‘You seem tired,’ he says, reminding me that I probably look like a bag of shit. I’m once again bothered by it, and my hand goes to my hair and tucks my black waves behind my ears.
‘A ten-hour shift will do that,’ I murmur to the window, keeping to my plan, not looking at him and staying way on the other side of the back seat so there’s no risk of touching him, either. It’s a good plan, but for it to work, Theo needs to abide by the rules, too. Except I haven’t told him the rules.
I feel something brush lightly across the side of my thigh. My body temperature starts to climb, and I whip my leg away. ‘Tired but still stunning.’ Another brush of my leg.
Oh, my goodness, I wish he would stop. I mentally calculate how many more minutes in this car I need to endure with him before I’m home. Seven, if the traffic is good. It’s gone ten at night. I should be safe. He’s pulling no punches now. It’s frightening, but beneath the steel front I’m working hard to keep in place, I’m relieved and delighted that he’s giving me a little peek into his mind. I was attracted to him the moment I looked at him. I didn’t want to be. I picked him to pieces, weighed up the hulk of a man before me and concluded he was bad, bad news, but it didn’t even dent the allure, no matter how much I willed it to. He’s too magnetic. Too captivating.
It’s frustrating.
It’s exciting.
It’s . . . I bite my lip and cross one leg over the other, squeezing the pulse away. He feels dangerous yet safe. It’s completely contradictory. He looks dangerous, acts it, and he definitely felt it when he was pressed into my back. My thighs tighten, and I fight to rid my mind of those wayward thoughts. I can’t seem to control my head when he’s close, so I better make damn sure I control my body.
I hear a light laugh – a laugh that’s smooth and laced with knowing. ‘Tell me,’ he says under his breath, ‘what are you imagining now?’
I’m so glad I’m facing away from him, because it means he can’t see how wide my eyes go. ‘Actually, I’m imagining my bed and how good it’s going to feel when I sink into the sheets.’ It all just comes sailing right on out.
‘Sounds good,’ he muses.
‘It will be.’
‘My bed would be comfier.’
My plan and my rules go to shit. I swing to face him. I haven’t seen his bed, and I don’t plan to. Though I expect it’s massive – it’d have to be to accommodate his huge body – and extremely comfy. ‘I very much doubt it.’
‘Then we should test it.’ He looks serious, yet there’s a playful edge there.
‘Test it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how would that work?’ I ask.
‘You want a diagram?’
‘Oh, that’s cute.’ I laugh.
He shrugs. ‘It’ll put the debate to rest.’
I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can put his debate, but snap it shut again when something comes to me. He’s goading me. This big, powerful man is pressing the buttons of a little nurse girl. For what? Why? ‘What do you want from me, Theo? Sex?’ Being to the point is the only way forward. ‘Just a good screw?’
‘I assure you, I have no shortage there.’
I expect he’s right, and I have no reason for that statement to hurt, but it still stings like a bitch. I bet they’re all dolly birds, too – glamorous and well-dressed. Unlike me, currently stinking of antiseptic and looking like I’m an hour away from being carted off to the morgue.
‘Then why?’ I counter.
He grabs my jaw, squeezing my cheeks. ‘What’s your story, Izzy White?’
It clicks. His motives are suddenly too clear, and it hurts like hell. Penny, his showing up out of the blue, all the women in his bed. The fact that I divulged a few too many hints of my dark past. He wants to save me. Like he did Penny. I wrench my face from his grip. I don’t need saving. I fucking saved myself. ‘Are you on some kind of mercy mission?’ I ask, undeniable resentment lacing my question. ‘A big, scary man out to save all the weak, vulnerable females he stumbles upon?’
He blinks, and for a second I think it might be because I’ve injured his ego. But then I sense anger, his hard face etched with lines of fury. It only fuels my own rage. What does he expect me to do? Fall to my knees in gratitude that he’s bulldozed into my life and waved his sword? Rip my clothes off and offer my body in return for protection?
‘You don’t seem very weak and vulnerable to me,’ he grates. ‘But in answer to your question, no. I’m not out to save you. I’m . . .’ He fades off and swallows hard. Reclaiming my jaw, he applies a pressure that’s almost too much. ‘I’m here because I can’t get this fucking face out of my head. I want you to come to dinner with me.’