DENNER THOMPSON
Briana completely passed out in my arms, sound asleep.
Right now, she doesn't even look like the angry woman who hates me more than anything in the world.
I crossed the line with her—I admit it.
But having her here, in my arms, sleeping with her cheeks flushed from drinking so much tequila, makes me feel protective.
Like she was born for me to protect her.
I’ve never felt this way about any woman before, and the whole thing confuses me.
"We're here, boss," the driver says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
He opens the door for me, but getting out proves difficult since Briana clings to me.
"Need a hand, boss?"
I shoot him a hard look, and he steps back, realizing his mistake.
"I’ll cut the hands off any man who dares touch my woman. You know I love cutting hands."
