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Before I could react, Colton grabbed him by the collar and lifted him out of his seat. Immediately, four more guys rose to their feet around us. Asshole or not, the guy had friends and they had knives on their belts and probably guns under their shirts. I grabbed Colton’s arm. “Wait!” I told him. I hauled him away but it was like trying to lead an uncooperative rhino: he kept stopping and glaring at the guy. I’d never seen him so mad.
When we were a safe distance away, I let out a sigh of relief. Colton scowled. “Why’d you stop me?” he demanded.
“His friends would have killed you!” I shook my head. “I’ll just do it.”
“The hell you will!”
I frowned at him, genuinely confused. “It’s just sex.”
To my surprise, that made him even madder. He stepped closer and he seemed to grow, his muscles swelling with rage. But it didn’t feel like the anger was directed at me. “You’re not doing that!”
I stared. “I’m a spy, Colton. It’s part of what I do.”
He loomed even closer, so close I could feel the heat from his body. “Not anymore, it’s not!”
This was more than jealousy. He thought that I should be able to choose, that I should only fuck someone because I wanted to, not because my mission demanded it. I felt my forehead wrinkle in amazement. Ridiculous. He wants to make me into some fairy-tale princess in an ivory tower—
And then there was a wrenching disconnection, deep in my soul as I realized it wasn’t ridiculous. It just seemed ridiculous to me because I’d had so many years of being a spy. All he wanted was for me to be allowed to be a normal woman.
He wanted to rescue me. As if I deserved to be rescued.
My chest went fluttery and light. Stupid! I screamed at myself. You stupid, weak girl! I should rage at Colton, tell him he was being a naive, romantic oaf, but—
But I couldn’t. Because deep inside, there was a traitorous part of me that wanted to be rescued. That wanted to deserve it.
“Okay—” My voice quavered and I frowned and started over, furious at myself. “Okay then. What do we do?”
Colton marched back to the South African guy. “Let’s go,” he said. “You and me. Downstairs.” People at the tables around us turned to look and Colton glanced around at them. “Or you can show everyone here that you don’t have any balls!”
For the first time, the South African guy looked thrown. Then he stood up and I drew in my breath: he was taller than I’d thought, slightly taller than Colton. He leaned forward to snarl in Colton’s face. “I’ll take you apart!” Then he pushed past us, heading for a set of stairs.
“What’s downstairs?” I asked. But Colton just grabbed my hand and followed the South African guy. Word spread fast and everyone started moving downstairs, eager to watch. Watch what?
We emerged into a stone cellar. Crates of beer and cleaning equipment lined one wall but most of the room was given over to a full-sized boxing ring. Chyort! The room filled up quickly: the whole bar seemed to have heard what was happening. Everyone was eying up Colton and the South African and money was changing hands.
I put my lips to Colton’s ear. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Colton was huge, but the South African was younger, slightly taller and he had a cruelty in his eyes I didn’t like at all. I felt a flutter of panic in my chest, the same one I used to get when Lev was sent on a solo mission.
Colton looked at me. “This is what I do,” he said simply. Then he climbed into the ring. The South African gave me an unpleasant leer and joined him.
The betting going on around me rose to fever pitch. I tried to get a feel for who the odds favored, but it seemed to be evenly split. Not a good sign. The South African was stripping off his shirt. His torso bulged with hard muscle: he obviously pumped a lot of iron and probably hit the steroids, too. He bounced on the canvas and raised his arms to the crowd, getting them baying and hooting. In the opposite corner, Colton stood still and quiet. I waited for someone to appear and tell the fighters the rules. Then I realized there weren’t any. Oh God...
Someone honked on an airhorn and the fight began. The South African sprang forward, jumped and launched a vicious spin-kick at Colton’s head—
Colton raised his hand almost lazily, grabbed the man’s ankle and used it like a handle to slam him into the canvas with a boom so loud it hurt my ears. The crowd went utterly silent.
It sank in that all the times I’d fought Colton, he’d been trying to restrain me, not hurt me. Now I was seeing him unleashed and the sheer, brute power of the man was overwhelming.
