"This husband here is the only one allowed to dance with his wife."
He stepped closer, his gaze sharp as daggers aimed at the man who dared to hold her.
"The husband," he repeated lazily, closing the distance, eyes locked on the blue-eyed man who instinctively stepped back, "is the only one permitted to touch his wife."
His words chilled everyone to the bone, a cold presence seeping into their feet. That icy power grew stronger the nearer he stood to Mary.
Benedict felt it too. Something about this man was wrong, dangerous. Instinct took over. He pushed Mary behind him, shielding her like a protective wall.
McKenna's lips twitched. This man dared to hide his wife from him. Tilting his head, he called softly, "Beth?"
Mary blinked. She pulled her hand free from Benedict and stepped to McKenna's side. His eyes were dark, his lips tight, and she knew she had upset him. Hating the look on his face, she said in a trembling voice, "I didn't mean to come here…"
