I look at her as she surveys the underground garage, where the line-up of sports cars is impressive even to me. ‘It’s a weakness of his—he can’t resist a new toy.’
Her excited green gaze sweeps to me. ‘So, come on, then—which of these babies is yours?’
‘Just over—’
‘No, actually don’t tell me. I want to guess.’
I stop and look at her. ‘Okay...’ I string the word out, curious at her reasoning.
‘I think a car can tell you a lot about a man.’
I fold my arms across my chest and work hard not to look in the direction of any particular car. This is going to be interesting.
Her heels clip against the concrete floor as she starts to walk, looking at each car with open appreciation. Occasionally she dips, caresses a bonnet and then looks to me. It shouldn’t be provocative, but with every stroke of her delicate fingers, every dip and rise that she performs, my cock gets harder—to the point that my jeans are suffocating. I adjust discreetly, not taking my eyes off her.
She’s teasing me. I think she’s about to declare a vehicle as mine and then she moves on and gives me a little shake of her head, her bob swinging and making my palms itch with the need to fork my fingers through it.
She pauses before a blacked-out Range Rover now, private plate, nondescript. It means something to the owner—I know it does, because Jackson takes great delight in explaining this to anyone who asks.
‘This one,’ she murmurs, turning to face me and resting her hip against it. ‘It’s big and strong and...’ She looks me up and down. ‘Safe.’
I bark out a laugh. ‘Safe? Christ, you really know how to kick a man when he’s down. You might as well declare me boring.’
She’s not wrong, though. I have the exact same model in my garage back at home.
She walks towards me, her heels doing their musical clip again, her body statuesque and so fucking appealing in her white shirt and tight jeans.
‘For the record,’ she says, pausing before me, reaching out her hand to make tantalising contact with my chest, ‘there’s nothing boring about being safe.’ She strokes her palms upwards, hooking them over my shoulders. ‘In truth, I happen to find the sense of security when I’m in your arms quite a turn-on.’
And then she curves into me, her lips brushing over mine, and I’m lost. In her touch, her kiss, her words... I like it that she feels safe with me. I want her to feel safe.
She wouldn’t feel that way if she knew the truth, though...
I squeeze my eyes shut and cut off my conscience. It doesn’t matter what brought us together—what matters is that I’m doing right by her now. I wrap my arms around her and pull her tighter against me, my hardness pressing between us almost painfully.
Then tell her the truth—all of it. Let her deal with the threat her brother poses.
I kiss her back, pushing out the foolish idea. I can’t do that until I understand what’s at stake, what’s really going on. And I can’t do that until I know she’s safe. She’s all lightness and goodness, and Philip’s none of that. God knows what he’ll do if he’s confronted by her when his desperation is at its peak. And that’s exactly what would happen if I tell her—she has the guts to go straight to him and have it out.
Yeah, and what about the shitstorm that will hit when she learns the truth about you? You sure you’re not running from that too?
I kiss her harder, desperate not to feel the aching truth of it. All I want is this. This moment. Her body curving into mine...her desire.
She sighs into my mouth. The heady sound provokes a growl of my own and I break away before I lose the last of my control and take her here in the garage, where anyone could see us.
‘Come on.’ I grab her hand and pull her along, past the Range Rover she picked out.
‘But...’ She stops, pulling back a little. ‘It’s not yours?’
‘No.’ I grin at her. ‘This is mine.’
I come to a stop before my motorbike and her mouth gapes.
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Why so surprised?’
‘I’m not—well, I am, a little...’