On the other side of her, Fleur whispered in her ear that she’d be by the door if Lark needed her.
Great. There went her support system.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her emotions knotted more than ever as she faced Gibson. She didn’t want this kindness from him. Didn’t know what to do with it when he’d publicly admitted he still had feelings for her. Why hadn’t he tried to show her that when they were married and she’d needed him desperately?
Agitated, she couldn’t help but flinging back, “It’s not just the testimony though, is it? What about the media interest you’ve purposely stirred so that no one can escape the building without being bombarded by microphones, cameras and questions?”
She looped the strap of her bag over her head, adjusting the zippered pouch to lay flat on her hip, her movements abrupt with her shaken nerves.
Gibson’s hand remained on her shoulder, his broad fingers rubbing lightly as he leaned closer to speak quietly in her ear. “I know how much you hate that kind of thing. That’s why I’ve asked one of the bailiffs about taking us out the back exit so we can reach the helicopter quickly.”
She stilled. For a moment, with the cedar and sandalwood scent of his aftershave so close to her nose and the warmth of his fingers playing along her spine, she could almost pretend they were still together. There’d been a time when she would have trusted him to be by her side through anything. To be her partner.
Maybe old habits died hard because in spite of everything that had happened between them, her instincts still leaned into that feeling.
“I don’t need a ride in your helicopter,” she retorted, trying to preserve a measure of distance between them. A small part of her defenses against this man’s appeal. “But I would be grateful if you can show me another exit that would get me closer to Fleur’s car without tripping over twenty reporters.”
He hesitated, his dark eyes searching hers for a moment before his chin dipped in acknowledgment of her request.
“All right, but I hope you’ll reconsider sticking with me once you see the kind of crowd that’s out there.” His hand slid down her back to settle at the base of her spine. He guided her toward the rear of the courtroom. “At least text your sisters to let them know we’re together.”
Lark wanted to argue that she wouldn’t be riding home with him, and yet one look out the front windows of the courthouse to the throng of people gathered around the main entrance made her rethink that stance. Two guards had been posted by the doors to the building, a security measure that hadn’t been necessary when she’d arrived that morning.
Now, with the press of dark shapes all around the oversized doors and the hum of excited voices through the glass, Lark understood how much interest in Gibson’s personal life had grown exponentially in the last few days.
Stomach sinking, she withdrew her phone to text Fleur and Jessamyn. It wasn’t fair to them to drag them through the media spotlight if she could avoid it by leaving with Gibson.
“Are you ready?” Gibson prompted as she sent the group message. “We need to follow Officer Kincaid.”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” After sliding her cell into her bag, Lark greeted the young court official dressed in a blue uniform. The man spoke into a walkie as he led them to a side staircase, taking them in the opposite direction of the way Lark had entered the building that morning.
When they reached an unmarked steel door at the base of the stairwell, Officer Kincaid spoke some kind of alert into his walkie again, then clipped the two-way onto his belt.
“Officer Bracey says your driver is waiting, Mr. Vaughn,” the young man assured them, something about his straight bearing and at-ease stance suggesting a military past. “If you need to use the entrance tomorrow, just let us know in the morning and I’ll meet you here.”
“Thanks a lot.” Gibson placed one hand on the door to push it open, keeping the other around her waist. “I’ll make sure to bring a signed jersey for your nephew tomorrow. I appreciate this.”
The younger man’s military reserve disappeared as he grinned. “Spencer will be over the moon.”
A moment later, Gibson’s hold on her tightened as he ushered her from the building into the waiting black Range Rover with heavily tinted windows. Lark was too distracted by the pinpricks of awareness all through her body at Gibson’s palm fastened around her hip to notice who drove the vehicle on the other side of a shaded privacy panel.
Why was his touch affecting her this way today of all days when he may have very well cost her family their case?
“Can’t we just let the driver take us home?” she asked as she scooted, breathless, into the far side of the vehicle.
Away from the temptation Gibson’s touch presented.
As the SUV lurched forward in the direction of the grassy expanse where the helicopter sat, Lark tried to get her bearings. A police car with its lights on sat in the middle of the court parking lot now, as if to control the extra crowd drawn by the hearing and the celebrity taking part in it.
Besides the media, there were fans from Gibson’s former team there, obvious by the number of hockey jerseys and signs bearing messages to him.
“Through that crowd?” He pointed toward the mayhem now visible around one end of the building. He leaned partially over her so he could peer out the tinted window on her side of the vehicle. “I don’t think that would be fair to ask of the car service since that sort of driving goes above and beyond a routine fare.”
Not to mention, having to stop and inch their way through crowds of pedestrians would slow their escape and give the media hounds more time to take photos and shout questions through the windows.
Clearly, Gibson’s exit strategy had been better thought out than hers. She just resented that they had to use it in the first place. Swallowing her pride, she took shallow breaths so as not to inhale more of his distinctive scent. Having his arm braced on the window near her, his chest leaning close to hers, made her twitchy inside.
Restless. Hungry.