03

NATALIA

He hits the pavement with a loud thud. 

“The fuck?” He growls like he has any right to look that mad when he’s pretty much been doing the same thing to me, dragging me all over the floor like a freaking rag doll.

His hands searching for purchase on the ground, he clambers to his feet. At least he almost makes it—but then he’s snatched by his collar and slammed hard against the concrete. 

There’s an audible crack and I’m pretty sure it’s the sound of his skull splitting into two. 

It almost makes me feel bad for him. Almost. But then I remember what he did to me--what he’d been about to do--and I don’t feel so bad anymore.

My saviour launches a punch that hits him square in the nose. Grimacing, I turn away when blood gushes out from the injury. 

I’ve never quite been able to stomach the sight of it. 

Deciding he’s done beating the man to a pulp, my saviour rises to his full height and turns to me, taking my measure with low-lidded, disinterested ice-blue eyes that make my heart race.

It’s him. 

Of course it’s him. 

The way he slowly rakes his eyes down the length of my body makes my stomach tighten with lust. He’s probably just checking for injuries, but my body doesn’t seem to realize that or care.

I’m not sure what he sees in my expression but whatever it is, it makes his jaw clench. He lifts his right leg and smashes the heel of his shoe into the man’s lifeless hands, effectively breaking his knuckles. 

The man doesn’t even budge. He’s passed out cold. 

He deserves it, but I hope he’s not dead. 

“What was that for?” I wonder out loud. “He was already unconscious.”

My savior fixes his spotless suit as though there isn’t a huge probability he just killed that man. “That’s so he won’t have fingers to assault women with anymore. Just in case he plans on still doing that after the lesson I just taught him.”

His voice washes over me. Rich, warm and husky. Like warm honey.

Like the feeling tequila gives two seconds after you’ve tossed it back. 

Natalia!

This man just beat a man unconscious--a man that had been sitting at his own table by the way--without breaking a sweat. Aside from the blood staining his knuckles, there’s no outward evidence of what he’s done for fucks sake. 

It’s scary. 

He’s scary. Yet so incredibly hot. 

Why on earth do I find every single thing he does hot? 

The asshole rejected me once already. Screw him. 

I stare down at my nails, making a show of inspecting them. “I had that under control.”

What I mean is I managed to get a hit in, of course.

His expression doesn’t change but I can practically hear the laughter in his voice. “‘Course you did.”

The words are laced with enough sarcasm to level a city, and the fact that he’s laughing at me makes my blood boil. I’ve never been a particularly violent person but I’ve also never wanted to wrap my hands around a man’s neck and strangle him so bad.

Scoffing, I flip my hair over my shoulder and fold my hands across my chest. 

God, he’s so infuriating. He doesn’t deserve a word out of my mouth. I definitely shouldn’t acknowledge him. 

Matter of fact, I should leave.

So why am I not leaving?

Why am I still standing here, staring at his insanely gorgeous face when I absolutely do not have to? 

“Is that the thanks I get for saving your life?” He lifts a brow. There’s a note of surprise in his voice, like the mere thought of me not falling to my knees in gratitude is so inconceivable to him. 

“No one asked you.”

As if rejecting me wasn’t enough, he just had to see me in such a vulnerable state. It’s humiliating to say the least. 

And if he thinks I’m going to thank him for it, then he’s got something else coming.

“You could have been dead or worse had I not stepped in the moment I did,” he bites out. 

What could be worse than death?

“Why did you help me anyway?” I’m being bitchy right now, I know, but hell, getting rejected by the hottest man you’ve ever seen is a truly humbling experience. “You didn’t even think I was worth your time earlier, remember?”

“I’d have to be a different kind of asshole to sit back and watch while a man puts his hands on you.” He all but growls, and I don’t recall him taking another step but he’s suddenly standing  so very close to me.

So close, I can see the specks of gold in his eyes.

Don’t say it.

Don’t you dare say--

“So you were watching me.”

There. I said it. The angel on my shoulder shakes her head in disappointment while the devil on the opposite side cackles with glee, hooting and hollering for me to ride on.

The man takes another step closer and I’m suddenly hit with a whiff of his cologne.

Something sardonic that isn’t fully a smile briefly flickers across his face, settling on his lips. “It’s truly concerning that out of everything I said, that was the one thing you chose to focus on.”

I shrug. “That’s what got my attention.”

He lifts a brow at that. “Not the part where a man almost forced himself on you?” He shakes his head like my carelessness disappoints him, once again sweeping his eyes down the length of my body. “Are you hurt?”

The urge to say something snappy or sarcastic hits me hard but I somehow fight the urge, biting down on the tip of my tongue. Slowly, I shake my head in answer to his question.

He releases a breath I’m not aware he’s been holding.

I frown. He’d been that bothered?

His gaze drops to a spot on my upper arm and when I follow his eyes, I see that he’s staring at the strap of my dress where the asshole had shoved it down. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his eyes darkening with desire.

The air is thick with tension as he takes the final step closer to me until only a silver of space exists between us. He’s so much taller than me that I have to tip my head all the way back to look at him.

My skin prickles with electricity, my breasts swelling with arousal, while my nipples grow hard. My nerves awaken, one by one, until I’m practically vibrating. I feel like a live wire, charged with energy.

All from a mere interaction.

There’s literally a man lying in a pool of his own blood mere feet from us but none of us seem to care.

He lifts his hand to my face and I think he’s finally going to touch me. My breath halts in my chest as I wait…and wait…and wait.

I watch his throat bob on a swallow, watch his hands flex, watch the blue of his eyes nearly completely swallowed by the darkness of his dilated pupils as he tries to rein in his lust.

Why is he fighting it so bad? I can literally feel the bulge of his arousal digging into my stomach. I know he wants me.

After what feels like forever, he steps back and drops his hand, looking away with a tight expression. He shoves his hands into his pant’s pockets. “Stay away from dangerous men, little girl.”

Disappointment washes over me, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “You mean dangerous men like you?” Because somehow, I have a feeling he’s not referring to the man on the ground.

When he refuses to respond or look at me, I get my answer.

Turning around, I do what I should have done ages ago and walk away, going back into the club to find my friends.

He rejected me once already. I’ll be damned before I give him another chance to do it for the second time.

Screw him.