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Freaking heck.
Is he made out of pure electricity or something?
A sizzle travels up my arm, making my heartbeat thunder with savage speed inside my chest, a drumming I can barely control. I swallow as we shake, daring to look up at him, to check if he’s feeling the same unbelievable spark I am.
But he looks grim, eyebrows low, mouth twisted into something like a grimace… but is that a smirk I detect at the corner of his mouth, trying to change his grimace into something else?
“Conrad Cage,” I murmur, letting my hand drop. “It sounds like a superhero’s name or something.”
He shrugs. “Maybe it does. But I’m no hero. Listen, Callie, I need to get to work. Why don’t you give me your details and we can iron this out later?”
“What details?” I murmur.
His eyes gleam like moonlight. It’s impossible to read the shifting emotions in them. “Your address. I could swing by when I’m done.”
My heart pounds even faster, sending tingling sensations all over my body. My skin feels ultra sensitive and my nipples graze roughly against my bra, sending so many shuddering inducing through me it’s difficult to handle.
“What time do you get off work?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice under control.
“Around midnight. Is that going to be a problem?”
I look past him, at the scuffed paintwork, the dented metal.
Is this some sort of game, to punish me for what I did to his car? Maybe he’s going to gather up a bunch of his friends and teepee our place or something. Or maybe he’s going to smash through the door in a ski mask, roaring at us to hand over everything we’ve got.
It just doesn’t make sense. Why would he want to see me again so soon when it looks like he hates me.
“Don’t worry.” He finally smirks. “I’m not going to hurt you. But we need to deal with this, and I haven’t got the time right now. So?”
Something tightens inside me, a needy deep place, buried in my belly. For a crazy absurd moment, I think it’s my womb, sending me insane signals through my body, telling me to give myself to this man so we can be together, have babies, start a family.
I push away the thoughts and nod and shake my head – both at the same time, as indecision and uncertainty swirl through me.
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll give you my address. And then we’ll get this all dealt with.”
He reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone, unlocks it, and hands it to me. As I take it, our fingers brush. That sparking feeling strikes me again. It climbs up my arm, into my chest, causing warmth to blossom and spread.
“Put it in a memo file,” he says. “It should be on the homepage.”
I find the app and let my eyes scan over the other entries. It’s a long list of surgeries, bypasses, and reconstructions, and a bunch of terms I don’t recognize.
“Are you a surgeon?” I ask once I’ve put in my address.
He nods, taking the phone back. This time our fingers don’t touch. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.
“Yes, I am. Which is why I need to go right now. But first, you need to tell me something.”
He steps forward, so close I can smell his aftershave. Or is that just how he smells, manly and musky and compelling?
I fight the urge to reach up and dig my fingernails into his shoulders.
“What?” I whisper.
“The address you gave me, Callie. Was it your real one? It’s very, very important that it is. Because I can’t risk losing you.”
A whimper escapes me.
Losing me…
“Because of the car,” I say.
I can’t let myself hope and dream it could possibly be anything else.
His jaw tightens, and again that light takes possession of his wolfish eyes. “Yes, because of the car.”
“It’s my real address. I promise.”
He nods, turning toward his BMW. “Good. See you at midnight.”
He climbs in and drives away, the rear of the vehicle rattling a little where something has come loose. I stare at him, hardly believing what just happened, and then my gaze drifts over to my car. It was already a wreck before. Now it’s a complete mess.
Pulling out my cell phone, I dread the call I’m going to have to make. While Conrad’s car had a little scuffing on it, my bumper looks like it’s going to fall off. There’s no way I can risk driving it and getting a ticket, or arrested, or whatever the heck happens when you drive a piece of junk that’s falling apart around the city.
I’m going to have to call my boss, which means he’s probably going to fire me, leaving me and my mom unable to pay our rent.
And yet, despite this oncoming hell, I can’t help but smile when I think about Conrad Cage, our fingers brushing, electricity sparkling inside me.
