Page 94 of Unmanageable

It’s terrifying, but fuck, it is so hot.

The immediate, unquestioning way he just dropped the guy for speaking to me like that makes a heavy, primal thrill stirs in my stomach.

“Whoa, back off, man! Hey, back off!” the guy’s friend in the flannel shirt yells, his hands up as he quickly steps between Cash and the floor. “We’re leaving! Chill the fuck out!”

They practically trip over each other hauling him out the front door, the little bell above it clanging wildly as it slams shut.

The bar is dead silent.

Cash stands there for a second, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. When he turns around, the terrifying look on his face softens the exact second his eyes find mine.

He steps over a piece of broken glass, reaching down to grab my forearm. His grip is firm but incredibly gentle as he pulls me out of the booth and up onto my feet.

“Are you okay? Did he touch you?”

“No,” I say, my voice a little breathless. “No, Finn. I’m fine.”

“Good,” he says.

He tosses a twenty onto the table without looking, keeps his hand wrapped tightly around my arm, and marches me straight out into the cool night air.

The wind off the canal cuts right through my sweatshirt, but I barely feel it.

Cash unlocks the van, slides the side door open, and helps me up into the seat. But he doesn’t walk around to the driver’s side.

He stays right there in the open doorway, leaning in, his hands planting on the armrests on either side of my knees, pinning me in.

He’s still breathing hard, his face just inches from mine in the dark, cramped cabin. His knuckles are scraped and bleeding, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

His eyes are locked onto my mouth with a ferocious, heavy focus.

“You’re an idiot, O’Connell,” I whisper, my heart practically in my throat. “You have more stops on this trip. You could have broken your hand on his face.”

“I don’t care,” he says, stepping even closer until his thighs are pressing against the edge of the seat. “I don’t give a shit about the training stops, Scottie. And he doesn’t get to talk down to you. No one does.”

I stay quiet for a beat, trying to convince my brain to just calmly drive to our hotel.

But obviously I fail.

I reach out, my fingers tangling into the damp collar of his t-shirt, and pull him into the cabin. My mouth meets his with a sudden, desperate force that knocks the breath right out of both of us.

Cash lets out a low, rough sound against my lips, his arms coming around my waist to pull me forward against his chest.

“Scottie,” he groans against my mouth, his lips tracing a hot line down to my jaw.

“Shut up,” I whisper, my hands gripping the back of his neck, pulling him back up until his lips are resting against mine again. “Just get in the van and let’s go.”

26

Cash

The key card blinks green, and I shoulder the oak door open before the lock can click back into place.

Scottie doesn’t move toward her own room key in her pocket. She doesn’t say a word about the room across the hall. I drop the van keys on the laminate dresser and close the door, the latch falling into place with a definitive, heavy thunk.

“You’re staying in here tonight,” I say.

“Okay,” she says.