“Don’t touch me,” she growled, thrusting herself backward until she collided with the brick wall.
There was nowhere to run. They were wedged deeply in the VIP section’s shadows; she doubted anyone could see what was happening.
Dane squeezed Brinton’s inner thigh. “Come on now, honey. I got a lot of time and money to spend…”
As Brinton opened her mouth to scream, Dane’s face drained of color.
“Hey, Dane, having a good night?” Jamie asked. His signature grin had morphed into something distinctly sinister as he slid into the booth, facing them.
“Ah, yeah. I was?—”
“Leaving?” Jamie asked. He propped one elbow on the table, knuckles grazing his chin. “That’s good. I imagine Cheryl is waiting up with the baby?”
Dane checked his watch.
“How old is she now?”
“Um, she’s—well, I guess it slipped my mind. Goes so fast, you know.”
Jamie leaned back. “Now, that’s no good. A man worth his salt should know, don’t you think? I should call Cheryl right now, so we can get it straight.”
“That’s not necessary, Jamie. Loved the record, by theway. Deserved to win ten more Grammys,” Dane said, slinking out from the booth.
“You get home safe now,” Jamie said in a razored tone she hadn’t heard before. Its raw power was strangely comforting as dread curdled in her stomach.
“Because if I catch you even looking at her again,” Jamie continued, stepping closer to Dane, “You and me are gonna do more than talk.”
Brinton’s parents didn’t raise her toneeda man to save her. She could have defended herself, if it came to it. But she was grateful that, for once, she didn’t have to.
She was terrified, and Jamie had protected her.
Dane nodded, turned, and slithered away. Jamie dropped back into the booth, expression still tense.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“Yes, I’m okay. No, he didn’t?—”
“Good.”
Brinton clutched her chest. “I should have left with Sammi. It’s my fault, I was here alone.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jamie said, softer now. “A woman should be able to sit alone at a bar in peace.”
“Thank you, Jamie. I mean it,” she said, hands shaking as she pulled out a fresh water bottle. She realized how overheated she was as her adrenaline dipped.
He nodded appreciatively as she slid a bottle to him.
“You don’t gotta thank me. I saw him come over, and I knew his play. You remember hearing about the guy I had words with at my concert a few years back?”
She did. “Something about a punch thrown backstage? Was that him?”
Jamie placed his folded hands on the table, knitting his fingers together so tightly his knuckles paled.
“Yeah. I watched him repeatedly slip his hand under afan’s skirt after she rejected him. So, I had to make sure he heard her.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “The headlines made it seem like you got into a fight because he hit on your date.”
The scandal made Jamie’s song “Touch Me Like You Mean It” shoot to number one on the country charts.
