much as a pair of wandering eyes. Everyone’s too busy staring at Sebastian—the news that he’s Caine’s heir moving through the area at an amazing pace. I’d be grateful for his presence, and protection, if I wasn’t so annoyed about the whole damn thing.
Still, things go relatively smoothly until I stop at the craps table to hand Mr. Sheenan a menu from the sandwich shop on the other side of the casino floor. He thanks me for it with a wink, and then—either not noticing Sebastian or not caring about his presence one way or the other—brings one of his huge paws straight down on my ass hard enough to make me jump. More than hard enough to have me spilling liquid out of the two drinks left on my tray.
“Hey!” Sebastian’s hand comes out of nowhere, wraps itself around Mr. Sheenan’s wrist and squeezes until he drops the dice. “He’ll be cashing out for now, Justice,” Sebastian tells the dealer who is watching the proceedings with gleeful interest. I can almost see her trying to make sure she has every detail for the story she’s going to tell at the first opportunity.
“The hell I will be, buddy,” Mr. Sheenan blusters. “I’m on a roll.”
“Are you? Really?” Sebastian asks, squeezing the guy’s wrist even harder. “Because it seems to me that you’re about to be in for a round of very bad luck. After all, you won’t be able to roll the dice if you’re missing your hand, which might be a problem for your continued participation in the game.”
I watch, mouth open, as he threatens one of the casino’s most frequent whales, one who routinely drops a few million dollars every time that he plays.
“What is your problem?” Mr. Sheenan demands, sounding belligerent as well as angry as he attempts to shake off Sebastian’s iron grip.
I place a hand on Sebastian’s arm, start to intervene, and get nothing for my trouble but a furious look that tells me to butt out.
“My problem,” Sebastian tells him, “is that this is my casino. And I don’t appreciate watching some asshole with delusions of grandeur slap and grope at my employees. That’s not the kind of place I run.”
He lets go of Mr. Sheenan’s wrist then, but the eye contact between them doesn’t waver. It doesn’t take a genius to realize I’m in the middle of a gigantic pissing contest, one that Sebastian has absolutely no intention of losing.
No intention of losing? I nearly laugh at the thought. It’s not like he’s got a chance in hell of losing. Not because of who he is, but because of the look on his face, in his eyes. He’s got total control of this situation and he isn’t giving up. Not to me, who spent the first couple minutes of his being here trying to hurry him along. Not to the security that is circling like wolves, just waiting for the boss’s orders. And definitely not to Mr. Sheenan, who’s gone from looking jovial and powerful to small and weak in the space of a few seconds.
In the end, Mr. Sheenan is the one to look away first—surprising exactly no one, except maybe himself.
I wait for Sebastian to say something else, to humiliate Mr. Sheenan with the fact that he blinked first. But I underestimate Sebastian Caine. All he does is say a very civilized “Thank you,” before placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me back toward the bar.
“What the hell was that about?” I hiss as soon as we’re out of earshot.
He eyes me coolly. “That was about making sure he doesn’t touch you—or any other waitress who works here—again. I’ve been watching him for the last three hours and if you don’t have at least one bruise on your ass because of him, I’ll be shocked.”
He’s right—already I can feel the soreness on my left ass cheek from where it’s been smacked repeatedly. I don’t tell Sebastian this, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning this round, too. But a glance at his face tells me he already knows he’s right and he’s not happy about it.
“Come
Still, things go relatively smoothly until I stop at the craps table to hand Mr. Sheenan a menu from the sandwich shop on the other side of the casino floor. He thanks me for it with a wink, and then—either not noticing Sebastian or not caring about his presence one way or the other—brings one of his huge paws straight down on my ass hard enough to make me jump. More than hard enough to have me spilling liquid out of the two drinks left on my tray.
“Hey!” Sebastian’s hand comes out of nowhere, wraps itself around Mr. Sheenan’s wrist and squeezes until he drops the dice. “He’ll be cashing out for now, Justice,” Sebastian tells the dealer who is watching the proceedings with gleeful interest. I can almost see her trying to make sure she has every detail for the story she’s going to tell at the first opportunity.
“The hell I will be, buddy,” Mr. Sheenan blusters. “I’m on a roll.”
“Are you? Really?” Sebastian asks, squeezing the guy’s wrist even harder. “Because it seems to me that you’re about to be in for a round of very bad luck. After all, you won’t be able to roll the dice if you’re missing your hand, which might be a problem for your continued participation in the game.”
I watch, mouth open, as he threatens one of the casino’s most frequent whales, one who routinely drops a few million dollars every time that he plays.
“What is your problem?” Mr. Sheenan demands, sounding belligerent as well as angry as he attempts to shake off Sebastian’s iron grip.
I place a hand on Sebastian’s arm, start to intervene, and get nothing for my trouble but a furious look that tells me to butt out.
“My problem,” Sebastian tells him, “is that this is my casino. And I don’t appreciate watching some asshole with delusions of grandeur slap and grope at my employees. That’s not the kind of place I run.”
He lets go of Mr. Sheenan’s wrist then, but the eye contact between them doesn’t waver. It doesn’t take a genius to realize I’m in the middle of a gigantic pissing contest, one that Sebastian has absolutely no intention of losing.
No intention of losing? I nearly laugh at the thought. It’s not like he’s got a chance in hell of losing. Not because of who he is, but because of the look on his face, in his eyes. He’s got total control of this situation and he isn’t giving up. Not to me, who spent the first couple minutes of his being here trying to hurry him along. Not to the security that is circling like wolves, just waiting for the boss’s orders. And definitely not to Mr. Sheenan, who’s gone from looking jovial and powerful to small and weak in the space of a few seconds.
In the end, Mr. Sheenan is the one to look away first—surprising exactly no one, except maybe himself.
I wait for Sebastian to say something else, to humiliate Mr. Sheenan with the fact that he blinked first. But I underestimate Sebastian Caine. All he does is say a very civilized “Thank you,” before placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me back toward the bar.
“What the hell was that about?” I hiss as soon as we’re out of earshot.
He eyes me coolly. “That was about making sure he doesn’t touch you—or any other waitress who works here—again. I’ve been watching him for the last three hours and if you don’t have at least one bruise on your ass because of him, I’ll be shocked.”
He’s right—already I can feel the soreness on my left ass cheek from where it’s been smacked repeatedly. I don’t tell Sebastian this, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning this round, too. But a glance at his face tells me he already knows he’s right and he’s not happy about it.
“Come
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