Page 29 of Lennox Lane

“Lennox.”

“One of my men is going to drop your car at my place.”

Her head whipped toward him. “Your place?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell would my car go to your place?” She asked confusingly

“Because you’re riding with me.”

Lane stared before she laughed, a shoulder-shaking, full-belly laugh that ended with a ‘whew,’ though she didn’t seem amused. A dangerous little laugh that made him reconsider, briefly, whether he had chosen life or death by Lane.

“Oh, you have lost your damn mind and found a Groupon for more audacity.”

Lennox let her know he was going to have her car swept for any tracking or monitoring devices and that it would be returned untouched.

“Swept for what? Common sense? Because you won’t find any of yours in here,” she jabbed.

“Lane, you can fight me in this parking lot, or you can fight me in my car with privacy and better music. Either way I’m making sure your car is safe.”

Her eyes narrowed as he waited to see what she was going to do. Lane looked around her, then back at him. She was calculating the risks and rewards of listening to him.

Finally, she snatched up her handbag. “I’m only doing this because I look too good to be arguing with your crazy ass.”

“Glad we agree on that.”

“If your homeboy scratches my car, I’m having your car stripped and dropped around Stonebridge like Easter eggs.”

He paused.

“That feels premeditated.”

Her smile turned sweet. “It is.”

Lennox got out first and walked around to open her door. Lane was already out by the time he got there.

“I don’t need you to open doors for me,” she said.

“I know.”

“Then why are you standing there?” She wanted to know.

“Because I wanted to.”

His fingers brushed against her when he took the keys from her hand. A small connection with electricity that caused Lane to pull her hand back first.

Lennox sent a quick text before leading her to his car. He didn’t touch her lower back, though he wanted to. He didn’t take her hand, though his palm itched with memory. He walked beside her, keeping his body slightly angled toward the street because protecting was second nature to him, and Lane noticed.

His car unlocked as they approached, low and black against the curb like someone with expensive taste had designed it. He opened the passenger door.

She looked at him. “Don’t get used to this.”

“Too late.”

“Delusional ass.”

“I prefer consistent,” he shrugged.