Page 16 of Recklessly Rogue

“He owns this place.”

I just continue to look at him.

“Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“You’re not from here,” he states unnecessarily.

“No.”

“Then why should I listen to you?”

“Because I can make you very sorry you didn’t.”

To his credit, he seems to take that seriously. “This is bullshit.” He turns to Ruby. “We’ll talk about this later.”

I step forward quickly, grab his arm, yank him off the stool, and start for the door. “You willnottalk to her about this, or anything else, later.” I march him to the door, open it, and shove him out into the October night. “You will not come into the bar duringanyof her shifts. You will not stop by her house. You will not approach her at any other business or on the street. You will not call her, text her, send an email, send a letter, postcard, or carrier pigeon. Do I make myself clear?”

He blinks at me. “Carrier pigeon?”

I growl. “Stay the fuck away from her. And tell your friends too. Ruby Gale is off limits. In all ways. Or you’ll be talking tome. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

He straightens but starts backing away toward the parking lot. “I suppose you’ll beat the shit out of me?”

“Maybe,” I agree. “Or I might make you miserable in some other way. Or maybe I’ll do both. There are lots of options.”

He frowns but then just turns and heads for his truck. I watch until he’s pulled out of the parking lot, and his taillights have disappeared.

Then I go back inside.

To confront my biggest problem of all.

The woman I cannotget over.

The one I’m going to be living with for the foreseeable future.

Chapter 6

Ruby

“Ithought we agreed to ignore each other for the rest of our lives.”

“We did.” Henry Dean plants his fine ass on the stool in the middle of the bar, directly across from where I’m standing.

I try very hard not to catalog the way the dark gray button-down shirt pulls across his broad shoulders and thick biceps or how the sleeves rolled up to the elbows reveal the tattoos on his right forearm. Even though he’s wearing his usual dress pants and shoes—both in black—he looks hot. Like rich-asshole-CEO hot. He stands out so obviously in the rundown small-town bar that it should be laughable, but if anything, he looks bored. Maybe mildly irritated. Not at all uncomfortable.

I’ve never seen Henry look uncomfortable, and I can’t imagine the situation that would make him feel that way.

And don’t even get me started on the accent. He’s British, and he sounds even better than Henry Cavill.

It’s not fair.

I just saw him yesterday…or maybe it was the day before—the time difference between here and Cara throws me off—but Istill notice that his beard has grown in a little more, and there are dark smudges under his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Emerald is my hometown now, too.”

---