I turned, leveling him with a nasty stare. “I see that it has escaped your keen power of observation that I am not a girl, nor am I a dog to be commanded to stay or to come.”
“It hasn’t escaped me…trust me,” he muttered cryptically. “Lord of all I survey?” The side of his sensual mouth curved up in a brief smile, a glimmer of amusement on an otherwise stony expression.
“Yes, your Highness.”
He muffled a laugh, and covered it up with a cough. I had never heard him laugh before. Not once. It took me by surprise.
Each second we drove in silence seemed to last an eternity. I sat there upright and stiff as a corpse, fuming with resentment, feeling his perceptive gaze take in my shoes, my clothing––every detail about me. The contrast between us was startling. Everything I wore was either worn out, old or mended. He, on the other hand, was perfectly groomed, draped in thousands of euros worth of clothing. I stole quick, surreptitious glances in his direction. And like a beggar at a banquet, there was so much my greedy eyes wanted to take in that I didn’t know where to begin.
He had removed his jacket, daunting for his custom made suits to contain all that testosterone no doubt––and his shirt still looked fresh. Really? His clothes wouldn’t even wrinkle on him? A silver Rolex with a lapis blue face sat on his wrist. Silver cufflinks carved into delicate knots winked at me from the French cuff of his silky cotton shirt. The seductive scent of laundry detergent and his expensive cologne mixed with the smell of new leather was subtle enough that I wanted to follow my nose in search for more of it.
Inadvertently, my gaze landed on my worn out jeans and the ugly truth smacked me in the face. I was a woman far beneath his notice, undeserving of consideration or civility. My vanity kicked and screamed. My pride bristled at the injustice. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I didn’t begrudge him his magnificence, but I hated how it made me feel…inferior, unworthy.
The thump of his thumbs on the steering wheel needled my attention. My eyes traced the curves of the silver B stamped in the middle. Absently, he stroked and tapped the polished wood. White, asterisk shaped scars covered the back of his hands, starkly evident against the golden tan skin.
The accident. An image appeared in my mind’s eye so clear that I shook my head to be rid of it. My lips, on his hand…kissing every one. Disgusted with myself, I tore my gaze away and focused straight ahead, my jaw clenched tight enough to shatter glass. I never fully understood irrational compulsions before I met this man. Humbling, to say the least.
“Why would you wear those shoes to walk three miles?”
His voice interrupted a slew of self recriminating thoughts. Glancing at my striped espadrilles, I replied, “I didn’t have any choice.”
He was quiet for a while, brooding, making me uncomfortably aware of the escalating magnetic charge between us––you could touch it in the air. Why this man? Why! The road suddenly seamed endless. When he spoke again his voice had dropped a couple of octaves, had softened at the edges. “Where did you study medicine?”
“Milan.”
“What was your specialty?”
My gaze flickered over to him. The casually bored look he often wore had been replaced with an attentive one, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Family medicine. Oh look, we’re here,” I said with mocking cheerfulness. “Well––thanks for the pleasant ride.”
He drove up to the storefront and parked the car. In a rush to get as far away from him as possible, I quickly opened the door and was about to step out when he clasped my wrist, gently stopping me. I stared at the large hand wrapped around the fine bone of my wrist.
Everything about that moment seemed amplified times ten. His warm grip firm but gentle. The electric current skating on my skin. The pads of his fingers found my pulse. I couldn’t breathe, paralyzed by his touch, by all the feelings it evoked.
“Vera, I…”
My eyes lifted to his. There was an unexpectedly contrite look on his face. I panicked, scared that he would notice my desire for him oozing out of my pores. “I have to go.” I tugged my wrist and he released me.
The thunderheads were already over us. Fat teardrops splashed on my nose, my mouth, my cheeks. My heart hammered wildly. I ran into the store and stopped just inside to catch my breath. The skin on my wrist felt burned, branded. I rubbed it in a desperate attempt to erase the feeling. How could just a touch have me this undone? But it wasn’t just any touch––it was his touch that had thoroughly destroyed my composure.