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But he didn’t give a damn if this guy was living it up on vacation.
He tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder. “I’m about to become your worst nightmare if you don’t fuck off in the next three seconds.”
He hadn’t met Harper’s gaze, but he could feel her eyes on him.
And Christ, he liked it. But he needed some answers from her, like what the hell she doing here.
First, he had to get rid of this handsy tourist.
The wobbly man squinted and gave him a once-over.
The guy was big, but he was bigger. He had a few inches on him at six four and at least thirty pounds of muscle.
“Is she your girl?” the man slurred, confusion marring his expression.
Yep, he was another Vegas drunk.
But that didn’t give him the right to drape himself all over women on the dance floor.
“Dude, is she your girlfriend?” the guy hollered over the beat, but he hadn’t released Harper’s wrist from his grasp.
That was going to be a problem.
He glanced at the man’s beefy hand, then got in his face. “She’s my fiancée, asshole.”
Fiancée?
Where the hell did that come from?
It didn’t matter. He was improvising.
“And if you don’t back the hell off,” he continued, “you’ll return to whatever bullshit town you came from in a body cast.”
Not bad—menacing with a dash of a veiled threat.
The drunk blinked a few times. “Do I know you, dude? Are you somebody?”
He could handle this. The guy was hammered. “Yeah, you know me. I’m the guy who’s about to kick your ass if you don’t let go of…” he trailed off and met Harper’s gaze. Even in the darkened club, those eyes drew him in.
“She’s your fiancée, yeah, I get it. I get it. Sorry, man, I was having some fun,” the drunk replied. He let go of Harper’s waist, then stepped back and raised his hands like he was being robbed. “Don’t hit me, man.”
“I’m not going to hit you,” he answered, when Harper lunged in front of him.
“But I am. You need to learn to take a hint. Women aren’t here for your enjoyment,” she shot back and raised her tiny fist.
Dammit!
He grabbed her hand mid-swing.
“Why are you stopping me?” she cried.
So much for a thank you or even a hello.
“You can’t be punching people,” he replied, feeling the force of this woman. There was some real power behind her fists.
“You were about to hit him,” she countered.
“I was just scaring him.” He shook his head at the infuriatingly hot tutu-clad woman, then turned toward Mr. Drunk and Handsy. “We’re good, dude. Give the ladies some space on the dance floor.”
