closer, and my breath caught in my throat. “So, for the sake of me and my fragile, manly pride, let me take care of you now. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered, just barely managing words.
He leaned in closer and pressed his lips against my ear. “Good. Not let’s get you some rest. You can battle the townsfolk over that curfew after a good night’s sleep.”
Chapter 10
The next day, once I had thoroughly convinced Dalton I was perfectly capable of going on about my business as usual, I made it my personal mission to show the idiots serving the town council just how stupid and antiquated the idea of a ‘women only’ curfew was. Unfortunately, the town council only met on Thursdays and, according to his secretary, Mayor Altman was busy “herdin’ up a mess of cattle” and couldn’t be reached.
God, I hate this town.
Luckily for me, there was someone else I could vent all my pent up indignation on—someone who might be guiltier than all of the town council folk put together.
Abram.
As I marched toward The Castle, I couldn’t believe I had ever thought of Abram as anything other than a ham-handed jerk. To think I had felt sorry for him enough to try to save his dump of a club, let alone long enough to stop me from quitting.
Well, that was a mistake I would gladly remedy today. I would serve him my walking papers along with a piece of my mind.
I was almost on fire as I descended the stairwell, muttering aloud everything I was going to say to him. I had just gotten to the part where I would tell him to “kiss my fat, gorgeous ass” when I saw him.
He was outside, shirtless and sweaty as he stroked a paint brush across the front door. The hot sun glistened off his body, illuminating the tight muscle that corded his arms and shoulders as well as the pelt of coarse dark hair sprinkled across his chest and abdomen.
Ridiculously, I found myself biting my lip.
“Hey,” I said, my voice breaking a little at the end.
His head snapped up, moisture plastering his hair to his forehead, and he mumbled to himself. Standing, eyes narrowed at me, he took a bottle of water and poured it over his head, letting the moisture run down his body. Droplets settled at his navel and on the trail of dark hair that disappeared behind his low hanging jeans.
I swallowed around the lump growing in my throat, dismissing the warm flush in my chest and face as a reaction to the unusually hot day. I mean, clearly it wasn’t just me overheating out here. Abram was … drenched.
“Ms. Bellamy,” he said, grabbing a towel that hung from a nearby chair and drying himself off. “Forgive me. I didn’t expect to see you today.” He slung on a flannel shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and hanging loosely around his chest. “I take it you’re feeling better.”
His tone was almost indifferent—a world away from the intense concern that colored every interaction I’d had with Dalton since my return.
He kneeled over the paint tin to dip his brush and tipped his chin toward a paint pan to his side. “Grab a brush.”
A brush? Was he joking? First of all, I was wearing Dolce. Secondly, I wasn’t here to work. I never intended on working for him ever again.
I clenched my hands at my side and growled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!”
He sighed and dropped the brush in the bucket. The paint splashed up, dots of white speckling the parts of his chest that were still exposed. Then he stood tall—taller than I remembered. Had he always been this intimidating? My breath caught in my throat.
“As always, Ms. Bellamy, being around you has been the most frustratingly mysterious part of any adventure.” He grabbed the handle, careful to miss the still-wet paint, and opened the door. “Why don’t you come inside? You can tell what fresh irritant has you disheveled today.” As if verbally rolling his eyes, he added, “I’m sure it’ll be interesting.”
I followed him into the club, already more furious than I had been when I’d arrived. This son of a bitch was belittling me. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised, considering the recent turn of events.