Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(38)

I dove between them and shoved at Hawk’s chest. “If you start a fight and get me fired, I’m not going home with you,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”
Hawk pointed his finger at Jericho. “You lucked out this time. Next time you won’t be so fortunate.”
We turned toward the door and Jericho made clucking sounds.
Hawk froze.
“Jericho,” I said, my voice lowering an octave. “Let it go.”
He lit up his smoke and tucked the lighter in his back pocket. “Sorry, Isabelle. Just thought he might try hitting something else for a change besides you.”
Hawk pushed me to the side and his voice became chillingly calm. “Say again?”
“You heard me, compadre. I noticed you like putting your hands on women. Did you see the marks you left on her neck, or is that your version of a love bite?”
The tension became electric, and my breath caught since I’d seen firsthand the damage Jericho could do in a fight.
“You think you’re going to whoop me with that belt, boy?”
Jericho shot me a glare. “All these years, Isabelle, I thought you had higher standards than a man who uses ‘whoop’ and ‘boy’ in the same sentence. I know we’re in Texas, but I think we can be a little more sophisticated than that.”
Hawk stepped in front of me and obscured my vision with his wide frame. “I think you need to quit running your mouth at my woman and talk to the man in this room.”
“That’s fine by me, Tweety. Be sure to point out who the other man is whenever he comes in the room. Let me tell you a little something about me. I fight dirty—no holds barred. I’ll use my belt, my lighter, the pen in Izzy’s purse, and whatever the hell else I feel like using that’s going to cause more damage. I’ve been in enough fights that nobody talks a good enough game to make me tremble in my boots. All it does is amp me up. Cross me the wrong way and I’m your worst nightmare. And putting your hands on Isabelle stepped right over the fucking line and pissed on it.”#p#分页标题#e#
I jumped when I heard the sharp crack of a belt.
“So do me a favor and quit running your mouth, Tweety.”
Jericho didn’t give warnings—he stated the facts. He was a lover, a singer, a man with an easygoing personality and a cool demeanor. But anyone who had ever made the mistake of crossing Jericho ended up on the receiving end of an unforgettable beating. He was tall, toned, and terrifying. His lips would curl in and those rings would be the first and last thing most men saw, if they were lucky. The rest had to endure Jericho unleashed. I’d only seen it happen a couple of times, and each fight was justified. I wasn’t so sure what was going on here because I’d rarely seen Jericho provoke a fight.
“You two have fun in the sandbox,” I said. “I’m going home.”
I stormed toward the locker, nudged Jericho to the side, snatched my purse, and flew out the door.
“Ridiculous!” I shouted at nobody. I still had my heels on and jogged down the steps to the parking lot.
Unbelievable. There was nothing sexier than having a man fight for you, but only for the right reason. All that chest-beating in there was about male ego, not me. How did I get mixed up in such a blender full of drama?
Then an unexpected wave of tingles spread between my legs, reminding me just how provocative it was to have Jericho so close without touching me. Had one finger grazed my skin, I would have known he wasn’t a man of his word. But his restraint impressed me, as did the fact he had kept his promise.
But I knew what he was really trying to accomplish. It became a game to get me so worked up that I’d be the one to initiate touch. He wanted to break my willpower and prove how irresistible he was.
“Izzy!” Hawk shouted. “Stay where you are.”
I heard a car door slam, but I’d already made it across the street. When I stepped up on the curb, my heel caught between the jagged cracks of the sidewalk. The force of motion caused me to lose my balance and fall forward, landing on both knees. I broke the fall with the palms of my hands but hissed when I pulled my foot out of my shoe and saw blood on my knee.
Hawk’s red sports car screeched up to the curb on my left. He got out, hooked his arms around me, and hauled me into the car. A shoe flew through the open door as he slammed it.
Yeesh.
Once Hawk buckled up and merged into traffic, he glanced at my knee and said, “Don’t bleed on my seat.”
“My things are in the trunk of my car. Go back.”
“You didn’t seem too interested in retrieving them five seconds ago,” he said, gunning around a corner and staring in the rearview mirror. “We’ll buy you some new shit.”