This outfit is six years old, and I bought it for forty-five dollars. There’s no way.
His eyes darken, and he closes the space between us. The air has shifted. I freeze. My breath hits the back of my throat, nearly choking me.
Holt slowly reaches up to brush my curled hair aside, tucking it behind my ear. The motion sends a shiver down my neck, heading straight for my lower stomach.
Leaning forward, he brings his mouth to the shell of my ear, but not before he drags his nose along my hair, breathing me in. “Let’s set some ground rules here, Wallflower.” His voice causes my pussy to clench. I know I’m already dripping. “I never say anything I don’t mean. Next time you question me, there’ll be consequences.”
My pulse races.
“What consequences?” I breathe. Fuck, he smells so good. My mind is hazy, every thought filtering into the background, making me lightheaded.
He pulls his mouth away, and my eyes flutter for a moment with his absence. He slips his hand away from the back of my neck. My jaw fits in the palm of his hand as he runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. I flick my gaze to his, even though he’s staring at my mouth.
“Don’t worry, Wallflower. Nothing we won’t both enjoy.”
I gasp, then take a step back. I look around, remembering the situation I’m in. I’m going on a date with Holt because I owe him. He paid six figures for this moment with me tonight. How much of what he is saying and doing is for the cameras that are potentially watching us? How much is he doing this for the publicity?
I glance up and down the street, but nothing stands out. It’s hard to tell in the dark, anyway.
“Are you ready?” I ask him.
He stares at me but doesn’t speak another word. Stepping aside, he holds his arm out before guiding me into the back seat of his car.
I slip inside and my ass glides across the smooth, supple leather. I’ve ridden in Holt’s car before, but never without someone between us. Now, it’s just the two of us.
Holt’s driver eyes us through the rearview mirror and gives me a small smile in acknowledgement.
Considering the walls Holt seems to be tearing down between us over the past two days, I’m surprised when he sits as far over as possible. His arm is resting on the door, and only half his face is visible as he stares out his window.
He isn’t sitting any different than when his sister has sat between us before. He must have been close to me on the street earlier on the off chance someone might be watching us, keeping up the appearance for the press.
Folding my hands in my lap, I try to focus on the view from my window, but I’m aware of everything. I’m aware of every breath passing through my lips. I’m aware of the way my chest moves up and down, the way my heart is rattling against its cage. I’m afraid the buttons of my small vest are going to pop off with how wound up I am. Everything down to the wetness remaining between my thighs from Holt’s voice hitting my ear registers in my brain. I want his tongue trailing and tasting my skin. I crave his touch, even though I’ve never felt it. I bury the sensation and heat, telling myself it isn’t worth it.
Keeping myself facing forward, I shift my eyes to Holt. His elbow is still resting on top of the door, but his fist is pressed against his mouth while he’s clearly deep in thought. The muscles in his jaw tick while his other hand grips his knee.
I clear my throat and decide to sever the tension between us. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t move a muscle other than to pull his fist away from his mouth enough to speak. “You’ll see.”
I chuckle, wondering why everything feels different in the car than it did outside the flower shop. “I don’t even get a hint?”
His nostrils flare as he breathes out. The car pulls to a stop along the curb, and he’s quick to open the door. “No hints.” Then he steps onto the curb, and all I’m staring at is the soft bulge under his expensive suit and his outstretched hand.
With my pulse racing, I don’t immediately take it.
Holt dips his head in the open doorway, his eyes softening just a little. “You need to learn to trust, Wallflower.”
My sweaty palm sticks to the leather seat beside me, and a twist in my chest aches fiercely. Despite the pain, I shove it aside and place my hand into Holt’s, allowing him to pull me over the edge, dragging me in with him.
ELEVEN
SELENE
Turns out Holt has brought me to his penthouse apartment in Midtown Manhattan.
It’s one of his many places throughout the city. I’ve only ever been to the one he owns in Brooklyn. The sight of the glamourous, modern architectural building is drastically different from the one I stepped into over the years for countless get togethers and parties.
I try to suppress my ironic laugh, realizing he lives in what those of us who live in other, less expensive parts of the city call Billionaires’ Row.
