Page 26 of Book Boyfriends
“What the…” Eyes wide, Jackson points at the beast of a man charging toward him.
“I won’t stay hidden while you hurt her. I don’t care whoyouare.”
“Who are you?” Jackson shouts.
“You’re worst nightmare.”
“Lars! No!” Chest heaving, I look to Owen and Lord James for help.
“Sorry, Georgia! I tried to hold them back, but…” Owen stands in the open bedroom door, his features twisted with regret.
“We’re here, my lady,” Lord James soothes, pushing past Owen and striding to me. He pulls me into his firm chest. “Lars shall dispense with that emotional ruffian.”
“At least you’re calling him Lars, now.” Owen sighs.
“My lady? What—” Jackson’s question is cut short by Lars’s large hands curled into his shirt, a menacing scowl covers his face.
“Ours,” he growls.
“Georgia, what’s happening?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
YOU WROTE YOUR OWN BOYFRIENDS?
“Let go of me.” Jackson squirms in Lars’s clenched fists, the pale white of the alpha’s knuckles a sharp contrast against his olive-toned skin.
“Not until you apologize for hurting your sister,” Lars grits.
Wentworth shoots up, barking loudly. It’s the first time he’s shown any protectiveness. Though I can’t tell if he barks to defend Lars or Jackson. Owen scoops him up, despite his chunky seventy pounds, and soothes his barks.
“I didn’t hurt her,” Jackson spits out.
Is this really happening?My breath catches at the ominous fixation of Lars’s eyes on my brother.
“It will be alright, my lady,” Lord James assures, pressing a tender kiss to my temple, his masculine scent overwhelming my senses.
Like a stray kitten, I lean into the sturdiness of his arms as if it’s my new home. This is where I live now… In the arms of a fictional duke while a fictional werewolf threatens my brother and a fictional baker stands by, exasperation twisting his expression.
“You made her cry,” Lars sneers, baring his large teeth.
Jackson’s eyes jump to mine, remorse swimming in the brown pupils. “Georgia, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Do better.” Lightning flashes in Lars’s eyes. “That’s not an apology.”
Despite my body’s protest, I pull from Lord James’s embrace and round the kitchen counter. “Lars, it’s alright, I?—”
My protest is cut off by Jackson slipping out of Lars’s grip. In a swift motion, he maneuvers the burly werewolf into a headlock.
“I repeat, who are you?” he snarls.
“Pretty boy has moves.” An amused chuckle slips from Lars.
“Wrestled in high school.” Jaw clenched, he tightens his hold. “Even went to the state tournament.”
“Impressive.”
Hands on hips, I huff out an annoyed breath. “Would you please let Lars go and?—”
