from his face, a single drop of water slipping down his neck that I wanted to taste.
What was it about him that made every part of me stand at attention? Made me want to run. Made me taste the thrill he would feel to chase. Made me ball up inside to understand the hatred that flickered in and out of that amber gaze as if he couldn’t decide what to think of me.
Callan simply nodded his head once, every man in the room losing interest in the servant girl as Gretchen inclined her head in return and moved to leave.
I had to fist my hand to keep from reaching out for her, to beg her not to leave.
Then she was gone while I stood awkwardly in place, time stretching out like a rubber band only to snap in place again. A large hand locked over my arm, and I was tugged left.
I’d been so focused on the predator in front of me, I’d failed to notice the one within reaching distance.
My eyes sought Callan, but he’d turned away to finish his conversation. And when I turned to see who’d pulled me to his side, I had to crane my neck to recognize him.
Green eyes stared down at me, crinkled at the corners, whatever humor that sparkled behind them lost to the thin line of his lips, the treacherous posture of his body.
This was the man Callan had fought in the ring, the one who’d taken blow after a blow, a smile on his face as if the fury of Callan’s violence was funny.
I studied his features, noted the silver color of a small scar running the line of his right cheekbone, the blooming bruise that shadowed his square jaw. His hair was lighter than Callan’s, brown instead of black, but he was still beautiful in a different way.
Unlike Callan, he didn’t feel like an obvious threat, didn’t make everything inside me scream to run, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.
Speaking loud enough for me to hear him, but not so loud others in the room would hear as well, he said, “So, you’re Lisbeth. I’ve always wondered about the woman who could be so memorable.”
I tried to tug my arm away, but his fingers tightened to hold me in place. It took him no effort at all to keep me still, the strength of him obvious in the defined muscles of his arms.
“He tells me you’re a bitch. I like bitches. They’re fun in bed. Always more difficult to break.”
Fear doused me, Gretchen’s pep talk lost as the man gazed down at me, his eyes darkening, his lips pulling into a smirk that promised pain. While my heart lodged in my throat, I fought to pull away, but the muscles in his forearm jumped as he held even tighter, a punishing hold that would bruise.
“I don’t think so, love. It won’t be that easy to get away.”
Panic shot my eyes to Callan, and the man only followed my line of sight, a low laugh shaking his chest.
Bending down so he could whisper against my ear, he asked, “Do you think he’ll save you?” He laughed. “Do you really think that the man who hates you most in this world will suddenly be your savior?”
A pause, the silence of it suffocating me. He leaned in closer, his breath washing across my cheek, sweet with the scent of alcohol. “Why do you think you’re here? Who do you think our entertainment is for the night?”
The panic returned, the force of it a hammer against every inch of my skull, the heat of it branding my skin while it screamed to run, run, RUN!
My body spun as if that could dislodge his hold. A trapped animal, I slammed my free hand against his body to fight, the feel of his stomach pure steel beneath my palm as I opened my mouth to scream.
“Let go of me!”
The man only looked at me with unhidden amusement, his lips curling more, light dancing behind his green eyes.
“Jacob,” Callan snapped from across the room. “The fuck, man?”
The man - Jacob, as I now knew from Callan - peeled his eyes off me to glance up. A full smile now creased his face, dimples indenting his cheeks as laughter rolled over his lips.
“I was just having some fun.”
Twisting so I could meet Callan’s eyes, I saw annoyance in his expression, but nothing more. He wasn’t angry like when Antonio had touched me, wasn’t pushing up to