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Angela steps up to him, preening as pretty as a peacock. But Shane either doesn’t realize what she’s doing or he’s playing it off. I’m sure he’s quite comfortable with a woman all but throwing herself at him, and this is just another normal Wednesday with nothing amiss.
“We can grab our own—” Shane begins to say.
“I won’t hear of it.” Angela dials up the brightness of that megawatt smile.
At least it’s not just me she’s steamrolling; Shane can’t seem to get a word in either.
Imagining Angela wouldn’t think twice of using a battering ram to knock down Shane’s door, I act on my possessiveness instead of questioning why I feel it in the first place.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt, a little too loud and with as obnoxious a fake Southern accent as I can muster. “But if you don’t mind, my husband and I are hoping to have a little privacy.”
I step in between them, turning just enough so I can run my palm down Shane’s chest.
Thoroughly confused, he smiles politely before looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Your…” she looks at him and then back to me, “husband?”
Stealing another quick glance at our hands, she searches for our rings.
I scramble to explain the obvious faux pas. “He’s a mechanic, and I can’t stand jewelry.”
She doesn’t buy it.
“Right. Well, if you’re not in need of my services…”
“He’s not,” I assure her.
Finally, her stare meets mine with so much venom I can feel it in my veins.
When she reaches out to give Shane the keycard, I snatch it from her perfectly manicured hand and drag him away.
He doesn’t say a word until we’re tucked safely in the elevator, on our way to the fourteenth floor after I angry-stabbed the button a hundred times.
“Your husband?”
“Shut it.”
Soft laughter shakes his shoulders. “I don’t recall the wedding. Did I enjoy the cake?”
“I mean it, Shane. No questions.”
“I mean, hell, you sleep with a girl once and she’s already putting a ring on it.”
“I haven’t put a ring on anything. I was simply rescuing you from a woman who obviously saw you as nothing more than a good time.”
Yes, I know how stupid that sounds. Shane is a commitment-phobe. The type of man who doesn’t call the next day. He enjoys being nothing more than a good time because then he doesn’t have to worry about settling down.
But still, something about that woman hit every wrong nerve in my body.
He’s quiet for a moment, then, “Thank you for rescuing me from Angela and all, but I think I could have handled it myself.”
“You weren’t handling anything.”
More silence.
A small barely hidden chuckle.
His voice is a whisper on his next words.
