She wipes the damp patch away before her eyes meet mine.
Her pupils dilate and she pulls her hand away as though she didn’t realize she was touching me. For a couple of seconds, she just stares at me. Then she snaps her eyes forward to the street.
“Can we go now?”
4
SINCLAIR
It’s beentwo days of Denver being my ‘personal bodyguard’, and we’re on our way back from another workout session with Brad. Denver spent this one staring at us across the room again, taking up the entire bench like a menacing shadow. I’m glad I left Monty with Molly and Sullivan today, otherwise Denver might have tried telling me the same crap about Monty not liking Brad. Like I’d believe he knows Monty’s opinion better than I do.
I sneak a sideways glance at him as he drives, one hand on the steering wheel, one resting casually on his thigh. He takes a corner, circling the wheel beneath his palm easily, his fingers relaxed.
“You don’t drive like I thought you would,” I muse as he lets the wheel pass easily beneath his hand until it slides back into position.
“How did you think I would drive?”
His eyes remain on the road ahead, his square jaw and dark chestnut-colored hair, cut close to his collar, creating a striking profile.
“Like a control freak, I guess.” I shrug, turning to look out of the window.
“I can assure you, I’m in control. But if it makes you feel more comfortable…”
I look back at him. He’s placed both hands on the steering wheel, his fingers curled around it with a firm grip.
“Being babysat will never mean I feelcomfortable,” I huff. “Thanks anyway.”
His jaw ticks and he returns one hand to his thigh, but his grip remains tight with the one that remains on the wheel.
I reach up and toy with my diamond necklace, sliding the pendant back and forth along the chain. My workout with Brad first thing this morning was just what I needed. I always have more energy after. And today I have a runway show for a lingerie brand I’ve worked with before that I need to be on top form for. Their shows usually have a great atmosphere, and I’ll be able to catch up with some models I haven’t seen for a while. But they are exhausting. A workout will help, and so would?—
“Pull over!” I screech.
Denver swerves across a lane and slams to a halt next to the sidewalk. His hand flies beneath his jacket to his hip.
“What did you see?” His nostrils expand and he sucks in a breath. “Sinclair,” he growls, his eyes narrowing to slits as he surveys the sidewalk filled with New Yorkers on their way to work.
A muscle in his jaw ticks as he continues his assessment, then turns to me.
I point out of my window at the small truck set up on the sidewalk, silenced by the sudden burst of testosterone filling the car like a storm cloud. He leans over me, his dark, thick eyelashes fanning over his green eyes as he reads the sign on the truck. He lets out a sharp breath of air and warm mint fills the small gap between my face and his.
“You yelled like there was an immediate threat because you saw a juice truck?”
“It’s my favorite one. And it’s smoothies, not juice.”
His brows lower and he runs his tongue over the edge of his teeth like he needs a moment to compose himself. I suddenly understand how Jenson and Killian know when to quit messing around and be serious.
Because Denver must look like he does now.
The back of my neck grows hot as his huge body continues to crowd the space around me, pinning me to my seat.
“Tell me what flavor you want. And wait here.”
He exits the car swiftly and walks around to my door.
I roll down my window. “I need to know what the specials are.”
He nods, his jaw rigid. “Close it up, lock the doors.”
