We exchange a look, then a smile, and then something else transmits between us—an energy that I can’t quite name.
Even if I could, I’m not sure that I want to. Because some things are better left unread.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Drake
“Don’t even think of opening that door yourself,” I say as I turn off my SUV.
Gianna withdraws her hand from the handle and places it in her lap. “My apologies.”
I slip out of my seat and step into the brisk autumnal air, pausing to stretch my arms overhead. Mid-stretch, I feel her attention on me. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and catch her watching me with a slight tilt to her lip. I let the stretch last a moment longer than necessary, smirking as her gaze travels down the length of my torso.
So, that’s why she agreed to stay put.
I stifle a chuckle and reorientate myself. I should’ve known she let me have my way because Gianna Bardot doesn’t do anything that she doesn’t want to do.
She agreed to date me …
The evening went far too quickly … and far too perfectly. My mind keeps searching for something to focus on—a moment of poor conversation, a bored look on her face, or if she seemed notto be into me. Only one thing comes to mind, but I’ll think about that later.
Our gazes meet through the passenger’s window as I round the side of my vehicle.
A sheet of steel separates us, but her stare crashes into mine so hard that it nearly knocks me off balance. My heartbeat quickens. I’m aware of every pulse in my temples. A war commences inside me, logic versus lust—instinct versus reason, and the push and pull of it is an exquisite torture.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I’ve resisted her innuendo. It’s like having the gift you’ve always wanted right in front of you, and you manage not to peek.Fuck, how I want to unwrap her and play with her all damn night.
But if this is how she operates with other men, it’s easy to see why she refuses to wear a life preserver and risk going down with the ship. The ship isn’t worth it. Hell, it would be a waste of resources.
Men are going to generally put forth the least amount of effort that they can get away with to reap the maximum reward.Gianna?She’s the ultimate prize. Why would she, or should she, be willing to fight for something, or someone, if they weren’t willing to do the most for her?
I get it now. That part makes sense. Eject the hell out of there.
But I fail to comprehend why she’s complacent with this setup.Why doesn’t she demand more? Is she scared of falling in love, so she pretends she can control it? Is she just so jaded about relationships that she feels like this is the best it’s going to get?
I don’t want to think that I know what’s best for her because she’s an intelligent, grown woman who can make those decisions for herself. But I have an inkling that she does want to be pursued. Just like flowers, I think she’s afraid to ask for more—or even to expect it. That maybe it’s not worth the hassle or disappointment.
“Let me help you,” I say, offering her my hand.
Her fingertips lay in my palm as she steps out of my vehicle.
“Ooh,” she says, shivering. “It got cool fast.”
I retrieve her cardigan from the seat and close the door behind her. “Turn around.”
I brush her hair off her shoulders, sweeping my knuckles against her bare skin. She shivers again, and I wonder if it’s from the chill or my touch. I drape her cardigan over her narrow shoulders, letting the tops of my hands run the length of her arms as I draw them away from her body. The contact does nothing to help my internal battle. My blood grows hotter, and my cock grows harder.
Walking away from her tonight is going to take every bit of restraint that I can find.But I must do it.
“So this is the Goal House?” I ask as we walk up the sidewalk toward the brick home with black shutters. The shrubs could use a trim, and my dad would have a fit over the leaves in her yard. But it’s a nice home with a big front yard tucked into the end of a cul-de-sac. Not what I expected from her, but it still somehow fits.
“Yup. This is Goal House.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “I love that name for it.”
“I’ve always liked it when people name their houses. It’s so elite.”
She giggles. “Does your house have a name?”
