His warning glanced off her without impact. She had her eyes on the prize. A day out. The rest didn’t matter. “Fine.”
“Be ready in an hour.”
She smiled and was met with a stony glare in return. “See you in an hour.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHERE to first, printzyessa?”
Eva found herself staring at Makhail’s hand as he gripped the gearshift. Light-colored scars marred his skin, tendon and muscle flexing in his forearm as he put the car in Reverse. Strength was evident in each move he made, even the simple act of driving a car.
Fascinating that just the sight of it, the play of flesh over muscle, could make her heart pound faster. The men at the casino hadn’t done that. They hadn’t done anything for her, not in a physical sense. Being with them offered her a bit of thrill, but it was more related to the fact that she knew she shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be letting them touch her arm or flirt with her.
Makhail didn’t flirt. He certainly didn’t offer anything illicit. He was simply there. And his mere presence was enough to make her feel so much her body felt too small to accommodate it.
She didn’t like it. The annoyance didn’t bother her. It was the other stuff, the stuff that made her stomach twist, that was what she didn’t like.
“It would be nice to go and have coffee,” she said. He didn’t respond, only put the car in First and pulled out of the gates of the palace, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Then I could go to a couple of boutiques, maybe.”
It actually sounded boring to her. If she had some friends to share it with, that would be different. But the only people in her life who really passed as friends were Sidney and Marlo Gianakis. The Greek heiresses were only on the island during the summer months, and even then it wasn’t as though they were true friends. Not the sort of friends she’d ever confide anything in.
Their alliance had more to do with a compatible social class than anything else. And since they came with their own security team, their presence gave her the rare chance to get out with permission.
“That will be fun,” she said, more to try and convince herself than for his benefit.
“Sounds like no fun to me, but this isn’t my party,” he said, his tone a study in purposefully undisguised annoyance.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, at his hand again. “It won’t be so bad.” Without thinking, she reached out and trailed her fingers over his knuckles. The contact sent a flash fire through her, igniting at her fingertips and blazing along her veins, molten heat pooling in her stomach.
She turned to look at him. He was still stiff as ever, his eyes fixed ahead. The only sign that she’d touched him was the twitch in his jaw muscle as he tensed.
“Not bad at all,” she said softly, letting her fingers linger on his skin. It was such a strange feeling, foreign, exciting.
She blinked and pulled her hand away, brushing the tips of her fingers with her thumb, trying to figure out if they were hot outside, or if all that heat was beneath the surface.
“Why do you still wear your ring?” she asked. In an attempt to get her focus off his hand, she’d drifted to his other hand. And from there to the platinum wedding band that gleamed on his fourth finger.
Again, his reaction was minimal. Tendons flexed in his hand, a muscle rolled in his forearm. “Tell me, Eva, if you were being kidnapped, held at gunpoint, harassed by an obnoxious man in the coffee shop, would that information somehow benefit you?”
“No, but …”
“Then you do not need it.”
“I thought we were aiming for civility, Mak,” she said, overpronouncing his name.
“Civility, yes. Hand-holding and feeling, sharing, no.”
Her fingertips tingled. She knew he wasn’t referencing that. She hoped he wasn’t. She opened her hand and shook it out. She’d been aiming for flirtatious. Confident. An action befitting the woman the tabloids tried to make people think she was.
The problem was, she didn’t feel like any of those things when she was with Mak. He managed to make her feel every inch the spoiled child he thought she was. All of her efforts to carve out some sense of individuality, some semblance of independence, were reduced to rubble with one searing glare from her gun-toting nanny.