Page 17 of Dirty Grovel

“Don’t be like that, babe?—”

But at the exact same time, both him and I are dwarfed in shadow.

“If you value your hand, I’d let her go right fucking now.”

I’ve never been more relieved or more terrified to hear his voice. Frat Boy is looking like a stuffed goose, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets as he takes in the formidable male specimen that is Oleg Pavlov.

He winces out of Oleg’s shadow, releasing me at the same time.

Oleg glances down at my arm. Frat Boy’s fingers are still indented into my skin. There’s a pale red streak beginning to form where his grip was at its tightest.

Oleg’s eyes snap to Frat Boy’s. The fury in them is so evident that Frat Boy flinches and starts to stutter. “Listen, man, w-we were just… having some f-f-fun…”

If my arm didn’t hurt so damn much, I’d almost feel sorry for him.

But I think everyone in Señor Frog’s can see what is starting to dawn on Frat Boy.

It’s too late for explanations.

And it’s definitely too late for apologies.

Oleg takes one step forward. His right hook is a thing of beauty as it careens through the air towards Frat Boy’s face.

I hear the shattering crunch of breaking bone.

Then the collective frozen gasp that rises off the watching group of people that have formed a loose circle around us.

Frat Boy lands on his back on the sticky floor, his nose bent in an odd direction, blood spurting from both nostrils like a running faucet.

I start toward him, then stop.

I have no idea what I want to do. Laugh at the handsy asshole or help him?

But before I can decide, I’m being lifted clean off my feet.

A bunch of people break out in applause as Oleg tosses me over his shoulder and makes straight for the exit.

Drunk idiots. As if any woman would actuallywantto be hauled away by an angry caveman.

But even as I hammer at his back with my fists, it dawns on me: A great many womenwouldactually want that.

Especially if said angry caveman looked and walked and smelled like Oleg Pavlov.

Even in my flustered and embarrassed state of mind, I can pick up notes of sea and salt and oaky musk mingling with his sweat. It’s like his specific scent was designed especially for me.

Pheromones for Sutton Palmer.

Tagline:She can’t resist…

… Even when she should.

The moment we exit the pub, the pulsing lights and chaotic noise fades to darkness and quiet.

I would be grateful if it weren’t for the nausea roaring to life in my belly.

“L-let mego!” I scream, pounding at his back.

He might as well be a wall of concrete for all the impact I make. The only pain I’m inflicting is to my own fists.

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