"Any chance you're going to explain the silent
treatment?"
He glared her way, then set the empty dishwasher racks
off to the side on the floor.
"Marco, I don't understand—"
"You got that right."
"Got what right? I don't even know what we're
talking
about. All I know is you're kinda being an asshole and I
haven't the foggiest idea what I..."
The words died in her throat as Marco abruptly turned,
stalked across the space behind the bar, and flipped up the
counter in front of her. She retreated as he stepped
through the gap, and then he grabbed her by the
arms—firm enough that she knew he had her, but not
enough to hurt.
"How many times did you get grabbed out there tonight?
Huh?" He pushed her back one step, then another, until her
spine came flush against something unyielding. He braced
his hands on the wall above her shoulders and towered over
her, six—foot—three—inches of
pissed—off versus
five—foot—four—inches of
turned—on. "How many guys laid their fucking paws on
you?"
Alyssa could barely breathe, let alone respond. Her
heart was a speeding train in her chest. How had he even
known what had happened on the floor, anyway? Besides,
she'd handled it. Kim had prepared her for the rowdy ones,
plus you didn't grow up in a violent household without
knowing how to dodge some unwanted contact. The
self—defense classes she'd taken in college taught
her the rest. So what if one guy kept putting his arm
around her shoulders when she leaned in to take his orders
and another grabbed her ass? No blood, no foul, and all
that.
"I can tell you this goddamn much. There is at least one
man in this town who is lucky to be alive tonight."
"Marco," she whispered.
He pounded his fist on the wall. "I can't...you
c—can't..." He shook his head.
"Marco," she said again. "I'm okay."
He stared at her a long moment, blue eyes blazing and
his breathing hard. Slowly, he leaned in, his tongue
flicking his bottom lip.
Alyssa's mouth dropped open. Oh, God, how many times had
she dreamed of this? She tilted her head and held his gaze,
her whole body alive with anticipation. Her hand fisted in
his shirt, pulling him in or pulling herself up—she
wasn't sure which.
