I recite her favourite book,Romeo and Juliet.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
It’s her. It’s always been her.
11
ROSE
Iexit the terminal and open my umbrella. Typical British weather, even at the height of summer. Rain patters against the fabric and runs off, hitting my crew case.
A car pulls up at the side of the curb, then the passenger door opens.
Dan leans over the centre console and shouts, “Get in!”
I ignore him and continue to walk towards the taxi stand.
He rolls along the edge of the curb with the door open. “Get the fuck in the car, Rose.”
“I’ll take my chances with a taxi, thanks.” I fake smile and strut down the path, my heels splashing in the puddles. My heart accelerates. After two and a half hours in close proximity with this man, I need some space. I need to breathe and I need to get the hell away from him before I do something I regret, like climb into his car and fuck him senseless.
“Don’t make me bend you over my knee.”
I can’t help smiling at that statement. This angry side of D’Angelo is all new to me, and I kind of enjoy winding him up. The man I knew before played by the book. He was theperfect gentleman, as if he’d read a manual or one of my romance novels. Back then, Mamma picked out my reading material, but now, my romance books are much spicier.
I bend down to the open door. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” His dark eyes stare into mine, daring and dangerous. Part of me wants to take this further and see how far I can push him, but when I see an empty taxi stand, the idea of letting him take me home seems more appealing.
“Stuff it.” I open the back door and slide my case onto the back seat, then drop into the passenger seat and collapse my umbrella, giving it a shake outside before placing it in the footwell of his silver Audi.
As soon as I close the door and buckle up, he’s speeding off onto the main road. The only sound is the wipers squeaking against the window as they swish side to side. His tattooed hand rests on the gear stick, brushing against my thigh each time he shifts gears.
I gulp and untie the scarf at my neck, needing to breathe easier. My skin itches. “Do you have the heater on? I’m burning up.”
“I have that effect on people.” His grin widens. “Mr. Inferno at your service.”
I deadpan. “Seriously?”
He leans over and squeezes my thigh, his hand warm where my skirt’s ridden slightly above my knee. “Relax. It’s just me.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. I don’t trust you.”I don’t trust myself around you.
He curls his fingers inside my thigh, slipping under the fabric of my dusky pink skirt. “I’d never hurt you.”
You already did. You hurt me more than any man’s ever hurt me. I don’t have physical scars, but the pain is still there, like a dull ache that never goes away. I want to tell him, scream it rather. But I stay silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowinghow much I cared.
He slides his hand farther up my skirt, and I stop him from reaching my knickers.
I flash my eyes towards his in a warning.
We slow down at the traffic lights. He gives me that gorgeous smile as his fingers play with the lace at the top of my stocking and the clip and strap that attaches it to my garter belt.
Heat pools in my centre. His calloused fingers against my flesh have my centre tingling. “That’s enough. This is just a ride home. Don’t get any ideas.”
He reaches over, his face inches from mine. “That was before I knew what you were hiding under this uniform.” Staring into my eyes, he waits for my next move.
My hand holds his inches from my aching centre, my vagina willing me to slide his hand higher, my head screaming to get him off of me, but it’s my heart caught in the middle—the broken pieces aching for him to fix them and give back the parts he took a long time ago.
