“For what?”
“For what you did.”
“And what did I do?”
I should have known he wouldn’t make this easy. “You gave me a piece of my mom back. Your mother is nice.”
“But?”
“But she seemed…” I struggled, but it seemed he knew exactly what I was searching for.
“Lost?”
“Yes. Why?”
He shrugged, but the clenching of his jaw told me he had an idea. He glanced at me but then turned away just as quickly when he found me watching.
I was fixated on the blur of asphalt and yellow lines as I spoke. “My mother was sad too until she became too sick for anyone to tell the difference.” The reminder of my mother’s fight with cancer and depression left me feeling low, but I couldn’t stop talking because I knew he was listening. “I would draw her pictures to try to cheer her up. At first, they would be true things like our house and our family and my friends at school.” I released a dry laugh. “But then I drew a picture of our dog.” I can still remember the smile that stretched my face at the promise of her laugh. It had been so long. “His name was Danger. He had a golden coat and was the biggest and smartest dog in the neighborhood.” When I handed her the picture of him, she barely glanced at it and told me it looked just like him.
“So? What’s so funny about that?”
“We didn’t have a dog.”
“Maybe she didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Or maybe she stopped caring.”
He looked at me then but only for a moment, and then his eyes were back on the road. “Do you really believe your mother didn’t care about you?” His doubt annoyed me, so I returned the favor and shrugged. “Symptoms don’t only show when the person afflicted is aware they are sick. She may not have been herself, but I’m sure your drawings did more for her than you realize.”
“You could be right.” I dug my fingernails into my thigh to keep from saying more but then found the physical pain insufficient to ignore emotional suffering. “But it still hurt.”
“Because you rely too much on others for affection.”
“So I should be more like you?” I couldn’t keep the indignation from my voice if I tried.
“You can never be anything like me. I wouldn’t let you.”
“What makes you think you could have any say in who I am or what I do?” He didn’t answer, and that just pissed me off. “Maybe I’ll get a boyfriend who is bigger than you to kick your ass for thinking you can boss me around.” I wanted to force a response from him, but when he jerked the wheel, taking us off the road, fear pooled in the pit of my stomach.
He slammed on the brakes, threw the car in park, and then shoved his face in mine. He was foaming at the mouth, and smoke billowed from his ears as his eyes flashed red. I bet ol’ Lucifer never mastered the art of looking as pissed off as Angel Knight clearly had.
I heard the click of my seatbelt releasing just as common sense flooded and the warning to run blared loud and clear. I reached for the door, but a steel band wrapped around my waist and hauled me over the console.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked when I realized I was kneeling over his lap. My hands had fallen to his chest while he arranged my knees to rest on either side of his legs. My ass in the air was the only thing keeping me from sitting in his lap. He dodged just in time to miss my fist connecting with his face. I tried again, and he captured my wrist, pressing down his thumb until I cried out.
“Do you think it’s wise to continue pissing me off?” he asked in a quiet, almost patient voice. If I hadn’t seen the torturously sexy features of his face, I wouldn’t have known he was upset.
“You’re hurting me.” He maintained pressure until a tear rolled down my cheek. Only then did he let me go. “I can’t believe you did that.”
His hand glided down the column of my throat. I didn’t know whether it was a caress or a threat. “You tried to hit me, brat.”
“Guys aren’t supposed to hurt girls.”
“Not only are you spoiled, but you live a double standard, too.”
I didn’t appreciate being called spoiled, but arguing with him wouldn’t get me off his lap any faster. “Why am I on your lap?”
“Because I enjoy seeing the fear in your eyes every time you’re close to me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“So your pretty pink lips say.”
I felt something hot and painful stir deep in my belly. “You think my lips are pretty?” When his gaze fell to my lips and darkened, that feeling in my stomach exploded.