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cheek.
     
                  I opened my mouth, ready to scream when suddenly I felt a gust of air brush past me.
     
                  Wiggy zoomed past me, collapsing against the table, sending the heavy china plates crashing to the floor. The men around him immediately pulled back, their faces pale in surprised fright.
     
                  I tenderly massage the wrist Wiggy had been gripping. Confused, I turned to my right.
     
                  And there, standing above me, was Marco Desmond.
     
                  I had thought he had left with Roy. My mouth was slightly agape as I stared in complete shock at his presence.
     
    His face was darkened with anger and I could see his neck taut with his fight to hold back. His large fist was still in the air, clearly hungry for more faces to smack into. He looked coldly at the men with a gaze that could cut rocks.
     
                  “What do you think Roy would say when he hears his accounts manager has been assaulted right under his nose?” Marco said quietly. His voice was so icy cold, I was sure the men would get frostbite just from hearing it.
     
                  Wiggy paled, as did the others.
     
                  “Sir, we were just teasing,” Wiggy said, awkwardly getting back onto his feet. Half of his face was already swelling and turning purple. “We didn’t mean—”
     
                  “Get the fuck out of here,” Marco interrupted. “And remember where you’re fucking role is in this Family.”
     
                  Wiggy and the others made an awkward nodding-bowing motion and then scattered, clearly afraid of incurring more of the Desmond wrath.
     
                  A moment of silence passed in the empty dining hall before I let out a shaky sigh of relief.
     
                  I stepped away from the wall and turned toward Marco.
     
                  “Thank you for—”
     
                  But before I could finish, Marco put both his hands against the wall, pinning my head between them. His tall and broad frame pinned me back against the wall as he stared down at me with incredulous anger.
     
                  “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” he demanded.
     
                  I stared at him. Although I was taken aback by his anger, I still felt an odd relief in having him there. A wave of security flooded me in knowing that Marco had come to my rescue.
     
                  “I was trying to leave the dinner when—”
     
                  “Was that before or after your four glasses of brandy?” Marco asked in a clipped voice.
     
                  My eyes widened in surprise. And a little in indignation. “You counted!” I said in an accusatory voice. Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest decision to drink so much but then again, I was a grown woman. For god’s sake, I was a goddamn FBI agent!
     
                  “You’re damn right I counted,” Marco said unapologetically. “Just like I’m about to count to three for you to get your ass out of here and up to your room.”
     
                  I scoffed. Gorgeous or no, this man could not act like some lord of the universe just because his name was Desmond.
     
                  “Okay,” I said sarcastically, nearly rolling my eyes but feeling a little too lightheaded to manage. “If you think that I’m going to jump just because you said—”
     
                  “One,” Marco counted, his voice clear and strong. I looked up at him. His eyes were nearly black under the dim, glittering lights of the chandelier. His chiseled jaw was cut and square, lending him a look of authority and strength. And above it all was an expression that told me to not even think about defying him.