Page 108 of Burn

“Nixon . . .” There’s a warning in my voice, kind of like the last time I saw him at the Grand Hyatt that night. I hope, for his sake, he understands and leaves right now.

Caleb doesn’t miss my reaction.

“That was a sexy dance you did in there, Mila. Think I can buy one from you too?”

I glance over at Caleb when I feel his body tense beside me, rage filling his eyes. Nixon had just seen what I did . . . for Caleb.

Talk about feeling disgusted. I want to throw up. I no longer want to do it in front of my office windows either.

I feel dirty. And one look in Nixon’s direction immediately tells me that’s how he wants me to feel.

“Or should I just come to your office and you can show me how sturdy your desk is?”

He saw us in my office. But how?

I’m careful not to respond in any way. I don’t want Nixon knowing he’s getting to me, but when I look up, he winks without a hint of subtlety. Sick bastard.

I start to say something and then bite my tongue knowing who he is and the connections he has with the hotel.

“Get the fuck out of here, man,” Caleb says, taking a step toward him, his muscular shoulders tense, an anger that could blind the sun and set fire to ice emitting through him.

Holy shit. Pissed off Caleb is something else. Even gains the attention of Owen and Kellan, who appear out of nowhere to stand next to him.

Nixon’s watching Caleb with curiosity, and I catch something in Nixon’s eyes that makes me uneasy. “Why?” He reaches for his beer on the bar. “Do you own this bar?”

Caleb’s protective side stirs. And judging by his reaction earlier today about me moving in with Tom, I’m beginning to see what side of this personality trait I want to be on. The non-psychotic side.

“Why are you here?” I ask with a shaky voice.

Caleb glances at me, noticing, then back to Nixon.

Nixon makes a sweep around the bar with his eyes, his face somber, apparently deciding on what he’s going to say. “I’ve known this girl a lot longer than you, son.”

Son? Nixon’s barely thirty. Who’s he calling son?

“You have known her a while, but she’s on my dick, not yours,” Caleb says, watching his brother and Owen move closer before he returns his gaze to Nixon.

Nixon laughs, shaking his head, and I feel Caleb’s hand twitch in mine. “Okay, sure, you have the upper hand right now, only because I want you to. But don’t think for one second I’m not at least five steps ahead of you. You’ve got nothing on a guy like me . . . Caleb Ryan.”

Okay, so Nixon’s done research on him? Jesus Christ.

“You’ll never be ahead of a guy like me,” Caleb tells him, his voice even. Anyone around us knows by the timbre, Caleb means what he’s saying.

“Are you baiting me? Do you really think that’s wise right now?”

Caleb shifts his weight, leaning against the bar to appear relaxed, though I know he’s not, especially with the hand holding mine. “Most men would have moved on by now. What’s your problem that you keep trying to get inside her?”

Nixon watches Caleb over his drink and then winks, setting the half-empty glass on the bar. “I’m sure you can agree by looking at her she’s one to wait for. And you know, while we’re at it, you remember anytime you want the upper hand over another man, you take what they love.”

Caleb doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he wants to fight him so badly, show him with his fists instead of with words.

It’s clear Caleb’s barely holding his tongue; the venom he wants to speak is there in the way his jaw clenches and then slackens with each word Nixon speaks. But there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to give into him and let him see he’s gotten to him.

Something inside Caleb snaps and he drops my hand, locking eyes with Nixon. “Stay away from her,” he warns.

Nixon laughs. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you, but you can take it as a threat if you want.”

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