His to Steal

Ch. 32: Dance

Nicolai

"I don't know, Sutton. I don't think that's such a good idea," I say, holding the door of Grimaldi's open for her as she ducks under my outstretched arm.

"Why not?" she asks as we make our way down the sidewalk through the crowds of people milling about.

I open my mouth to answer her when a man in a disheveled suit runs into her, knocking her sideways. I reach out and steady her, and instead of apologizing, the douchebag looks her up and down, his lecherous gaze burning me up from the inside out.

"If you're having trouble standing up, sweetheart, I got a place for you to sit," he says, and if it weren't her he was harassing, I would probably fucking laugh at the cheesy audacity of it.

But since it's her, I don't laugh. Instead, I let my alpha side take over and step up next to her and say, "She's got a place to sit right here, you fucking prick. Move along before she punches you in your face. Believe me, you don't want to fuck with her."

He holds up his hands. "Sorry, man. Didn't realize—"

Her nostrils flare and she snaps, "You're ruining my night, fuckwad. You heard the man. Move along, please."

He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, crazy bitch as he turns away and keeps walking.

I laugh and look down at her, grasping her by the shoulders and shaking her gently. "That's why, right there, mala tigrica. You're going to get us in so much trouble with that attitude."

She cocks her head to the side and places her hands on her hips. "Come on, Nic. Please? You just saw I can take care of myself. You know I can. That's why you didn't jump in front of me when you were dealing with that guy. You stood beside me and supported me instead of trying to save me."

She's right. I do know she can handle herself. I just hate the idea of anything happening to her, and with all the shit I know going on behind the scenes with her father's business, not understanding the whole "warehouse backroom meeting" thing with Jason...I don't like the idea of her being out in a club scene as a patron. I don't like her working there either. But I really don't want her in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Stop being like—"

I hold up my hand. "Don't say it."

She smirks and grins, gritting her teeth to say the name I despise the most. "J—"

"Fine, fine. We'll go dancing. But if I even get a sense that there's someone in there that is a danger to you, we're gone. And if someone comes up to us, I'm going full—"

"Alphahole. Got it. I am okay with that," she says, stepping closer to me and slipping her arms around my waist, sliding her fingertips into the waistband of my pants. "In fact, I would be one hundred percent here for it now that I know you believe I can save myself."

A shiver snakes its way down my spine and I shake my head as I stare down at her. "You are a menace."

She presses her pelvis against mine and I shock her by pulling her closer than she expected, one hand on her ass and the other cupping the back of her neck. "You're getting your way, mala tigrica, but I'm not letting you out of my sight. I mean it."

"I'm counting on it," she whispers, rising to her tiptoes to press her lips to my neck.

This girl is going to be the fucking death of me.

"Let's go before I take you against this wall over here," I tease, and when she opens her mouth to undoubtedly tell me to go ahead, I press a finger to her lips. "Don't even think about it."