With a smarmy grin, he shifted her glass, took her cutlery, and began buffing them with his napkin. He returned them to their position, angled to match his silverware. He repeated the action with her water glass, aligning it with his wine glass. It seemed like prick Keir had a bit of OCD.
Because he’d irked her, she knocked the dessert spoon off kilter and watched his lips tighten as he reached over and fixed it.
“I don’t suppose you read horror thrillers. Chick-lit fluff is what all the girlies read, isn’t it? If you do a good job on this set, I have author colleagues I can recommend to you.”
Lisa’s ears started burning with a quiet rage.
She placed her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back. Lisa, ready to dismiss Keir’s commission, spotted a large, imposing figure heading towards her, with every set of eyes watching him, too.
No words would come out of her gaping mouth as Ryan reached the table, his eyes like twin flames, but he wasn’t looking at her. Dressed in black pants and a pale blue shirt, the man who didn’t look like a biker at all rounded her table and leaned his imposing frame over Keir from behind.
Keir spluttered and tried to turn around, but Ryan... no, this was all Splice, who palmed the back of Keir’s neck.
“I’ve been listening to the way you’ve been talking to her, douche-fuck, and your manners need a lot of fucking work. You’re lucky we’re in public, or I’d put your head through the fucking table. Never contact Lisa again.”
Lisa, as speechless as Keir, with his mouth hanging open and eyes wide with terror, accurately understanding the source of the threat, observed Ryan standing to his full, imposing height before turning his gaze upon her.
He came around the table to her and took a gentle hold of her forearm. “Come on, sweetheart.”
Like she was attached to springs, Lisa rose automatically and let herself be led away from Keir. She followed him like a disciple. He took her to an occupied table in the VIP section.
Oh darn, he was on a date?
She had no idea he was there when the hostage led her to her table. A smiling woman holding a glass of white wine watched on.
“Sit down, Lisa,” Splice gruffed, pulling out the third chair. She blustered, turning red, darting her eyes at his date.
“No, eh, I should go. I was leaving anyway, before you turned up.”
“Sit,” he insisted with a rough tone, and her butt hit the chair.
The pretty woman chuckled and looked at Ryan as he folded into the seat next to her.
“What kind of date was that?” he growled low, staring her way.
“We heard how he spoke to you,” the woman said. Then added. “What an asshole. Ryan shot out of his chair before I had the chance. I would have told that rude man exactly what I thought about him telling a woman what she could eat.”
“It wasn’t a date.” She pulled a face at the thought. “I was meeting a potential client.”
“Oh,” the other woman said. “What line of work are you in?”
“Lisa is a language translator,” Ryan said before she could. His stern scowl remained etched on his face, his gaze fixed past her, and Lisa turned slightly to glimpse Keir’s hasty departure.
“Do you know each other?” the good-looking woman asked, and Lisa felt a swirl of embarrassment settle in her ribs. “I thought Ryan was just stepping in to help a stranger when he was spitting about snapping that guy’s neck.” She seemed to find it funny and touched Ryan’s arm in a way that felt personal.
“Yes,” Splice said, still pinning Lisa in place with his stare.
“Not really.” She answered at the same time and felt her face flush when he narrowed his eyes. She was trying to save any unease for his date’s sake, not because she wanted to deny knowing him.
“Mom, Lisa and I used to date.” He rumbled.
Mom.
Every inch of Lisa’s cells went tight as a drum with awkwardness.
It was his mother. Why was that worse?
Lisa inwardly groaned, sat up straighter, and grew hotter as the other woman,his mom, looked at her with wide eyes. Then she laughed. “Oh, I can see that; you’re so pretty. I’m Tammie.”
