“What?”
“Why don’t you want to get in the car with me?”
I stare at him like he’s an idiot. “Oh, I don’t know maybe it’s the whole ‘you’re a convicted felon’ thing.”
Flynn shakes his head ever so slightly, his powder blue gaze seeing far too much. “No. I don’t think you’re scared because I’ve killed people.” Flynn shifts, his chest brushing mine as he dips his chin and captures my eyes. “I think you’re scared because that brain of yours knows just how much trouble you’re in for coming down here.”
His breath tickles my face, and a shiver runs through me. “What sort of trouble, exactly?” I ask.
Flynn curls his hand around the back of my neck, his thumb gliding across my jaw. “I haven’t decided yet, but if you’re a good girl and get in the car maybe I’ll be nice.”
Heat pools between my thighs and I lean into Flynn’s hand. “This is a bad idea,” I murmur.
“Terrible.”
I trace the pale contours of his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the way his gaze drops to my lips. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”
The corner of Flynn’s lip ticks up. “You have a choice. You can either get in the car yourself, or I’ll put you in the car.”
I shoot him a look. “That’s not a choice, Flynn.”
He smirks. “Option two it is then.”
“Wait, no.” Flynn lets go and I hold my hands up, but he’s already picking me up at the waist and lifting me into the passenger seat. “Can we just talk about this?”
“Sure.” Flynn grabs the seatbelt and leans over me to slot it into place. “Plenty of time to talk on the drive home.”
“Flynn!” I reach for the seatbelt, but Flynn snags my hand, blue eyes piercing into mine.
“Undo that and I definitely won’t be nice.”
I fold my hands on my lap, too much of a scaredy cat to push him when he looks at me like that.
The door closes with a thud and Flynn rounds the hood of the car to the driver’s seat. He’s quiet when he gets in, the jokey Flynn I’m used to looking far too serious as he hooks his arm around my headrest and reverses out of the parking space.
I fiddle with my fingers, pushing down the quicks of my nails. It’s not till we’re on the road, the engine humming beneath us that Flynn speaks again.
“How did you find out about the senator?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, driving like it’s as easy as breathing.
“I saw a message on your phone.” I peek up from my nails, watching Flynn for his reaction. His jaw ticks. “How mad at me are you, exactly?”
Flynn sighs. “I’m not mad at you. I just don’t want you anywhere near the senator.”
“Why not?”
He glances over at me then focuses back on the road. “You’ll see.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“More dangerous than you?”
We stop at some traffic lights and Flynn takes one hand off the wheel. He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His knuckles graze my cheek as he says, “I’ve killed eight men with nothing but my hands. Very few people are more dangerous than me, Lilac.”
17
IT’S NOT KIDNAPPING IF THEY LIKE YOU
