Megan's mate

she began, then gasped when his fingers dug in.

You're going back to your quiet life, away from here. There will be no rumors, no tearful interviews with reporters. If you try to undermine me, to implicate me in any way, I'll ruin you. When I've finished and believe me, with the Dumont money I can hire plenty of willing men who'll swear they've enjoyed you when I've finished, he repeated,

you'll be nothing more than an opportunistic slut with a bastard son.

Her vision hazed. It wasn't the threat that frightened her, or even infuriated her so very much. It was the term

bastard

in connection with her little boy.

Before she fully realized her intent, her hand was swinging up and slapping hard across his face.

Don't you ever speak about my son that way.

When his hand cracked across her cheek, it wasn't pain she felt, or even shock, but rage.

Don't push me, Megan,

he said, breathing hard.

Don't push me, because you'll be

the one to take the fall. You, and the boy.

As crazed as any mother protecting her cub, she lunged at him. The power of the attack rammed them both against the wall. She landed two solid blows before he threw her off.

You still have that passionate nature, I see.

He dragged her against him, infuriated, aroused.

I remember how to channel it.

She struck out again, a glancing blow, before he caught her arms and pinned them against her body. So she used her teeth. Even as Baxter cursed in pain, the door burst in.

Nathaniel plucked him off the floor as he might a flea off a dog. Through the haze of her own vision, Megan saw there was murder in his eye. Hot-blooded. Deadly.

Nathaniel.

But he didn't look at her. Instead, he rapped Baxter hard against the wall.

Dumont,

isn't it?

His voice was viciously quiet, terrifyingly pleasant.

I've heard how you like

pushing women around.

Baxter struggled for dignity, though his feet were inches off the ground.

Who the

hell are you?

Well, now, it seems only fair you should know the name of the man who's going to rip out your damn heart with his bare hands.

He had the pleasure of seeing Baxter

blanch.

If s Fury, Nathaniel Fury. You won't forget it he rammed a fist low, into

the kidneys

will you?

When Baxter could breathe again, his words struggling out weakly, he wheezed, You'll be in jail before the night's out.

I don't think so.

His head snapped around when Megan started forward.

Stay

back,

he said between his teeth. The hot leap of fire in his eyes had her coming to a stop.

Nathaniel.

She swallowed hard.

Don't kill him.

Any particular reason you want him alive?

She opened her mouth, shut it again. The answer seemed desperately important, so she offered the truth.

No.

Baxter drew in his breath to scream. Nathaniel cut it off neatly with a hand over the windpipe.

You're a lucky man, Dumont. The lady doesn't want me to kill you, and I don't like to disappoint her. We'll leave it to fate.

He dragged Baxter outside,

hauling him along as if the man were nothing more than a heavily packed seabag.

Megan raced to the door.

Holt.

A shiver of relief worked down her spine when she spotted Suzanna's husband near the pier.

Do something.

Holt merely shrugged.

Fury beat me to it. You should go back in, you're getting wet.

But he's not really going to kill him, is he?

Holt considered a moment, narrowing his eyes against the rain as Nathaniel carted Baxter down the pier.

Probably not.

I hope to God you can't swim,

Nathaniel muttered, then threw Baxter off the pier.

He turned away and was striding to Megan before the sound of the splash.

Come

on.

But—

He simply scooped her up in his arms.

I'm knocking off for the day.

Fine.

Holt stood, his thumbs in his pockets, a look of unholy glee in his eyes.

See you tomorrow.

Nathaniel, you can't

Shut up, Meg.

He dumped her in the car. She craned her neck, and wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to see Baxter heaving himself back onto the pier.

He needed quiet to pull himself back from violence. He detested the temper that lurked inside him, that made him want to raise his fists and pummel. He could rationalize it, under the circumstances, but it always left him sick inside to know what he was capable of if pushed.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would have come very close to murder if Megan hadn't stopped him.

He'd trained himself to use words and wit to resolve a fight. It usually worked. When it didn't, well, it didn't. But he continued, years after the last blow he'd taken from his father, to remember, and regret.

She was shivering by the time he parked the car in his driveway. It didn't occur to him until that moment that he'd forgotten Dog. Holt would see to him, Nathaniel figured, and plucked Megan from her seat.

I don't—

Just be quiet.