In a move worthy of James Bond, Evan shifted, blocking the punch entirely. “I wouldn’t try that again.” He appeared casual and cool—and yet there was something in his manner that announced that he was the biggest badass in the room. And that he’d prove it to anyone who crossed him.
Bruiser’s balance had been thrown off and he stumbled a bit, eyeing the nearby dancers who’d finally clued in that there was trouble. He licked his lips, and I could see common sense warring with bravado. Finally, his face went slack and he carelessly rolled a shoulder. “Whatever, man. Bitch isn’t worth the trouble, anyway.”
Faster than I would have imagined possible, Evan reached out, snagged the guy’s collar, and hauled him close. “Apologize to the lady,” he said, his words like ice. “And maybe you’ll get to walk out of here on your own power.”
As I watched, the blood drained from Bruiser’s face, giving him a gaunt, half-dead appearance. “Sure. Sure, shit. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just being an asshole. Sorry, babe.”
His pleading eyes shifted back to Evan who, with a look of total contempt, gave him one quick shake and turned him loose. “Get the hell out of here.”
As soon as Bruiser disappeared into the wash of bodies, I rounded on Evan. “What the fuck?”
Evan stood as calm as if he were standing in a lecture hall giving a presentation. “He’s an asshole.”
“So?” I mean, I was hardly going to argue the point. “I was dancing with him, not marrying him.”
He took a step closer to me, and despite my irritation, my pulse kicked into high gear. “And now you’re not doing either,” he said.
“Oh.” The word escaped my lips, more breath than sound. It wasn’t even the sound I wanted to make. What I wanted, was to ask why. Why was he there? Why had he shoved the guy away? He’d followed me here, of course. The odds that this was a coincidence were simply too astronomical to fathom. But why? Did he regret walking away from me on the roof? Was he jealous of Kevin? Or, for that matter, of Bruiser?
Or was he simply watching over me? Looking out for me the way that Jahn had said he always would?
“He was dangerous, Angie,” Evan said, leading me to the edge of the dance floor. “And what the fuck are you doing here, anyway?”
My eyes snapped to his face, and the words were out before I could think better of them. “Maybe I like dangerous men.”
He hesitated only a heartbeat before replying, but even if he’d planned the words for a year, he couldn’t have cut me deeper. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
Without thinking, I lashed out, intending to slap his face. I didn’t make it. He caught my wrist and pulled me close until I was mere millimeters from him, the heat from our bodies so intense I feared I might spontaneously combust.
He stood a full head taller than me, and he had me so close that my lips were almost pressed to the indentation at the base of his neck. He smelled like sin and despite how riled up I was, I had to fight the urge to sneak my tongue out and taste him.
He bent his head, his breath brushing over the top of my ear as he whispered to me. “I get it,” he said simply.
I went completely stiff. “What exactly do you get?”
“That you’re still crying for him.”
I felt frozen and my breath caught in my throat. Somehow, I managed to force my words out. “What do you mean?”
Something brushed my hair, and though I couldn’t know for certain, I imagined it was his lips. For a moment he didn’t answer, just held me. The thrum of the music pounding through me had nothing on the surge of blood through my veins. I wanted to stay like that forever. Lost in a forest of the senses. Lost in his arms.
This was what I’d craved—why I’d come out tonight. Not the club or the music or the alcohol, but this. The numbness vanquished, my senses on overdrive.
I’d known that the music and the dancing would get me there. That I’d be able to thrust my hand through the curtain and draw in at least a moment or two of real, solid sensation, even if most of it slipped through my fingers like trying to clutch sand.