I flinch. A tiny, involuntary movement that I can’t control.
I see his jaw tighten again.
“You are shaking,” he says. It’s not a question.
“I’m tired,” I lie. My voice is barely a whisper.
"Armando, turn the heat up," he orders. I notice he says it in English. Obviously, for my benefit.
A moment later, stronger warm air floods the car. It’s a kind gesture, but it does nothing to stop the shivering because it has nothing to do with the temperature.
He is still looking at me, his gaze unwavering. It’s too intense. It’s too much. I feel like he can see right through me, see all the thoughts, all the dreams, all the fantasies I’ve been trying to bury.
I turn my head away and look out the window again.
He doesn’t look away. I can feel it. A physical touch. A weight.
“Did you eat dinner?” he asks.
The question is so normal, so mundane, it catches me off guard.
“Lorenzo brought me a sandwich,” I say, my voice a little stronger now.
"How long ago? "
"Around 4:30."
“Then you haven't eaten."
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that,” he orders.
I turn back to him. My exhaustion is being replaced by a slow-burning anger. An anger born from frustration and embarrassment and a desperate, undeniable attraction that I despise.
"Is there a reason you keep giving me orders, Mr. Conti?"
"Because you keep lying to me," he says evenly. "And you look like you're about to shatter."
"I'm not one of your employees you can just command."
"No," he agrees. "You're not."
The way he says it makes my stomach clench. The meaning is clear. I am definitely not an employee.
I look back at the window. We’re on the expressway now. The city is a blur of light and color. I see the Willis Tower, the Hancock Building. They are just shapes in the dark.
I think of my dreams again. Of him pressing me against the window. The memory is so vivid, so real, I can almost feel the cold glass against my breasts, the skyline of Chicago blurring as the orgasm builds.
My breath hitches.
I close my eyes.
I just want this ride to be over.
Heat floods me. A wave of liquid heat that washes away the exhaustion, the anger, the embarrassment, and leaves only raw, primal need.
All too soon, the SUV slows, turning off the expressway and onto the streets of my neighborhood. The familiar storefronts, the restaurants, the bars. They feel like a different world. A world I don’t belong to right now.
