Fight For Her (More Than A Cowboy 1)

I followed the direction of his arm and glanced at Paul. He gave me a thumbs-up, approving of this man showing up and pretending to…to what? Know me? Did Paul really know his cousin was a sleaze and was saving me? They were family, so of course he knew his cousin was an ass.

“Thanks for entertaining my girl since I was late.” While he shook Bob/Bill’s hand congenially, his voice was deep, rough like gravel and had a tone of get the fuck away from my woman. Bob/Bill looked like he had indigestion, perhaps from the oysters he ate in a non-R month or from his one-night-stand plans being aborted.

My girl. Oh my God.

“No problem,” Bob/Bill murmured, then stepped back into safer territory and cleared his throat, checking Mr. Bond out, picking up on the extra few inches in height, thirty extra pounds in weight and a crap load of badass he’d never have. There was no way he was going to argue with the guy. If Bob/Bill was the oyster of the ocean, then Mr. Bond was the shark. Barracuda? Wily, treacherous and silently lethal.

Up close, he was even more…gorgeous. Manly. Virile. And I was his girl, at least for the moment. Holy shit, he was hot. Dark stubble roughened his jaw and his hand against my back was warm, even through the cotton of my dress. The butterflies in my stomach earlier were now angry bees, and surely he could see my heart practically beating out of my chest. Unlike Bob/Bill, his gaze hadn’t dropped lower than my chin. It did though, dip briefly to my mouth once again and my lips parted slightly, trying to catch my breath.

“What were you two talking about when I interrupted?” He shifted his eyes off me and onto Bob/Bill, who seemed to turn green around the gills, clearly afraid to say. Propositioning this man’s significant other was not good for his health.

“Oh, um…” Bob/Bill grabbed the knot of his tie and wiggled it, finding it extremely tight all of a sudden.

“Oysters,” I said,

willing to spare Paul’s cousin a possible slow and merciless death. He was pretty sleazy, but harmless enough, especially with Mr. Bond beside me. Mr. Bond somehow made me feel protected, sheltered and safe from any of Bob/Bill’s less honorable intentions. He made me feel…feminine in comparison to his ultra-masculine presence. It could have been that I only came up to his shoulder or that his biceps was the size of my neck.

I darted a brief glance again at Paul across the room. He winked at me, then was pulled back into a conversation. He had sent this guy over to save me from Bob/Bill.

“Oysters? That’s fascinating.” From Mr. Bond’s tone, it didn’t sound as if it was. “You don’t look too good.” He gestured with his chin at Bob/Bill who now had beads of sweat dotting his brow to go along with the off pallor. “Ready?” he asked me, his eyes raking over my face.

Without waiting for me to answer, he took my hand and all but dismissed Bob/Bill. His hand was so big mine was all but swallowed up. While I could feel callouses on his palm, his touch was gentle, which was surprising for a man who seemed so…aggressive, as if the calm exterior was just a façade and he had tension and energy coiled and ready to be unleashed, especially when aimed at a man who bothered me. When his thumb brushed back and forth over the back of my hand, a chill went down my spine.

Ready? To go off with Mr. Bond? Mmm, yeah. I nodded, then turned to Bob/Bill. “Guess you should’ve followed the rules and skipped the oysters.” Or skipped propositioning me and demeaning my job. I faked a smile and let Mr. Bond lead me away. Everyone seemed to be looking at us, at him, for he had the bearing and presence that screamed Get out of my fucking way.

I placed my glass on an empty high top as we walked by. Mr. Bond let go of my hand—he had a drink in his other one—to push open the door to the outside deck and held it for me. The patio area wrapped around three sides of the building, although windows only flanked the wall that faced the water.

The air was balmy and humid, a striking contrast to the air-conditioned interior. It wasn't the hot day that made me overheated. It was for an entirely different reason. As the door closed behind us, the noise of the restaurant and bar was became muffled. The sun was setting, the sky thick and hazy with the heat, yet a beautiful mixture of pink and orange. The lights of the buildings on the harbor were coming on, setting the water to sparkle even more.

Couples and small groups chatted by the railing and around small arrangements of patio groupings, so he pointed with his drink-filled hand around the corner. There, it was quiet, and I moved to sit in one of two chairs that looked out over the harbor. Small boats cut through the water and in the distance, life jacket clad tourists rode in simple paddle boats shaped like swans.

Since Christy was in love, she wanted everyone around her to have the same, but guys like Bob/Bill weren’t making me eager to change my Facebook status to In A Relationship. Regardless, she and Paul had tried to get me back out there now that Chris was away at college, but using this guy—holy hell. My life had been about raising Chris for so long, I didn’t know how to be just me, the woman, not the mom. And now, it was just me and this insanely good looking guy and I didn’t know what to do! It was one thing to talk to Bob/Bill, but I was flustered and tongue tied and overwhelmed by this man.

“Would you mind if I sit with you?” His voice was deep, cool and calm, patient.

My heart did that whole leap-into-my-throat thing as I looked up at him. Only a few feet away, he appeared a tad dangerous. His nose had been broken. I’d been right about that. There was also a scar that sliced through his left eyebrow, the whiteness of it a stark contrast to the dark hair. He smiled and waited.

“Oh, um. Sure.”

Gripping the back of the chair and leaning in, he asked, “You don’t seem so sure.”

“I…I just wondered why,” I replied, sheepishly. My insecurities were showing. While I felt confident in myself, when it came to men like him and the blatant selection of younger and more nubile women at the bar, I felt lacking. With me safely away from Oyster Man, Mr. Bond could return to the bar, his chivalry accomplished for the night. I could take my grandmother’s advice and find a nice man at church, but that wasn’t my angle either.

He frowned and a little crease formed in his brow. “Why?”

“Why you want to stay here with me.” I pointed in the direction of the bar. “I’ll tell Paul you saved me. You’re off the hook.”

He sat then, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his thighs. The corded muscles of his forearms were hard to ignore and I had to wonder what the rest of the tattoo looked like, hidden as it was beneath his dress shirt. All of his attention was once again squarely on me. “Maybe I don’t want to be off the hook.”

Oh. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but realize he wanted to sit with me and I felt something shift inside. Something good. “Oh.”

He looked down at his hand. “I brought you another drink.”

He held a highball glass, filled with an icy concoction with two lime wedges floating on top. Condensation trickled down the sides. “Thanks, but I was drinking—”

“Water,” he cut in, finishing my sentence and placing the glass on the low table in front of us. His dark eyes once again watched me closely, calmly. It was as if he could shut out all the other patrons of the restaurant, the noise of dishes being stacked, even the subtle music, and give me every ounce of his attention.

“Yes,” I admitted, my eyes widening. How did he— “You’ve been watching me.”