Wicked Force (Wicked Horse Vegas #4.5)(13)

“Well, Michel has his own ride home,” I say as I turn to look at him over my shoulder. When I look back to Kynan, I see him staring at Michel and the big bouncer with a grin.

His eyes come back to mine, filled with amusement. “Looks like it’s just you and me then.”

The words were in jest, but they pack a punch.

Just me and him.

Together.

Alone.

Late at night.

I’m not sure what the expression on my face says, or if it reveals exactly what’s bouncing around in my brain, but the smile slides off Kynan’s face. In this moment, I know he can read me very clearly.

A tiny muscle tightens at the corner of his jaw and his eyes move over my face, almost as if he’s trying to find something other than what he suspects I’m thinking.

Disappointed, because I can think of nothing else and it must show, Kynan looks away from me and back across the club to where Michel is standing. When he looks back to me, his face is impassive and his voice bland. “You sure Michel doesn’t need a ride?”

I shake my head. “He’s going to stay here and he can always Uber home if need be.”

“Are you ready to leave?” he asks me. “Or do you want to dance some more?”

I want to dance some more. With him. Slow and close. “I’m ready to go. Let me just go tell Michel good-bye.”

Crossing the dance floor, I weave my way in and out of gyrating bodies. When I reach Michel—who is in heavy duty flirtation mode with the bouncer—I tap him on the shoulder. He turns with an annoyed expression on his face which melts away when he sees it’s me.

“Kynan is taking me home,” I tell him.

Michel smirks at me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Rolling my eyes, I tell him, “That’s not helpful at all since you would do almost anything and everything.”

Michel gives a sideways glance at the bouncer, who is listening carefully to our exchange, and runs his eyes up and down. “Girl, you know that’s true.”

The corners of the bouncer’s mouth curve up in a sly way as he realizes he’s getting laid tonight.

Michel and I air kiss each other’s cheeks good-bye and I turn to make my way back across the dance floor to Kynan. I get no more than three steps before a hand is grabbing my upper arm and I’m being whipped around so fast my head spins. Then I’m pulled hard into a man’s body and a hand goes to my ass.

Brushing my hair out of my eyes, I don’t even have the time to see who my aggressor is or even be offended before the guy just disappears. It takes me a moment to realize he’s flat on his back in the middle of the dance floor with Kynan crouched over him. One hand is wrapped around the front of the guy’s throat and the other is just casually loose near his hip. He doesn’t seem to be expending any energy whatsoever but the guy on the floor is clawing at Kynan with both hands and writhing around as his face turns purple.

Then Kynan lets him go and stands up.

It all happens so fast, the bouncer nearest us—Michel’s date tonight—doesn’t even have a chance to move. Kynan doesn’t give the man who grabbed me another look nor does he care about all the people gawking at us.

He takes me by the elbow and steers me across the dance floor. People scramble to get out of the way of the huge man that just laid that jerk out in about a nanosecond without breaking a sweat.

Kynan’s strides are long so I have to trot to stay at pace with him. In moments I’m outside of the club and we’re making our way across the parking lot. I dare a glance up at him and he looks incredibly pissed.

When we reach his vehicle—a black Suburban with tinted windows—he lets me go. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head rapidly and venture a question of my own. “Are you mad at me?”

“Fuck no,” he growls and then rubs the back of his neck in what seems to be frustration. “I just... lost my shit in there when he grabbed you like that. I could have fucking killed him.”

I’m not sure what meaning he places behind his actions, but I know the reaction of my body to them. He got mad on a personal level that someone touched me and that does something incredibly disturbing to my body. My lower belly tingles, a cramp hits me between the legs, and I feel a rush of wetness against my panties. I squeeze my legs together and that makes the ache worse.

I groan and Kynan’s eyes snap to me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I mutter.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he demands, his head swinging back to the club and I can tell he’s considering going back in there to finish the job.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, reaching out a hand to touch his arm.

Kynan’s body locks tight and his gaze swings back to me before descending to look at me touching him. I snatch my hand back, feeling as if I’ve been burned not by the touch but by some untold condemnation from him. He doesn’t like me touching him.

His expression is troubled for a moment—as if I’ve crossed a line—then goes blank. Leaning past me, he opens the passenger door and holds it open for me to get in. “Let’s get you home.”

“Okay,” I murmur, unsure of what the hell just happened but with a sneaking suspicion that my attraction to Kynan may not be reciprocated after all.