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I rush over and haul her into my arms, sealing her protests with my lips. I grind my body into hers and growl low in my throat when someone next to us clears their throat.
I lift my head, glaring at the asshole. “Yeah?”
“I think she might like to breathe.” His eyes sparkle brightly and he holds out his hand. “Aidan Christopher.”
“Steele. Steele McConnell.” My growl makes the man’s dark brows lift. “I’m hers. And she’s mine.”
“Steele!” she squeaks. She turns to the older man. “I’m so sorry. He’s really…touchy.”
The dark-haired man nods. “Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this before.” His mouth tips up in a grin. “I’ll see you later. I’ve got to check with my PA and make sure that everything’s all set up.”
He strolls off, his hands in his pockets, completely at ease.
On the other hand, my body is buzzing with the need to claim my woman. Or knock the other man’s head off.
“What the hell has got into you?” she whispers.
“Who does that guy think he is? He was touching you. I should go beat his ass,” I grumble, my head turning to follow his lean frame.
Before I can follow him, Cleo grabs onto me. “Stop that!”
I glare at her, shoving into her, pushing her up against the wall. My hands ball up into fists holding onto her hair and I run my nose along her throat, the soft sweet scent of her like juicy candy and mint.
“Mmmm. I need you. Right now.”
“You can’t be serious?” she gasps.
“I would fuck you right here and now if I could. But I’ll settle for your place.” Dropping down in a crouch, I ram my shoulder lightly into her belly.
“Steele! Have you lost your mind? Let me go!” she shrieks.
“I’ve been patient. But I can’t take this anymore.”
Her heels bang into my belly and I wrap my arms more securely around her legs.
She twists around on my shoulder, trying to pull at her skirt. “Dammit, Steele! This skirt is not made for this shit!” I hear the fabric rip and Cleo buries her face in my back. “Oh, dammit!”
I glance down and see a long rip running along the seam of the skirt. When I step outside the shop and start to make for the stairs in the back, another man stops and stares, his eyes fixated on my woman’s creamy skin exposed by the long rip.
“Get out of here! And stop staring at her, dick!” I yell, my arm wrapping around her legs tighter.
“Steele! Put me down!”
“Not until we talk about this. Upstairs. Alone.”
She huffs but stops talking. Her nails dig into the skin of my back when I jog up the stairs two at a time.
I grumble loudly when I realize that the door is open. “Are you kidding me? Anyone could come in here. Why isn’t your door locked, woman?”
I flip her down and she lands on her feet, her arms out to the side to get her balance, her golden curls wild around her head. “Because nobody else around here is crazy enough to break into my apartment.”
“I didn’t break in. I just twisted the damn knob because it wasn’t fucking locked, woman!”
“What the hell is going on with you, Steele? You’re acting crazy!”
“That guy was flirting with you,” I grit out, my voice rough and ragged.
“He was not. And that doesn’t excuse what you did.”
