A bright red handprint stood out on one side of Connor’s face, his teeth having bitten down hard on his tongue—he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
If he went to the police, this would be damning evidence.
But reporting this? The thought alone was humiliating. He was a grown man, and he’d just been slapped across the face by a woman. If this got around—if his buddies ever found out—he’d be a laughingstock in Kingston City.
His pride simply couldn’t take that.
Yet the idea of letting Willow off the hook so easily was infuriating.
For a long moment, Connor glared at Willow in silence, his eyes simmering with anger and calculation. At last, a wicked grin twisted across his lips. “Since you slapped me,” he drawled, “how about you buy me a coffee at the place next door and we’ll call it even?”
As he spoke, Connor reached out, intending to grab Willow’s arm and drag her off. He’d haul her to his car—what happened after that would be entirely up to him.
Blinded by rage, Connor had completely forgotten why he’d even come to the shopping mall in the first place.
But Willow had been wary of this man from the start—there was no way she’d let him get his way.
The moment Connor’s hand started toward her, Willow quickly pulled out a canister of pepper spray from beneath the pile of shirts she’d picked out for her dad. With barely a pause, she leveled it at Connor’s face and pressed down hard.
A sharp hiss filled the air as a generous cloud sprayed directly into his eyes.
She’d just bought the pepper spray that morning, intending to use it on Beasley, that creep. But using it on Connor—a sleazeball in his own right—seemed just as worthwhile.

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