“Miss Kavanagh.” The tone is dripping with accusation and I feel the hairs raise on the back of my neck. I turn and look at him.
“Yes, can I help you?” My smile is as wide as I can make it and I hope that I am not overdoing it in my drunken haze. “Do I know you?”
“Oh, I think so, Miss St James.” His eyes travel down to my neck and I am glad that I haven’t worn the necklace tonight but I can’t help touching my throat where his eyes have come to rest. Best form of offence, Kavanagh…
“Hey, buster, eyes up here.” There is a flash of shock at my denial and then a smirk. He knows that I am faking it. “Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at but I don’t know you. Now I suggest that you back off or my boyfriend will…”
“Your boyfriend will do nothing. Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Shit. With a quick movement he has me trapped against the wall as he breaths the pungent odor of stale cigar and whiskey into my face. He has my chin in a vice-like grip and he turns my head to look at Elliot, his fat fingers pinching my skin. “It would be a shame to see his pretty face smashed up now, wouldn’t it?”