Page 29 of Defensive Desire

For a second, he looks like he might try something stupid.

His eyes dart from me to Emma and back. I almost hope he does try. It's been too long since I've had a proper fight that wasn't on the ice, and all this emotional bullshit has me wound tight.

"Whatever," he mutters finally, backing down. "She's not worth the trouble anyway."

Wrong fucking answer.

I take a step forward, but Emma's hand lands on my arm, stopping me cold.

"Logan." Her voice is soft but firm. "Let it go."

The touch of her hand on my forearm burns through my shirt, anchoring me. I force myself to breathe, to step back but I don't dare look away from the asshole.

With a cocky chuckle that makes my teeth grind, he takes the hint and disappears into the crowd like the coward he is.

I turn to face Emma, expecting gratitude or relief. Instead, her expression is unreadable… confused, maybe?

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She nods slowly, then starts packing her samples again. She doesn't look at me when she finally answers.

"I'm fine."

But she's not fine. I can see it in the tension of her shoulders.

"Emma—"

"Thank you." She cuts me off, still not meeting my eyes. "For... handling that."

Something's wrong. This isn't how this was supposed to go. I protected her, like any decent man would do. So why does she look like I'm the problem?

"He was bothering you," I say, confused by her reaction.

"I know." She finally looks up, and there's something in her brown eyes I can't read. "But I could have handled it myself."

The words hit like a slap. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Emma sighs, setting down the tray. "It means I'm not helpless, Logan. I deal with difficult people all the time."

"I never said you were helpless."

"No, but you acted like it." She crosses her arms, and suddenly we're having a fight I don't understand. "You just... jumped in. Like I couldn't handle myself."

My head is spinning. "Would you have preferred I let him keep harassing you?"

"I would have preferred you gave me a chance to handle it first." Her voice rises slightly, then she catches herself, glancing around at nearby booths.

We're making a scene. Perfect.

"Can we not do this here?" I ask.

Emma looks around, then starts packing faster. "You're right. Help me carry this stuff to my car?"

It's not really a question. She hands me a box of supplies before I can answer, then hefts another herself.

We walk to her car in silence, the weight of unspoken words heavy between us. I load her supplies into the trunk while she arranges things with unnecessary precision.

"Emma," I start when everything's packed.