Cheryl
The bartender grinned, slipping a hand to my waist. “Of course,” he murmured. “You’re every man’s dream.” His other hand dropped to my thigh.
My heart started racing.
“I didn’t say you could touch me,” I frowned, pulling his hand away.
He grabbed me again, tighter this time, his fingers digging into my waist.
I tensed.
“Let me go,” I said, my voice sharper.
“I thought you wanted to be f****d?” he said, his jaw clenching.
Fear shot through me.
I looked around, but the people in the bar felt miles away.
“Stop,” I gasped. “Please—”
He didn’t let go.
Panic gripped my chest. I shut my eyes and kicked him—hard—right in the knee.
His hands jerked off me, but not because of my kick.
I smelled him before I saw him.
Miles.
I barely had time to react before Miles punched the b
