Depression pressed down on him. He should’ve slept with Sue. Who cares if she was a bit judgmental of his brother? Most women raced for the door once he opened his mouth. She would’ve gotten used to his behavior, and eventually come to love him, and then Nate would’ve had an orgasm, and been happy instead of sexually frustrated and in the depths of misery.
Fuck.
The guy tugged her off the stool, grabbed her hands, and led her toward the back. Great. Probably sneaking in a good make-out session before moving the grand finale to his house. Or hers. The image of the kiss they shared in the rain floated in his vision. He’d thought it was hot and passionate and beautiful. But of course, it meant nothing to her. She was already dragging out the flavor of the week back there to imprint a new memory. He was a schmuck. Chasing after someone of Kennedy’s caliber only set him up for failure.
He was done. He’d call her in the morning and get a new date set up. Mary was his second choice and seemed like a good fit. This time, he’d be more open and less opinionated. This time, he’d have some damned sex.
He sat for a while until Connor finally wound down on the new chapter of how beautiful women sucked and would eventually rip your heart to shreds. “You okay, bro? You look weird.”
Maybe it was that third drink. Sometimes he was a bit of a lightweight. “Gotta hit the bathroom. Then I think I’m ready to wrap up.”
He pushed his way through the crowds, took care of his business, and began to head back to his brother. Then paused. Was she still out there? Was he that much of a pussy that he needed to see her kiss someone else with his own eyes? Yes. Maybe the image would finally sear into his dick and his brain and he’d finally stop fantasizing about her.
Muttering under his breath, he went to the back door and stepped out. The small porch was black and silent. Gone. Probably home with him right now, taking off her clothes and diving into bed. Bastard.
“Don’t.”
The tiny whisper floated on the breeze. Nate paused and cocked his head. The low murmur of voices came from the side of the building, hidden beneath a few large bushes. A laugh. Crap, he so didn’t want to interrupt some edgy role-play. He’d never recover.
“Don’t play the virginal tease. Unless you like that. We’ve been leading up to this all night.”
“Get your fucking hands off me.”
A body slam. “Fine, we can do rough. Undo the blouse. Show me your tits.”
A moan.
“I know you want it.” A rip. “Nice tits, baby. Very hot.”
“No.”
The whisper was full of agony, not pleasure.
Nate moved.
In seconds, he ripped the guy off her. He stumbled back and shook his head. “What the hell, man? You’re interrupting a private moment.”
Nate studied Kennedy. She leaned back against the wall, her hands holding up her torn blouse. Her lips looked well kissed. She was breathing hard, as if aroused. And then he saw her eyes.
Vacant.
She stared back at him as if she were somewhere else, somewhere she didn’t want to be, and was trapped in a hell of her own making. Jesus, what had happened? He tamped down hard on the swirling rage and temper dying to fly out, and concentrated on her. “You okay, Ken?” He spoke gently. It took a few seconds, but her gaze finally cleared. She blinked, as if surfacing from a deep sleep.
“Huh?”
He walked over and touched her cheek. His hand shook as he surveyed her defensive position. “Did this guy hurt you?”
Prickface’s voice piped up in sheer disgust. “For God’s sake, we’re fooling around out here, Lancelot. You ruined a good moment.”
Nate didn’t break his gaze, just kept stroking her cheek. “Want me to beat the shit out of him? Call the cops? Talk to me, Ken.”
Her voice came out husky. “No. I just want to go. I want to . . . go.”
“With him?”
“No!” Her body burst into tiny convulsions that tore his heart to shreds.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you.” He put his arm around her back and led her forward.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Prickface stood before them, a tiny smirk on his lips. He was a good few inches taller than Nate, with broader shoulders. “I’ll take her home. I didn’t do anything wrong, and you’re not treating me like some scum date rapist. Don’t embarrass me, Kennedy. Tell this guy we were just fooling around.”
Humiliation flickered in her eyes, but it was the second emotion on her face—fear—that helped him make the decision that he would fight this asshat if he had to. “Forget it, things got a bit out of control. Nate, can you take me home?”
“Aww, babe, don’t be like that. We’ll talk. Let’s not ruin a good night.”
She flinched as he took a step forward. Nate stepped in between them and put out his hand. “This is how it’s gonna be. Walk away and don’t contact her again. I’ll get her home. Got it?”
Prickface sneered. “Don’t think so. I take care of my own dates and my business.”
Nate tried for calm, he really did, but the fury exploded from the cold ball of lead in his gut and burst through his veins. “Last chance. Then I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
Prickface laughed. “You and what army?” He rolled up his custom designer sleeves and came at Nate slowly. “You know what? This is gonna be fun. I haven’t taught someone a lesson in a long time.”
“I agree. It’s time I teach you when a woman says no, she means it.”
“Nate!” Her cry of alarm soothed his soul. “Please, let’s just go. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Stay here, Ken. I’ll be right back.”
“But—”
Prickface came at him with a pathetic lunge and a sloppy right hook. Nate dodged left and connected. Score. Asshole blinked through a puffy eye, cursed, and got reinvigorated. “You’re gonna pay for that one.”
With a bored sigh, Nate judged his next move to be an uppercut followed by a kick to the knees. So nineties. He compensated with a sidestep and a few lightning jabs to the chin. Bone cracked. Score.
Prickface fell this time but got up. With a vicious curse, he went for the full-out body slam. Nate swept his front ankle and gave him the full left.
Knockout.
He left him bleeding in a pile by the bushes. Kennedy watched his approach with wide eyes. He took off his jacket, slid it over her shoulders, and buttoned it over her torn blouse. “Let’s go. I got you.”
“Not inside. Not like this.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m taking you out the side, we’ll walk.”
She didn’t answer. He tucked her in close to him for warmth, and they made their way through the streets of Verily toward his house. This time, she ducked her head instead of soaking up the sights and sounds of a busy evening, and he hurried his pace. She didn’t question him when he settled her on the sofa in the living room, or when he put on a pot to boil water for tea. He quickly texted his brother to let him know he ditched him and walked home, promising to check in tomorrow. She sat docilely, staring at the wall. He left her alone with her thoughts.
But the anger burned.
He calmed his mind and his temper by pouring the water in a bright yellow mug Genevieve had left behind and dunking a honey-vanilla chamomile teabag. When a nice, rich color had been achieved, he used a teaspoon to fish out the bag. He didn’t bother with milk, honey, or lemon, already sensing that she’d drink tea like coffee—straight up. He wiped off the droplets on the side of the mug, grabbed a coaster, and brought it into the living room.