I’m never defensive. I’ve always been ago with the flowkind of girl, but for some reason, this man brings something out of me. “It is. Simple as that. Now, can we get on the road? Your meter is almost up.”
He sits back in his seat, his jaw working as he shifts into drive and pulls away from my complex. For the first ten miles of our drive, the cab is filled with tense silence. I sit with mybody turned toward the window, and my arms crossed over my chest as I observe the passing skyscrapers.
I know I’m being immature, but there’s just something sooffabout my travel companion. My mother always taught me to trust my intuition, and I’m never wrong.
He’s staring at me. Again.
My body is hyperaware of his lingering gaze. Those eyes cut into my flesh, as if he can see everything that lurks beneath the surface. I shiver at the thought, rubbing a hand up and down my arm to warm myself.
“Cold?” Rowan’s deep voice cuts through the suffocating atmosphere as he reaches down to adjust the controls.
I watch his thick finger crank the dial, mesmerized by the sliver of black ink near his wrist. He looks strong—powerful.
Like he could pick a woman up and—
“Are you hungry?” He asks, interrupting my wicked thoughts.
My cheeks flush as I clear my throat. “No, but I could go for a coffee.”
He makes a rugged sound in the back of his throat that I know would vibrate beneath my hand if I were to place it there. “Overpriced New York coffee.” He curls his lip. “I have a better idea.”
“Oh, yeah?” I challenge, turning to face him. Wrong move. Now I’m caught in the stare of something sinister, and all I can think of is how good he would look glistening with sweat as he pins me down. “Better be the best damn coffee I’ve ever had.”
His lips twitch, and I realize how utterly fucked I would be if this man smiled at me. “Or what?”
“Or I get to pick the music we listen to for the rest of the trip.” A slow, devious smile spreads across my face.
His eyes shift to me, a challenge brewing in those roaring oceans. “It’s a deal.”
He extends a hand over the console, and I don't thinktwice as I wrap mine around his. His palm is warm and rough with calluses, but it feels amazing as his fingers grip mine. Something shoots up my arm at the contact, and goosebumps pebble my skin. The alarm in my head is going crazy, but the woman at my core who loves dark and twisted men is practically melting.
Get a fucking grip!
“You’re freezing,” he frowns. “If you're cold, then say something.”
“I’m always cold,” I roll my eyes.
He encases the tips of my fingers in his hand, rubbing back and forth to create friction. As he warms me, my heart slams in my chest, and I have to hold back the moan that threatens to leave me.
What the fuck am I doing?
Better question.
What the fuck is he doing?
“That’s good,” I pull my appendage back, tucking it underneath my outer thigh as if it will banish the current tingling across my palm.
Rowan sits back, clearing his throat as he trains his eyes on the road. “I didn't mean to impose.” His mask of indifference shoots back up, and I know I've lost him.
Disappointment pierces my chest, and I absently rub at the dull ache.
Why am I upset?
This guy could be enemy number one, but my brain is acting too smooth to compute that. I need to be cautious around him. This could all be some kind of tactic to get me to lower my guard. If I'm vulnerable, there's no telling what this man will do.
“We’ll be there in thirty minutes.” He says.
I nod, not trusting my voice or myself.
