Page 139 of Captive Audience
Finn shook his head and retreated to the bar. Liam barked something at him, but Finn only shrugged.
Beth placed a hand on my arm. “Do you want to get out of here so we can talk?”
“No. I’d rather forget about my problems and have fun tonight.” I forced a smile. “I’m okay. Promise. I told you he’s a jerk.”
Conversations surrounded me, mostly Daisy regaling our Belarusian pals with wild stories from her college days, but I was too agitated to join in. So much for trying to have fun. I sipped the fresh cosmo before me, hoping to shake my funk.
The last time I’d had drinks with the girls was when I’d met Rook. Had that really only been two weeks ago? Back then, my biggest problem had been a string of ego-bruising dating failures. If I’d known what breaking my dry spell would lead to, I’d have sworn off hookups, too.
Beth nudged my elbow. “Don’t look now, but your man is here. I think he’s jealous.”
I followed her gaze and froze.
Motherfucker.
With his black shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow and tattoos curling over his forearms and hands, Rook lounged in a booth across the room. Aidan sat beside him, saying something, but Rook didn’t take his eyes off me. The slow, unblinking drag of hisgaze felt like a hand around my throat, equal parts threat and caress.
Beth was right. He looked jealous. And dangerous. And hot as sin.
Heat pulsed low in my belly. My heart kicked like it’d been hit with a shot of adrenaline. Damn Rook for making me react that way when I was furious at him.
“Christ, girl. Breathe,” Beth hissed.
“I am breathing.” I wasn’t. My medulla oblongata had short-circuited entirely under the weight of Rook’s stare.
I drew in a lungful of air just as he slowly raised one hand and crooked his finger, beckoning me.
I took a long sip of my cosmo to ease my parched throat.
“What are you going to do?” Beth asked.
Run. Leave the country. “I don’t know.”
“Are you worried he’ll hurt you?”
“No. He won’t hurt me. Can’t say that anyone at this table with a dick is safe, though.”
Beth smirked. “I’m pretty sure these guys can take care of themselves. That one”—she gestured to Drax—“looks like he could tear a grizzly’s head clean off.”
“Lovely visual. Thanks.”
“Please.” She scoffed. “You read murder-scene reports as bedtime stories.”
Touché.
“You fight with husband?” Drax asked in a thick Slavic accent.
“Something like that.” I cut a glance toward Rook, who still watched me like a predator sighting prey. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
And if Rook even thought about busting up my night with the girls, he could forget it. Determined to show the gangster he couldn’t bring me to heel, I gave Drax my attention. “Tell me something about you, big guy. What do you do for fun in Belarus?”
He grunted. “I like going into forest with ax to cut down big tree. Then I make wood carving.”
“No shit?”
“Yes, shit.” He nodded. “Sometimes, I go hunting in same forest and not come home for one month.”
“Mm. Bet you smell fantastic after that.”
