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I hung up and made my way to my table, waiting for Peyton to give me something. He leaned in, hovering over her like he was trying to intimidate her.
Enough.
I was practically breathing down the guy’s neck by the time he realized a monster lurked behind him, ready to rip him to shreds. His shoulders tensed, spine straightened. I bent down, grabbing the scruff of his neck until he winced. “I think you’re in my fucking seat,” I whispered in his ear. “Get up. Don’t make a scene.” I gripped his neck harder, enjoying how he winced.
He jerked out of my grip and stood, almost sending the chair tumbling to the ground. “Remember what I said.”
Rage burned fast and furious in my gut. I was going to kill this date-crashing shithead.
I pulled him away from the table, marched him inside and through the dining room, then shoved him over the curb, smiling when he tripped over his feet and face-planted in the road.
All my rage went from a burning inferno to a simmer when I got back to the table and found Peyton smirking. “Something funny?”
“Yeah. Gotta say, that was fun to watch.” There was more she wasn’t telling me, if the glint in her eyes was any indication.
“What did he talk to you about?”
“He warned me.” Her voice went low. “He said you were kidnapping married women, breaking into houses. That you’re a very dangerous man and I should be careful.” She took the last sip of her second glass of wine. “I asked him how he knew, and he said he caught you on camera.” She gave a light chuckle.
“Nice that he came straight to you.” I tapped the table. “My guys picked him up.”
“Good.”
Warmth filled my chest. Approval wasn’t something I sought. Except, apparently, when it came to Peyton.
When she ordered the double chocolate fudge brownie for dessert, I felt the last of my tension melt away. More food meant that the date wasn’t over or ruined.
Peyton waited until the server was long gone before hitting me with another one of her smiles. This one was more vicious. “Let’s make him sweat,” she said, and the only thing I could do was laugh.
If there was any question before if Peyton was meant for me, she’d just answered it with a resounding yes.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
PEYTON
I wasn’t upset.
I wasn’t.
All right, fine. Maybe I was perturbed that our date, the best date in the history of dates, had been interrupted. I knew I should be grateful because the guy, who hadn’t bothered to introduce himself, gave away his intel. Amateur.
But couldn’t he have waited until we were done?
I tried not to berate myself for letting my guard down and being snuck up on. At some point during dinner, everything and everyone had faded away until it was like we were in a bubble of our own. I stopped watching the exits and counting the people around us. The noise dimmed to almost nothing. Conversation flowed between us in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Maybe it was our shared history, growing up in the club and around each other. Maybe it was the way Reaper listened after he asked a question. His interest in my answers never wavered, and he accepted my vague answers when I couldn’t go into detail.
His attention was heady and addictive. I wanted it forever.
As he turned down my long driveway, I hid my disappointment that the night was coming to an end.
He parked the car, and instead of waiting for him like I had earlier, I hopped out and marched inside. I didn’t wait for him to follow. I knew he would.
I pushed the door open, leaving it for him to close, and headed to my room. I wanted to get the dress off. The longer I wore it, let the soft fabric brush against my skin, the more my frustration grew.
Reaper’s duffle bag sat in the corner of the entryway, like he’d dropped it there and walked away without a thought. Giving it the evil eye, I reached back to find the zipper on the back of my dress, but my hands were slapped away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Reaper asked, his voice low. His hands, big and warm, went to my sides. His front pressed to my back, his body heat seeping into me. Goosebumps danced up my arms.
