For a few seconds, we sit in silence, then he turns to me. "What’s your address?"
4
Harper
"You really don’t have to drop me at home."
He grunts. "I told Phe I’d drop you home, and I will." His voice is firm, his stance immovable.
"Damn, you’re a smooth talker, huh?" I narrow my gaze on him.
His lips twitch.
I do believe I coaxed a smile out of him. Maybe, there’s hope, after all.
I tell him my address, and he keys it in. Then he eases the car onto the road. Somehow, he’s driving me home, despite my best efforts to put him off. I have a feeling, once James Hamilton puts his mind to something, he always gets his way.
A few seconds later, he leans over and touches the screen on the dash. The Wrangler has clearly been fitted with upgraded tech.
The strains of classical music fill the space.
I look at him in surprise.
"You don’t seem like a classical music kinda guy."
He tilts his head.
"Figured you more for rock or country, maybe."
He scoffs.
I wait for him to elaborate further. When he doesn’t, I add, "Country music because you drive a Jeep, you know?"
"Hmph." He slows to a stop at a traffic light.
He grips the steering wheel with those broad hands, and I can see the tension in every tendon, the white-knuckle hold of a man barely keeping himself in check. His spine is straight, shoulders square, jaw locked tight. He stares straight ahead like he's facing down an enemy instead of an empty intersection. His profile could have been carved from stone, all harsh angles and unforgiving lines, beautiful in the way a professional chef’s knife is beautiful. Dangerous. Sharp enough to draw blood if you get too close. And God help me, I want to.
"Something to compliment your rugged, smoldering, intense personality." Not sure why I blurt that out. Heat sears my cheeks.. My words give away that I’ve been studying him and forming an opinion about him. Which I have. But telling him so makes me feel vulnerable.
Maybe he won’t notice? But his next words disavow me of that notion.
"You came to that conclusion in the little time you spent with me?" he rumbles.
When I dart another look at his face, it’s to find his expression unreadable. I frown. His lack of expression makes it difficult to understand what kind of impact my words have on him.
"You’re right, I may have come to a premature conclusion."
He grunts.
Which I take to mean that he agrees with me. Or maybe, not. Difficult to say when the man prefers to communicate with noises instead of words.
"I could, of course, get to know you better." I cringe. Did I say that aloud? I must have lost the connection between my brain and my mouth.
There’s silence. The traffic lights change to green. He eases the car forward.
When he doesn’t reply, I squirm in my seat. This tall, dark, brooding, and silent persona of his makes me want to keep talking to fill in the gap. I manage not to… For a full minute.
Then I add, "Forget I said that. I didn’t mean it."
