“I don’t want to go with you, Darius.”
“Too bad.” His hand tightens on my waist as he grabs my coat and guides me toward the exit.
The cool night air hits my face, and I stumble. Darius catches me easily, his arm still around my waist, keeping me upright.
“I can walk.”
“Clearly.”
His SUV is parked nearby. He opens the passenger door and plops me in the seat. The soft leather greets me nicely as I slump against it. Darius closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side. The interior of the car smells like him, and I pull his jacket snugly around myself without thinking.
He slides behind the wheel, starts the engine, and drives away.
“I’m hungry,” I announce, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.
“Of course you are.” Amusement colors his voice now, the rage from earlier having faded.
A fast-food drive-through appears, and he orders me a burger and fries without asking what I want. When the bag comes, I tear into it immediately, and grease is soon dripping onto the wrapper in my lap.
“This is so good,” I mumble around a mouthful of burger.
Darius glances at me, and I catch the hint of a smile on his lips. “Slow down before you choke.”
I take another huge bite just to spite him.
The drive to my apartment building passes in a blur. The food disappears, and I slump against the window. Everything feels distant and vague, like I’m watching the world through frosted glass.
Once we pull into the parking lot, Darius comes around and opens my door. Standing seems like a good idea until my legs prove uncooperative. He mutters something under his breath and picks me up like I weigh nothing.
“Put me down,” I protest weakly, but I don’t actuallystruggle.
“No.”
He carries me inside, into the elevator, and to my door, somehow managing to unlock it while still holding me. Cinnamon barks from inside, her tail wagging furiously when we enter.
Darius puts me down long enough to let me pet her, then scoops me back up and carries me to my bedroom.
“I can walk.”
“Sure you can.”
The edge of my bed is there when he sets me down. I immediately start to flop backward, but his hand catches my shoulder, keeping me upright. The walls are swirling around and around.
“Look at me.”
Blinking up at him through the haze, I try to focus. A darkness burns in his gaze, making heat grow low in my stomach.
“This dress,” he says, looking me over slowly, deliberately. “You wore this out. In public. Around other men.”
“So what?” My words come out sounding rather defiant. “I can wear whatever I want.”
“Can you?”
Before I have a chance to respond, his hand slides up my throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, his fingers warm against my pulse. The touch sends electricity skittering across my skin.
“Do you have any idea,” he says softly, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, “how many men were looking at you tonight?”
“I don’t care about them.”
