Page 41 of Ice Queen

The sincerity in his voice has me looking back up at him. This isn’t Wyatt, I remind myself. Not all men are scum bags. Taking a deep inhale, I find myself nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, let me just.” I hike my finger over my shoulder, motioning to the door that leads to my apartment. “Five minutes.”

I run up the stairs, not giving him a single backward glance. I grab my duffel bag and throw everything that’ll fit into it. Watching the clock, I know it’s only been three minutes, but it feels like two minutes too long.

The man has been here all day, neither of us has eaten, and though he never complained once, it feels like one giant inconvenience.

I grab my toothbrush and my cosmetics bag before I rush back down the stairs. The second the door swings open, I drop the bag and turn to lock the door.

“Sorry that took so long.” The lock clicks into place, and when I bend down to pick up the bag, it’s already in his hand.

The black, old-as-the-hills bag dangles from his finger like it weighs nothing. “This is all you’re bringing?”

I wave a dismissive hand through the air. “Yeah, it’s just until they get the window fixed, right?”

“No,” he grunts, turning on his heel and leading Maggie to the door.

No? What does he mean, no?

“Keys.” His hand hovers at chest height.

I blink. “To the store?”

“Are the keys different for this door and the door that leads to your apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Then both.”

My fingers curl around them automatically. “I can lock up, it’s not that big of a–”

“The keys, Kait.” There’s something in the way he says my name that makes my stomach dip. I hesitantly drop them into his open palm and watch as his shoulders drop the slightest bit.

“Leave your car here, you can drive mine.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I snap.

His eyebrows slowly raise, and I immediately brace for him to correct me. When I’m met with nothing but silence, I allow myself to continue. “I don’t even know how to drive a truck, Markus.”

He pushes against his lip ring with his tongue like he always does when he’s trying to suppress a smile, but the corner of his lips betrays him. “I have an actual car at home, I just never drive it.”

Well, that seems extremely silly, but then again, I don’t know what it’s like to be a millionaire with money to burn. “It’s not flashy, it’s a Mustang convertible. Baby blue.”

“Not flashy, my ass,” I mumble more to myself than him, but he laughs anyway.

The sound is unbridled, and my head swivels in his direction. “I like your laugh.”

My cheeks heat the second the words are out. Geez, Kaitlyn. Can you just not embarrass yourself for like five seconds?

“Thanks.” His laughter trails off as he opens the door to his truck for me and holds out his hand to help me up.

“Such a gentleman,” I chide, placing my hand in his and stepping up on the railing before sliding into the front seat.

He pauses, leaning against the door, his steel gray eyes pinning me in place. “No, Princesa. This should be the bare minimum.”

My lips fall apart, a silent breath passing through them as the door shuts.