I turn back to Scott. “One spoiled Princess for me, please.” I point at a creamy colored smoothie in another blender. “What’s that?”
“This,” Scott says proudly, “is a powerhouse. A blend of peanut, pea protein, cacao?—”
“Ooh! Let’s call that one… ‘Brute’. My chatty companion will have one of those.” I throw Denver a wink over my shoulder.
I wait for him to make our smoothies and then tip him generously, blocking Denver’s attempt to pay.
We walk back to the car, and I peel the tiny cartoon fruit sticker that Scott gave me off its backing paper.
“Not only do they make the best smoothies for miles, but they also have stickers. Molly loves them.” I press the smiling strawberry onto Denver’s shirt with the caption,‘I’ve been searching for berried treasure.’
“Suits you, Brute.”
I pat it to make it stick and my fingertips connect with solid heat.
I frown.
“Problem?” Denver clips.
I look up into his darkened gaze.
“I always thought… don’t you wear a vest under your shirt?”
“I’m not one for layers.”
“That’s your actual body?” My eyes roam the rest of his broad torso beneath his suit. I never thought anyone was built that huge.
I pat his pec again and am met with the same warm expanse of muscle.
“I meant like a bulletproof vest, something padded. That’s… Wow.”
“A bulletproof vest? This is the Upper East Side, Princess, not the Bronx.”
My lips twitch as I look into his eyes. But his own give nothing away. He holds my gaze as he opens the car door for me, and I slip into the seat.
He leans in and fastens my belt for me before I can do it myself. The same way he did when he collected me this morning, and when we left Brad’s studio. The first time I unclicked it just to see what he’d do. And he calmly refastened it. The second time he gave me a look as my hand reached for the release button, so I stopped.
And now…
Now I’m glued to my seat, dumbfounded.
“You made a joke,” I say, taking his smoothie from his hand and placing it into the cup holder for him.
“Did I?”
“You did.”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t laugh, so it can’t have been.”
My lips twist into a smile, but his face is so stern I can’t tell if he’s actually serious, or if he’s teasing me.
He hovers in the small space a moment, probably waiting to see if I will unfasten my belt.
“Good,” he rasps as I sip my straw instead of reaching for it.
He closes my door and rounds the hood, a vision in black suit, white shirt, and black tie. He scans the street ruthlessly as he walks, checking for danger.
“So paranoid,” I mutter before he climbs into the driver’s side.
