Page 4 of Tice's Kind of Trouble
“Tice?”
“You know him?”
The other man—the guy who wanted to buy me tea—now has a voice like Mickey Mouse.
“Not yet,” I reply breathlessly, “but I’m about to.”
Tice shoves a table out of the way, knocking it over with a loud crash, stalking toward me. But instead of looking at me, he’s got the man in his sights. Locked on his target.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Me?” the guy squeaks. “I’m nobody.”
In a blur of motion, Tice snatches the man’s shirt collar into his fist, drawing his much smaller body up until the guy’s Crocs dangle and fall from his feet.
“Produce your ID.”
“My?… Okay, okay.” With shaking hands, he frantically fishes in his back pocket, trembling violently as he holds a small wallet out to Tice. “Take it. Take everything. I don’t need it. I’ll just leave.”
“No.”
With a fierce scowl, Tice carries the man by his shirt to a table far away from me, and deposits him in a chair. Technically tosses him.
The chair legs scrape the floor like a horror movie soundtrack.
Leaning down, the gigantic former SEAL gets in the guy’s face to say something in a low growl that I can’t decipher.
It must be violent. The reaction is visceral.
Whatever Tice conveys, between his words and you’ve-fucked-up body language, leaves the other man ghostly, slumping back in the chair. Paralyzed.
Partly fascinated, partly in shock, I can’t look away.
This is crazy.
This is over… me.
Tice pulls his phone out, holds it to his ear, his lips moving with clipped words. All while watching me with ferocious intensity.
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until my head swims.
Wow. What happened to my quiet, busy, lonely days?
Routine. That’s my life. Work. Dream about the things I want to accomplish, and work some more. Usually by myself.
But here I am, my life topsy-turvy with a practical stranger looking at me like… I’m his.
Eeep.
And there is definitely nothing routine about Tice. Every muscle in his arm cords as he puts his phone back in his cargo-pants pocket with an air of finality.
Then he’s walking toward me, and I’m flushing hot.
The table seems to tilt beneath my braced arms.
God. I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly VERY hot for this alpha.
Tice is stoic. Ripped. Tall. Lean-hipped, long-legged, and wears confidence like a lion. He’s overwhelming and utterly irresistible.
