Free Her Forbidden Hero by Laura Kaye Page B

anything, but—”
    She rested her hand on his bicep, her palm covering the edge of his scars. That one touch had his body roaring back to life. “I don’t want to fight with you, okay? Let’s just”—she sighed—“let’s just drop it.” She stepped around him and reached for the door.
    “Aly, wait.”
    She paused but didn’t face him. “I need some air.” Then she slipped through the door.
    Tense negotiations in foreign languages with warlords who would shoot you as soon as look at you, he could handle. A simple conversation with a twenty-two-year-old American woman? Apparently not. Goddammit.
    By the time Marco screwed his head on straight, Alyssa’s car was gone from the lot. He dialed her cell number, but she didn’t answer. Guess he had that coming after he’d sent her calls to voice mail yesterday. But it was only because his arm had hurt like a mother—Max’s prediction had been dead-on—and he hadn’t wanted her to hear it in his voice.
    Shit if the whole fiasco this morning didn’t prove he had no business wanting into her life. Or her bed.
    Or her heart , a traitorous part of his mind whispered.
    Fucking hell. Not a chance.
    Hoping work would distract him from his most recent cluster, Marco returned to the bar and got everything restocked and ready for the double service Sundays entailed. He was working lunch and his part-time counterpart, Jameson, was working the dinner shift. Alyssa was on with him for lunch, which Marco hoped would work in his favor.
    With the doors ready to open in fifteen minutes, Marco headed to the break room for a bite to eat. Before he got there, a raucous conversation made its way down the hall to him.
    “…and she turned him down,” someone said, dissolving into laughter.
    “Shut up, asshole. Why do I tell you anything?” Eric grumbled.
    “Just as well. She’s too good for you anyway,” Van said. “Speaking of…where is she? Isn’t she on for lunch?”
    Tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I heard. Marco rounded into the room and the conversation died an unnatural death. “Hey,” he said, attempting to act like he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
    Van crossed his arms and eyed him curiously. “You feeling better?”
    “Yeah. Thanks for asking.” He grabbed a plate and filled half of it, then took a seat.
    “So, Tommy, you gonna play at open mic night this week?” Eric asked.
    Tommy was their sound technician and looked the part, complete with grunge clothing, long hair, and two fully tattooed sleeves. His ink was sweet, though. Marco had never gotten any tatts because they too easily identified you in the field, but that wasn’t standing in his way anymore, was it?
    Tommy shrugged. “If the spirit moves me. We’ll see.”
    Marco looked up from his plate. “I vote for playing. Your music is brilliant. That shit needs to be shared.”
    Tommy’s mouth dropped open as if Marco had sprouted three heads. Was it so fucking unusual for him to participate in casual conversation? From the way they were all gawking at him, apparently so. After a long moment, Tommy recovered. “You play anything?”
    “I was good at guitar and passable on the piano. But I haven’t played much in a few years and my left hand is not what it used to be. Not sure if I could even manage a bar chord, as weak as it is right now.” He swallowed another bite, feeling everyone’s gazes on him. He looked around. “So, who asked Alyssa out?” he asked, working hard at nonchalance but probably failing, judging by the way his gut clenched.
    Tommy and Van developed a bad case of shifty eyes and Eric became fascinated by the food on his plate, identifying him as the culprit.
    “Hey, Alyssa?” Van called.
    Marco cut his glare away from Eric and looked over his shoulder.
    She leaned around the doorjamb but didn’t meet his gaze. “Hey, guys,” she said softly, her witty, outgoing demeanor nowhere to be seen. Marco willed her to look at him.
    “Join us,” Van said.
    “No,