Trick or Treat for the Desperate Devil
Page 64
Chapter 10
Belinda
The ride home is torture.
Damian smells really good.
Warm and smoky with that dark, woodsy scent that makes me want to lean across the console and bury my face against his neck.
I don't.
Mostly because I'm thirty-eight, not eighteen. But also because Damian has gone unnervingly quiet.
His hands grip the steering wheel.
His jaw is tight.
Every few seconds, his eyes flick toward me.
My thigh.
My mouth.
My face.
Then immediately back to the road.
Finally, I can't stand it.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You look mad.”
“I'm concentrating.”
“On driving?”
His gaze slides to me.
“No.”
Oh. My stomach flips.
“Then what on?”
His fingers tighten around the wheel.
“Not touching you.”
Well. That does absolutely nothing to cool me down.
“Why?”
