Midnight Valentine(61)

At the bar, Theo straightens, livid at Craig for upsetting me, though he doesn’t even know why I’m upset. I wonder where I went wrong in life to wind up here, now, dealing with this.

“Easy, tiger,” says Craig, laughing. “I’d like to keep my balls, if you don’t mind. If things go the way I hope they will, we’re gonna need them.”

Then he leans across the table, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.

Gasping in shock, I pull away just in time to catch sight of Theo striding out from behind the bar, brows lowered, lips flattened, a five-alarm fire burning hell blazes in his eyes.

He heads straight for our table with Craig in the crosshairs of his murderous sights.





18





Panicked, I leap from my chair and watch Theo approach. Craig realizes where my attention has gone and straightens to his full, formidable height as he turns to face Theo. The waiter arrives with our wine just as Theo arrives at our table, then the world’s most uncomfortable pissing contest begins.

Eye to eye, chest to chest, Theo and Craig face each other. By chance, they stand exactly the same height, but that’s where any resemblance ends. In every other way possible, the two men are opposites. They’re night and day: one dark, one light; one rough, one polished; one a deep ocean of secrets, the other matter-of-factly wearing his heart on his sleeve.

One who never speaks. One who never shuts up, even when he should.

The waiter looks at me, looks at the two bristling males, then turns around and leaves without a word. Whispers rise from tables all around us.

In a tight voice, Craig says, “Whatever your problem is, friend, it’s about to get a lot worse.”

At his sides, Theo’s hands curl to fists. He slashes his gaze to me, and in his eyes, I see entire universes burning.

Moving slowly, holding Theo’s fierce gaze, I move closer to him and flatten my hand on his broad chest. His heart is like a drum under my palm. I say softly, “Theo, I’m okay.”

A low growl rumbles through his chest. He glares accusingly at Craig.

“Yes, he made me mad and he kissed me without my permission. I appreciate that you’re being protective, but I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Theo’s left eyelid twitches. I swear if it weren’t for my hand on Theo’s chest, Craig would already be a pile of broken bones on the polished wood floor.

Craig says snidely, “What’s the matter, Valentine? Cat got your tongue?”

Before Theo can explode, I snap, “Shut up, Craig.”

It surprises them both. They look at me, distracted for a moment from commencing hand-to-hand combat.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” I give Theo a gentle shove with my hand. It doesn’t budge him, but I’m sure he gets the point. “You are going to walk away and get your temper under control.” I look at Craig. “And you are going to sit down and stop being an ass.”

When no one moves, I harden my voice. “Now, gentlemen.”

There’s a long, terrible pause wherein Theo and Craig simply stare at each other. Testosterone crackles dangerously in the air. Then Craig smiles like a game show host and takes his seat. He folds his hands in his lap, the picture of composure, and looks at Theo with a cocked eyebrow as if to say, Your move, pal.

Vibrating fury, Theo inhales a long breath. His hands flex as if they’re itching to curl around Craig’s throat.

I’m beginning to think Craig isn’t quite as smart as he thinks he is.

But finally, Theo relents. He turns on his heel and stalks away. I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and rest a hand against my stomach in a futile effort to slow its queasy roll.

Watching him go, Craig muses, “You don’t have much experience with men, do you?”

I huff, vaguely insulted, though his tone isn’t accusatory, only inquisitive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that of all the things your friend Theo Valentine feels for you, dislike definitely isn’t one of them.”

Craig turns his head and meets my eyes. The warning in them gives me chills. “Be careful, Megan. The most dangerous creature on earth is a man with an obsession. There’s no limit to what he’ll destroy in his pursuit of it.”



* * *

You’d assume dinner would be ruined—potentially violent confrontations are good for that sort of thing—but Craig manages to keep the conversation afloat by steering it to less inflammatory topics than how much he’d like to get into my panties, my dead husband, or the awkward kerfuffle with the muscular mute who wanted to murder him.

One blip comes when he tries to pour me a glass of wine, but I quickly decline, telling him I only ever drink at home. I can tell he wants to ask why, but he doesn’t. What he does instead is instruct the waiter to recork the bottle, saying he’d changed his mind and would be taking it home with him to drink later.