He barely grunts a response. “Didn’t check. I’m taking the meds they gave me. I’ll be fine.”
I bite my tongue. He thinks he’s invincible, that’s the issue. Like being tall, built, and easy on the eyes somehow makes him bulletproof against the mundane rules of health.
Telling him that and pissing him off mid-flight doesn’t seem like the best idea though.
So I trail my fingers over his chest, hoping my touch can work some kind of miracle. But every muscle stays agonizingly taut.
After endless strained quiet, Connor finally huffs out a ragged breath. I feel his fist clench and release where it rests on my hip, like he’s trying to physically restrain his frustration.
“Any better . . . ?” I dare to whisper, praying he’s found some relief.
“It’s fine,” he grits out. Subtext clear: Back off.
I hate seeing him in pain, but I know better than to push him when he’s like this. Not until we’ve landed, anyway.
As we’re descending the steps of the jet plane, with the crew waving at me like I’m Julia Roberts, I’m so lost in my own little world that it takes me a minute to realize there are photographers here. And not just one or two, but a whole swarm of them over by the waiting area.
I’m instantly thrown into panic mode.
I yank my hand away from Connor’s. He turns on the step, raising a brow.
“There are photographers here,” I hiss, eyes widening.
He glances over, shrugging like he couldn’t care less. “So? They aren’t looking at us. They’re here for someone else.”
He tries to take my hand again, but I barge past him down the steps. “Where’s the car?” I ask.
He frowns, clearly not getting why I’m so worked up. “Over there, Lexi. What’s the problem?”
I look over at the cameras with growing dread, because some of them have spotted Connor and are perking up like meerkats. “Haven’t you had enough scandal?”
“I’m not doing anything wrong. The farce with Willow is over.” He shrugs, and it pisses me off more. “And going out with you is hardly a scandal.”
“That’s fine for you. But what about me? I’m not exactly thrilled at the prospect of being plastered across every gossip rag as your flavor of the week!”
I stride toward the car, my heart pounding. All of this might be normal for him, just another day in the life. He might not give a flying fuck about the media circus, with his army of PR minions and an ego bigger than the damn plane we just got off. But for me? Being outed as the secret lover of one of the mostnotorious men in the country is kind of a big freaking deal. My god, what if Deano and his gang saw it?
We climb into the back of his SUV, and I slam the door.
“Come on, Lexi, I’m not in the mood for drama,” he growls, like I’m a petulant child throwing a tantrum.
Oh, he didnotjust say that.
“I’mnot in the mood to be featured on the front page of a tabloid because of you,” I fire back. “What is this, Connor? Are we still friends with benefits? Because that’s not worth public humiliation for me.”
He nods at the driver then throws me a piercing glance. “You really want to do this now?”
“I need to know where we stand.”
Connor shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his jaw clenching as he stares at me with an almost pained expression. I feel my heart stuttering in my chest, wondering what the hell he’s going to say.
“I’m into you. I like spending time with you. I hope you feel the same about me.”
It’s not exactly a declaration of love, but coming from Mr. Emotionally Constipated, it’s practically a sonnet. I can tell getting those words out was like pulling teeth for him.
“I think it’s obvious I do,” I say. “But you can’t be so blasé about things that are important to me, like my privacy and my reputation.”
He looks at me seriously, then nods, like he’s finally getting it through his thick, beautiful skull. “Got it.”
