The buzz from the whiskey would be welcome right now but it disappeared somewhere between the shock of my injuries and the weird rush of emotion that gripped me when Lachlan stabbed Keanen’s hand.
I press my hands to my face. Somehow, even with the temperature dipping toward zero, my cheeks are hot. Blood pumps to them, pumps to other regions in my body, too.
The smooth motion of his body, the calm underneath the violence. I should fear him, should run a mile, not be stood here freezing myself to death on the off chance he shows.
Instead, my body revels in the attack. In the warmth that spread through me when he came to my rescue, battling a boy who hurt me, even if he didn’t mean to, even if he would otherwise have woken tomorrow with no clear memory of what he’d done tonight.
The same emotion swept through me when he fought Carrod. Although perhaps emotion isn’t the right word. Desire is closer to the truth.
Danger makes Lachlan look so damn good.
But it’s not just that. The primal response might be persuasive but it’s not the only thing in his favour.
In the past few weeks, he’s beaten up my bullies. He’s given my dad a chance to heal by banning him. Inviting me and Keanen to join his circle of friends at lunch saved us from exile. He was even instrumental in getting Keanen his place on the team.
The dress, the glass from an eighty-thousand-dollar whiskey, the jewellery I’m still wearing, including the precious treasure of my mother’s rings. Even my job with Patrick only came about because of our shared acquaintance.
And some of that is just because he has the money but lots of kids at Kingswood have money, they’re not spreading it around trying to bring joy.
My stomach knots again. I’m usually more careful about accepting gifts, I don’t like feeling indebted, but Lachlan has bypassed that filter more than once.
I close my eyes as the panic bites but remind myself that he didn’t tell me my father had sold Mum’s rings, he just replaced him. If I hadn’t looked at the empty box, I wouldn’t know he’d spent money.
He’s not trying to bind me; he’s unlocking my shackles.
Because he thinks I’m worth it.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s about time I thought that, too.
The car headlights pick me out as Lachlan turns the corner into my street. I wonder how I could have confused another vehicle for his, the sleek lines of his corvette so distinct even in the darkness.
As I wait for him to pull to the curb, I remember another point in his favour.
Orgasms.
Something else he generously gave me before seeking his own. Even though he’d bought me for the night, he didn’t need to. Even though a boy who looks as good as he does could be forgiven almost anything, including not being generous towards his partner.
My blushes could now heat me from head to toe.
I run over to meet him at the car and he pulls me against his hard body, his lips seeking mine while my palms press againstthe strong contours of his muscled chest. He feels so good that my eyes roll back a little.
Nobody should be this delightful to touch. It’s a crime to send so many tingles flying at once.
Lachlan draws back, wiping his thumb over my lip and wincing at the split. “Your poor face.”
“I’m sure it’ll heal.”
He stares at me for so long that a quiver of worry works its way through to my bones. I know my eye is swollen, my lip is cut, there are bruises blossoming in shades to rival my eye shadow. Thankfully, the equally painful lump on the rear of my head is hidden.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We can postpone until I’m healed if you’d rather.”
“Is that what you’d prefer?”
The only glow is from the streetlamps, not casting enough light to pick out the minor changes in his expression. I can’t read his body language at all. “No,” I whisper because it’s the truth. My head is aching, the skin pulsing in a way that makes my throat clench. It’s late, I’m tired.
I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“Good,” he says with a smile that I can see even in the dimness. “Because if this is a date, it’s only fair you get to drive us where we need to go.”
