We’ve barely spoken during the drive besides discussing how the police identified the guy using the nightclub’s security system, and how they also have footage of the drugs being slipped into my shot while I had my back to the bar.
“It’s not your fault,” David says carefully, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Scum like this are experts at what they do. You never could have known you’d be drugged.”
It’s probably the nicest thing he’s said to me, and I glance out the window of his black Maserati and shift in the warm leather seat, tucking my hands under my bare thighs. I threw on a pair of denim shorts and a sweater at my apartment earlier without a thought to the weather, but David had wordlessly turned on the seat warmers as soon as I slipped into the passenger seat.
“I know. I still feel really stupid though,” I admit softly. No use denying it, this man is too good at reading people. Or maybe it’s just me. I’d never been able to master the poker face.
“You shouldn’t.” He says it with finality, like his word is law. As if it’s that easy to just turn my thoughts off.
We ride in silence after that. My head rests back against the seat, and I steal glances in his direction when I think he isn’t looking. Like a moth to a flame, I can’t help how the sight of him in casual clothes draws my complete and undivided attention. It’s so surreal, sitting in David’s car when a week ago he was just a one-night stand I thought I would never see again. The last twelve hours feel like some weird dream that I’m just waking from. Or more like a nightmare. That’s how I’m going to deal with it, shove it all aside like it was some horrible nightmare. It’s not like I’m a stranger to those.
David clears his throat at some stage, forcing my eyes to flick back to him. He’s so damn hot it’s near on impossible to look away. Throw in the added distraction of how downright sexy he looks driving, one hand on the wheel and one resting on the console between us- it’s more thanenough to help distract me from the events of the last night.
Of course the man drives a Maserati. It’s the vehicle version of him. Sleek, luxurious, powerful.
I decide in this moment that I’m not going to beat myself up over finding David attractive anymore, no matter how bloody rude he can be. To deny it is only lying to myself. I can acknowledge and appreciate his attractiveness without it meaning anything else. He’s my lawyer for Christ’s sake. It’s not like anything will ever happen between us again.
“I’ve decided to give you a clean slate,” I announce suddenly, keeping my face straight ahead as we exit the freeway, “from all the offensive things you’ve said to me. After last night, I owe you.”
I feel his dark gaze on my cheek.
“I didn’t realise I needed one,” he says, forcing me to take a deep breath to stop my hackles from rising. Bad idea. His car smells like him, all male and delicious, and it’s like taking a hit of concentrated sex pheromones. I need to crack a window, stat.
“Well, you did,” I bite out as he indicates and makes a turn.His arms flex with the movement.
I will not look at his forearms.I repeat the words in my mind like a mantra.
“Please, enlighten me as to why.” He reaches for the water bottle between us and hands it to me. “Drink.”
I don’t fight him. He’s been making me take sips every few minutes since we left the hospital. Bringing the bottle to my lips, I change the subject.
“Anna said you knew exactly what to do once you realised I’d been drugged. How?”
The muscles work in his jaw as he considers my question. According to Anna, he was checking all sorts of thingswhile they waited for the ambulance to arrive. My pulse, my pupils and my breathing, to name a few.
“It’s common sense. Now tell me how I’ve offended you.”
I let out a sigh. He’s lying; don’t ask me how, but I can tell. But it’s none of my business how he knows so much about overdosing, so I let it go.
“You’ve repeatedly offended me by insinuating that I’measy. I’m not.”
He looks over at me like I’ve got two heads. “You’re a prostitute,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining legislation to a cat. “It’s literally your job to be easy, is it not?”
It’s the way he says it that frustrates me, like it angers him on a personal level that I would sleep with men for money. What the hell does it have to do with him?
“I’m not a fucking prostitute!” I blurt, my fists curling at my sides. All of a sudden it feels too warm in this car. I fling my jumper off over my head and chuck it in the back seat, then gather fistfuls of my hair that I left loose and hold it in a pile over my head, refusing to look at David’s face. If he was angry that Iwasa prostitute, he’ll be even angrier that I’m not.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
He slows down to pull the car over and dread settles in my gut. Why is he pulling the car over?
“Gianna,” his voice is icy as the car rolls to a stop in the emergency lane. Cars fly past his window at seventy kilometres an hour, yet we sit still with tension mounting at an alarming rate between us. ”Explain now. Please.”
Closing my eyes, I let out another sigh.“Look, I’m not a prostitute. Well, I was, but only for that one night, and even then not really because I didn’t take the money. I’ve slept with three men my whole life.”
“Funnily enough, that explains nothing.” His words aredrier than the Sahara, and I chance a quick look in his direction. He doesn’t look angry. He looks… I don’t even know. He’s leaning back against the door with his arms folded across his chest, his dark gaze penetrating me under furrowed brows.
“How did you end up in that room with me if you’re not an escort?”
