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“We”—he pauses for an exaggerated effect—“tossed him into the river.”
“We what?” I yell, shocked at what he said.
He says nothing more. He just looks at me with his jaw popping and his eyes narrowing.
I start to take off my shoes when a pain shoots through my neck.
“Sonofabitch!” I grab my neck as I kick at my damn shoes. My eyes flutter with flashes of light, and I feel like I could vomit.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks in a very calm, yet deep rumble.
“We can’t just let him drown! We have to save him.”
“Look”—he pauses like he’s unsure of what to call me—“Annie.”
“Tatum,” I say in a squeak, feeling like yes, this fiction crossing into reality might be going too far, even as I want him to touch me, kiss me, lick me, and so much more.
“Right.” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his long hair and starts again. “Tatum, look.” He points. “He’s on the bank. Now he’s running like the scared little chicken shit he is. He’s far from drowning.”
“Well, we should call the police. He needs to be accountable for his actions.”
“You want me to chase after him, drag him up the bank, and do what? Sit and have a soul to soul moment with him about his actions?”
Shoving my foot back into my shoe while holding my neck, I huff. “Right, we should talk to him; tell him he shouldn’t have done that. And maybe we can find out why he did it and help him figure out a way to make better choices.” As if by instinct, I grab his hand and take two steps before I realize moving him is nearly impossible. Okay, it is impossible. “Let’s go.”
“You really think—”
I drop his hand and start to move quickly toward the hooded man running down the riverbank.
He grabs my hand, stopping me.
“He’ll get away,” I protest.
“Tatum, you aren’t going to change a man like that. You either put him behind bars or let him go.”
“That’s B.S.,” I say as I walk quicker.
“Woman, again, do you have a death wish?” he asks, gripping my bicep.
On a huff, I respond, “You already asked me that. I don’t have a death wish.” My neck is on fire, and my head is beginning to pound. “I’m not afraid of anything or anyone,” I say with a quick nod that reminds me yet again of my pulled muscle. “Dammit.”
“You should be afraid.”
His words, I can’t help wondering if it’s him he is talking about. Regardless, I go with the first.
“He didn’t have a weapon,” I argue.
“Hands can be lethal and deadly weapons, Tatum,” he says, dragging me toward the hotel. “At night, a woman like you certainly shouldn’t be sitting outside by the river alone.”
“I was looking for inspiration,” I reply, taking longer steps to keep up with him.
He looks over his shoulder at me, rolls his eyes, then turns around and keeps walking. He walks into the hotel to the elevators and hits the button before releasing my arm. When the door opens, he tells me. “Go back to your room, Tatum. And stay there.”
I step in, expecting him to follow. When several people enter the elevator, I stand there, watching him as the door closes, him still on the other side.
Sonofabitch, I think as the elevator ascends to the second floor, stopping for a couple with a baby.
For the entire ride, I wonder why he’s there at every corner, which is an ignorant notion. I mean, I did leave the journal purposely for him to read. And in the beginning, I followed him wearing a silly hoodie like I wouldn’t stand out. Again, I did pour my every fantasy of him into a journal and left it for him in the hopes of him showing up. Yet, he clearly has no intention of touching me.
But he did. He did touch me. He also called me Annie. He touched my arm and led me inside, making sure I was in the elevator and heading back to my room. Does he want to play this ruse with me? Will he be my Jonathon, and I his Annie?
He threw a man into the damn river! I almost... almost swoon over that.
I want to smack myself in the forehead. All this researching romance tropes and the online articles on writing a hero that’s swoon-worthy are seriously getting to me.
If I were that kind of woman, the one who believes in the alpha man and all his “me, man; you, woman” stuff, I would feel heat resonating throughout my body, my face would be flushed, my pussy clenching, and... Oh hell, I’m swooning. Ugh.
Again, I want to smack myself.
When the door opens on my floor, I step out and see him standing there, eyes blazing, chest quickly rising up and down.
