Marcus felt like he was missing something, but he wasn’t going to worry about it right now. “Beka, this guy is stalking you. He could be dangerous. Maybe you should report him to the cops.” Or let me beat the crap out of him.
Beka shook her head, hair pale in the moonlight. “You’re overreacting, Marcus. He’s from a background that’s . . . different from ours. He just doesn’t understand about boundaries, that’s all.”
How different could Ireland be? Marcus breathed out through his nose, trying to rein in his temper. “Is that why he told me to stay away from you? And said that you belonged to him? That’s not a cultural difference, Beka, that’s just arrogance.”
She slid across the sand to stand between the two men, her gaze swinging back and forth. “He what? When?”
“That morning we were all surfing together.” Come to think of it, he’d shown up out of nowhere that day too.
Beka narrowed her eyes at him, and he suddenly thought that maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut.
“You mean that’s why you were acting so rude and cranky? Because Kesh warned you off?” She rolled her eyes in his direction, and then turned that piercing blue gaze on Kesh. The temperature on the beach seemed to drop ten degrees, and Marcus realized that the few times he’d thought he’d seen her angry, she’d merely been a tad peeved. This was Beka angry, and it was a truly impressive sight.
“And you, Your Highness,” she bit off the words as she poked one finger into Kesh’s slim chest. “I do not belong to you. I do not belong to anyone except myself, and you would do well to remember that. You are not my ruler. You are not my lover. And if you ever pull anything like that again, you won’t be my friend either. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
Kesh actually took one step backward, alarm flitting across his handsome face for a moment before it was replaced by his usual composure, and then by what was no doubt supposed to be an endearingly sheepish grin.
“You are quite right, my darling Beka. I overstepped, and for this I am very sorry.” He bowed over the hand that had jabbed him and kissed her fingers.
Marcus gritted his teeth until he thought he would crack a molar.
Big brown eyes with absurdly long, dark lashes topped a crinkled smile. “Please say that you will forgive me, Beka. I shall be crushed otherwise.”
Beka stared at Kesh for one long moment, until her anger slid away like frost on an autumn morning. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”
Marcus opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. She didn’t belong to him either, and he couldn’t tell her what to do. So much for a great evening.
Kesh shot him a triumphant look out of the corner of his eyes and turned to bow again to Beka. “Then may I have this dance, my lady?”
“No,” she said.
Marcus wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised, him or Kesh.
“No?” repeated Kesh, a baffled expression on his face. “But I apologized.”
“And I accepted your apology,” Beka said in a calm voice. “But I promised this evening to Marcus, and that didn’t include sharing it with you. After all, you wouldn’t like it if I invited him to join our picnics on the beach now, would you?”
Marcus almost laughed, watching Kesh try and figure a way to wiggle out of that one. He had to bite his lip as Kesh sputtered his way through the beginnings of three different sentences, only to end up saying, with less than his customary poise, “As you wish. Perhaps you will dine with me tomorrow,” and then stalked off across the sand without a backward glance, almost knocking over a woman who happened to be in his way.
“Sorry about that,” Beka said, putting her hand back in his and resuming their interrupted dance. The band had switched to something faster with a Latin beat while the three of them had been absorbed in other matters, but Marcus stuck with the slow sway that was his only speed.
“Not a big deal,” Marcus said. After all, he was the one who’d ended up with the girl. He could afford to be gracious in victory. Although he couldn’t keep himself from adding, “I’m still worried about that guy, Beka. He might be dangerous.”
“Kesh is just from a very different culture,” Beka said, although she softened the disagreement by moving in even closer as they danced. “He’s kind of, um, privileged, where he comes from, and he’s not used to people saying no to him. But he’d never hurt me.” She tilted her head up and smiled into his eyes. “Although it is sweet of you to worry.”
With Beka in his arms, Marcus felt anything but sweet. She set his blood on fire and made him want to scoop her up and carry her off to someplace lonely and private and dark. Part of him actually sympathized with Kesh, although that didn’t make him like the spoiled rich guy any better. There was something not right about him, but now wasn’t the time to push the issue. Not when there were so many better things to do.