“Get in the car with me.”
I just need her to get in the car. She can’t run if we’re in the car. The lines between kidnapping and romance seem to be getting increasingly blurred, but oh well. One to tell at our wedding:I held her hostage in my car and forced her to fall back in love with me.
Ophelia shakes her head, so I give up on being fair. “I’ll tell you Mack’s updates if you get in the car.”
That gets her attention. Whisky-colored eyes turn wide and curious. “Why? What happened?”
“I’ll tell you in the car.”
“Tell me here.”
“No, because you’ll run.”
“This is blackmail.”
“It’s negotiation.”
“Fucking hell,” she grumbles, storming over to me.
It’s the greatest victory I’ve had over the past month. My hand lands on her lower back, but she slaps it off as soon as my fingertips make contact with the damp fabric of her jacket.
She’s furious. “Touch me again and I really will shit on your dashboard this time.”
I stuff my hand into my pocket, trying to distract myself from the desperate need to feel the warmth of her skin. “Duly noted.”
She stops in the parking lot, where I unlock a black Land Rover, parked beside Belladonna’s Bronco. “Where’s the dark green one?”
“Uhm …” I scratch the back of my neck, remembering I really am tryingnotto get a restraining order. Better not tell her I sit in it most nights. “It was a rental, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” she mumbles, looking a little disappointed. Hope inflates between my ribs. Maybe she thinks aboutthatnight as often as I do.
She shoves my hand aside when I go to open the passenger door for her, yanking it open herself. Her expression is thunderous. “No, Alex. I’m not …” Her tone switches from angry to the kind of patience you’d give a toddler who’s struggling to understand something, which feels even worse. “I’m not yours anymore.”
I hold two hands up and step back, trying to act like that statement wasn’t a serrated blade to the neck. She goes to get into the car but stops, turning to face me. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk aboutus. Don’t take this as a reunion. Tell me about Mack and then let me out of the car.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I don’t allow myself to feel disappointed. It’s more time with her than I deserve, and I know she’s just protecting her heart.
If anything, I respect her for it.
She climbs into the car, and I walk around and do the same. She’s as far to the left of the seat as she could possibly be, shoulder pressed against the window.
Still, with her in the car, safe and unharmed and within arm’s reach, I take my first full inhale since the second week of January.
“That morning, when I woke up and saw what had happened—”
“You’re already in violation of rule two.”
A ragged growl of frustration leaves me as I start the engine. “Seriously?”
“I’m not here to talk about us. And there’s no need to drive anywhere.”
I reverse out of the parking spot, ignoring her protests. If I drive away from the castle for the whole Mack story, we’ll have to fill the silence for the journey home.
“This is kidnapping!” she shouts, reaching down to fiddle with the gear stick. I hit the brakes. I told her months ago that I wanted to kidnap her, so she can’treallyclaim ignorance.
“Ophelia, what the fuck are you doing?” I ask, as she probably mangles the transmission of the rental car.
“Putting the car in reverse.”
