Daniel clears his throat. “Will you promise to call me tomorrow . . . after? I need to know you’ve gotten home safely. Can you at least give me that?”
“Okay.” I nod, forcing a smile I don’t really feel.
12
MELANIE
That next morning, I find myself seated between Jared Rush and the pilot of a sleek black helicopter chopping high above Long Island under beautiful, sunny skies. The private charter had been waiting for us at an exclusive heliport along the East River just a few minutes away from the mansion at Lenox Hill.
When Rush had accompanied me to his chauffeured Mercedes parked at the curb outside his home nearly an hour ago, I hadn’t been expecting we’d be flying to Sagaponack. Least of all suspended in a small, speeding metal box with far too much window glass for my peace of mind.
“Nervous?”
His deep voice vibrates close to my ear. Every time I hear him speak, it unravels something inside me. Now is no different. The low rumble cleaves through my thoughts, and my anxiety, which is hardly insignificant.
My stomach climbed up behind my rib cage the moment we took flight and still hasn’t come down. I want to chalk it up to the fact that I’ve never flown in a helicopter before, but part of the distracting flutter inside me has to do with the close proximity of Rush’s body to mine.
I give him a half-shrug, half-shake of my head. “I’m fine.”
He tilts his head, obviously unconvinced. “Is this your first time in a helicopter?”
“Yes.” The bird dips a little at a hiccup in the air, and my hand shoots out in reflex to brace myself. Rush’s denim-clad leg is the closest thing in my reach. I grab for him without even realizing it until I feel the heat of his hard thigh clamped under my fingertips.
Oh, God.I snatch my hand back on a wince. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” That easy Southern drawl sounds more pronounced with the low chuckle that accompanies it. Everything about him seems calm and unfazed the farther we get away from the city. All except the look in his dark gaze. It sears me with its intensity as he watches me. “I take it you don’t like flying?”
“It’s not flying that bothers me.” The helicopter bobs again, and I suck in a breath. “I don’t really like heights much.”
“You don’t like heights and you don’t like the dark. I’m intrigued,” he says, studying me with a look that seems more serious than his easy tone would indicate.
My stomach clenches for a different reason now. I hate that he remembers Daniel’s careless blurt about my fear of the dark, but, of course, he would remember. I don’t suppose Jared Rush is the kind of man who forgets anything. Just as he won’t forget this added admission of weakness I’ve volunteered to him. I can only wonder how it might color the way he sees me, or the way he’ll choose to depict me on his canvas.
“It’s not a big deal.” I lift my shoulder, trying to ignore the way his penetrating gaze moves over me. “Everyone’s got their quirks.”
He acknowledges with a slight nod. “True enough.”
“Even you?” I ask.
As eager as I am to deflect his unnerving focus away from me, I can’t deny I am curious about the man. I know he’s arrogant and infuriating. I know he’s dangerous in more ways than I want to admit, even to myself. Yet no matter how much I’d like to pretend differently, I want to know more about Jared Rush.
“Do I have quirks?” He grunts. “More than a few.”
“Such as?”
He stares at me. “Ms. Laurent, are you asking me to share something personal with you?” A cool, sardonic humor glints in his dark eyes. “I thought we’d established fairly firm rules of engagement yesterday. As I recall, personal questions are off-limits.”
The reminder of what happened at our breakfast meeting sends heat into my face, along with other places I’d prefer to ignore. He knows it, too. I can see the glimmer of awareness in his schooled expression.
He’s used to being in control. Used to being the one who sets—or breaks—the rules. He demonstrated that clearly enough yesterday. I had marched into his house determined to let him know he wasn’t going to rattle me. It took him only minutes to show me that he could not only rattle me, but leave me burning with a mixture of outrage and uninvited desire.
Jared Rush is not only used to calling the shots. He’s used to winning as well, and I can’t dismiss the way he’s just referred to our conversation in combat terms. Rules of engagement. The kind of rules made for entering into battle.
Is that what this is to him—some kind of war? If so, what does that make me?
Am I his enemy simply by association with Daniel? Or am I something even less? Something expendable, a pawn?
I suppose I’ll have that answer soon enough. In approximately two weeks, Jared Rush will have his painting. Daniel’s debts will be forgiven, my own financial concerns will be lessened, and this will all be over.
