A Beautiful Distraction(15)

She pressed her mouth to his ear. “Come and find me after we close,” she whispered.

Rafe nodded.

“Graham, I’ll go grab you another beer,” she said, standing up and readjusting her dress.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Graham replied. And she winked.

Rafe watched her as she walked back toward the bar, enjoying her ass in her tight dress. “She always like that?”

Graham’s eyes were secured on something behind Rafe and an odd sound escaped his mouth. Turning his head, Rafe looked for who or what had suddenly distracted him, but he came up short.

The wooden legs scraped against the concrete as Graham pushed away from the table and stood up. “I’ll be back,” he muttered, then rushed toward the door.

Rafe turned back around and caught Amelia’s stare as she looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. She was all too easy. He knew he would barely have to try for it, and he was fully confident that if he pulled her into the restroom right now, she’d let him fuck her on the sink. And she’d be sweet, attentive. And she’d like it.

He stood up, deciding to put his plan in action, and followed her as she made her way to a spiral staircase at the back of the club, weaving in and out of tables of men, all dressed in their fucking suits.

A guy, probably around Rafe’s age, stepped from the stairs as Amelia approached. He was wearing a tailored suit, his jacket open and the top buttons of his shirt undone, and had a prissy-ass flip to the front of his hair that aided his already pretty-boy image. Rafe could see her smile from the side, and it was forced—not the easy smile she presented him and Graham with. And in the matter of a heartbeat, the air around him shifted as he watched Pretty Boy grasp ahold of Amelia’s arm and pull her body against his.

Rafe didn’t know this chick other than the feel of her ass, and she was apparently sexually unabashed, but the way her petite body straightened and stiffened at Pretty Boy’s touch made his hackles rise.

His feet stalled, pausing in between a cluster of crowded tables, while he watched the interaction between the two of them. Rafe had a known tendency to overreact, especially when he’d been drinking.

He was working on it.

But then his gaze dropped from Amelia’s mock smile and down to her hands, pressed firmly to Pretty Boy’s chest, struggling to push away while his grip on her arms remained.

Rafe didn’t need any further confirmation.

He was fully aware that his physical need for women as of late was dancing along the line of immoral. But he never once treated them with disrespect. Regardless of his emotional detachment, that was one line he never fucking crossed.

And Pretty Boy had crossed the line.

Amelia’s expression morphed, pain screwing her eyes tight while fear labored her breath. Rafe’s nostrils flared and he ground his teeth together as his skin reddened in anger. The soles of his leather shoes thudded as he stalked toward them, his fingers flexing at his sides.

The willpower he was currently experiencing should earn him a pat on the back because all he wanted to do was rip the fucker’s arms from his sockets and slam his head against the wall. He’d seen what pricks like Pretty Boy could do when they thought they were invincible. This guy was in for a rude awakening.

Gently, so he didn’t startle her, Rafe lifted his hands to Amelia’s waist from behind her and leveled his eyes on the man who was forcefully holding on to her.

“Let go.” His voice was controlled, even—but deadly.

He felt more than heard Amelia’s sharp intake of air as his words flooded over her to the man in front of her.

Pretty Boy let go of her arms, his palms still in the air. Rafe’s blood ran hot as he looked at the blanched imprint of douche bag’s fingers on her skin. He softly shifted Amelia to the side and squared himself in front of the son of a bitch. The muscles beneath his jaw tightened and his breathing quickened. Restraint was a thing Rafe had always struggled with and he found his current struggle waning as he watched Pretty Boy’s mouth stretch into a smirk. A smirk that said he didn’t give a flying fuck about cause and effect, a smirk that said he thought he was invincible.

Rafe’s fingers curled into a fist and the muscles of his bicep stiffened as he stretched his neck to the side. Knock his sorry ass out in one hit? Or spread the pain, enjoy the fight? He cracked his neck to the other side. No way in hell was this asshole getting lucky with one hit to the dome. He’d make him hurt all over before he’d be done with him.

Just as Rafe pulled his arm back, he felt a shaky hand land desperately on his forearm. Even then he was unable to pull his eyes away from that fucking smirk. “Come on, he’s drunk and not worth it,” Amelia said quietly, gently tugging on his arm.