Chapter 30
The door chimed again. Viola didn't even look up at first—until the familiar weight of his presence filled the room.
Mack.
His eyes swept the coffee shop in a single, deliberate pass before landing on her. Whatever faint smile had touched his lips on entry vanished when he saw her face. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something dark passing through his expression. He didn't need to ask what happened—he already knew.
He didn't come to her table right away. Instead, he crossed the room with a calm, predatory stride, heading straight for the corner where Ethan sat with his wife. The woman's heavily painted face tried to hide the sharp, brittle edges beneath—makeup piled on like a mask, but it couldn't disguise the mean curl of her lips or the shallow gleam in her eyes.
Mack stopped at their table, his shadow stretching across them.
"Enjoying your coffee?" he asked, voice deceptively light.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, trying to look unfazed, but Mack's gaze was unwavering—cold, cutting, and entirely unblinking. Then, without looking away from Ethan, Mack extended his hand behind him. Viola felt his fingers slide along hers, warm and commanding, pulling her gently but firmly toward him.
When she was in front of him, Mack wrapped his arm around her waist, his palm settling low, his grip a silent warning. His other hand brushed against her hip in a way that was both intimate and deliberately territorial.
"No one," Mack said, his voice dropping so low only the three of them could hear, "gets to hurt her. Especially not some trash who thinks he has it all."
Ethan's wife shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting between them. Mack's gaze lingered on Ethan for one last second—long enough for the message to sink in—before he turned, guiding Viola back toward her table.
Mack didn't stop when they reached her table.
Instead, he turned her toward him, his hand still firm at her waist.
"Vi," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear, "I'm not leaving them with any doubt."
Before she could respond, he dipped his head and caught her mouth in his. It wasn't a soft kiss—it was deep, slow, and unapologetically claiming. The kind of kiss that told everyone in the room exactly where she belonged.
Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt instinctively, her breath hitching as he angled the kiss just enough to leave her dizzy. She knew without looking that Ethan was watching—watching and fuming—and that was exactly what Mack wanted.
When he finally pulled back, his lips lingered against hers, his voice a husky whisper.
"Mine."
He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, then glanced over his shoulder toward Ethan and his wife. His smile wasn't friendly—it was a sharp, satisfied curve, the look of a man who had just staked an unshakable claim.
Without another word, Mack took her hand and led her toward the door. His touch was steady, but the tension in his shoulders made it clear—if Ethan had said a single word, Mack wouldn't have walked away so easily.
Outside, the crisp air hit her, but Mack didn't stop until they were at his car. He opened the door for her,
"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentler now.
She slid into the passenger seat, still feeling the ghost of his mouth on hers. Mack shut the door with a firm click and rounded to his side, getting in without breaking eye contact.
The second the engine roared to life, he reached across, his hand cupping the side of her neck. His thumb traced her pulse, which was still racing.
"That," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "was me being polite."
Her breath caught. "Polite?"
"If I'd had it my way," he leaned closer, his words brushing her lips, "I'd have dragged you out of there the second I saw his face. And I wouldn't have stopped kissing you until he understood exactly what he lost… and what's mine now."
A shiver slid down her spine. She opened her mouth, but no words came—just a shaky exhale that seemed to fuel him.
His hand slid from her neck down to her thigh, fingers pressing just enough to make her inhale sharply.
"Seeing him look at you like that—like he still had a say—" Mack's jaw tightened. "Vi, it makes me want to remind you every damn minute that you belong with me. That no one gets to touch you. No one."
Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, her skin buzzing under his touch. "Mack…" she whispered, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.
He smirked, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll wait until we're home to show you exactly what I mean."
He pulled his hand back slowly, the deliberate drag of his fingers down her thigh promising everything his words didn't. Then he shifted the car into gear, the muscle in his jaw still ticking as they pulled away from the coffee shop.