Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XXIV - Falling for a Kiss

"Fine!" she scoffs, rolling her eyes with such theatrical disdain one might think she'd rehearsed it. Crossing her arms over her chest, she marches ahead of him toward the square tube waiting at the top of Tantrum Alley—one of the so-called most enjoyable attractions of Wild Wadi Water Park, where they had squandered most of their afternoon. Gabrielle had dragged him down from the Burj Al Arab in a buggy, all enthusiasm and sunshine. This, unbelievably, is their fifth time queueing for this wretched contraption.

The earlier rides had been tolerable enough—the lazy, pleasant Juna's Lounge, where one sits on a tube and is gently propelled along the track. Harmless, really. He'd rather enjoyed that one, especially with Gabby perched on his lap, shrieking and laughing like a delighted child.

But this ride—this infernal, spine-twisting nonsense—was an entirely separate ordeal. The first round had been exhilarating in a slightly deranged way, yes, but now? Five times later? His stomach had long declared mutiny. Meanwhile, Gabrielle remained as hyperactive and radiant as the moment they entered this godforsaken park.

Vincent sighed, watching her retreating back as she approached the staff member stationed at the cliff top.

"I'll do it alone," she announced to the Indian attendant, who glanced at Vincent before scratching his temple apologetically.

"Madame, very sorry, but the ride requires two people. Minimum."

"Then join me," she snapped, rolling her eyes yet again.

"Madame... I cannot join you." The poor man looked helpless. Gabrielle turned her glare on Vincent, stomped her foot like a furious princess, and huffed dramatically.

"Maybe we can join the lady!" came a voice from behind.

Vincent turned, and his jaw clenched.

Three Turkish men stood there, eyeing his wife as though she were a buffet selection for their personal consumption.

He saw the lust in their faces—brazen, hungry, disgusting. Their gazes roamed shamelessly over Gabrielle's bikini-clad figure. Her breasts, full and rounded beneath the neon green satin, her porcelain skin nearly luminous under the sun... and one man even licked his lower lip while staring at her backside.

Vincent felt something feral coil in his chest.

"There's only three of us," the ugliest one drawled—full beard like a jungle creature—"you can join us, princess. Let's all get wet."

That was the final straw. His vision narrowed. Before he knew it, he had grabbed the man by the throat, the crowd gasping, the staff attempting to intervene.

"Woah—relax, dude!" one of the others stammered, glancing nervously at the onlookers. Dubai's intolerance for public disturbances was no secret.

"We're just suggesting! The girl's alone anyway—why be alone if she doesn't want company?" the third one dared to shove him.

Vincent's voice dropped to a cold, aristocratic venom.

"I could have all three of you jailed this instant for your behaviour toward my wife. It's astonishing they even granted you entry into this Muslim country when your brains are evidently full of nothing but sewage."

"Vince..." Gabrielle tugged his arm. He turned to find her staring, wide-eyed.

"Don't mind them... we're here to enjoy ourselves," she murmured, sliding her arm around his waist, her touch softening the ice in his veins. She tugged him toward the tube, then turned back to the men with a withering glare.

"And if you think every woman here is inviting imbeciles like you to join her—think again. Three men here without their girlfriends? That says more about you. Clearly you came to stare at bikini-clad women because no woman would willingly offer you the slightest attention unless you paid for it. Pathetic."