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“I’m in the middle of class,” she whispers, but this time, I’m certain a smile tugs at her lips.
“So leave.” I sink down on the California king mattress and slip my feet into the shoes.
“Christian. I…” She pauses for a beat. “I shouldn’t.”
Dryness coats my mouth, causing me to wet my lips as I stand. “Not good enough.”
“Huh?”
“I’m leaving my place now.”
“Christian?” she says my name as more of a question—rhetorical, but a question.
“Aren’t you tired of being safe all the time? Do something that’s out of character. Live a little.”
“Are we interrupting you, Ms. Danforth?” the professor deadpans, and the rest of the room falls still.
“Sorry.” There’s shuffling on the other end.
She’s leaving class. I grin at the thought and lock the door behind me.
“Excuse me.” The words are barely audible. Then a second later, all I hear is her. No teachers, not students, just her voice echoing through the hall. “Okay. I’ll be in front of the business hall.”
“Atta girl. Be there in fifteen.”
“See you then.”
She ends the call, and I make my way to the elevator and down thirteen flights to the garage where my Ferrari is parked.
When I arrive on campus, Siân is standing at the curve of the circular drive, in front of the business hall, just like she said she would be. She’s nervous. Her posture is rigid, and she’s holding her books to her chest while her gaze darts around. But the thing I wonder is whether she’s searching for me or checking to be sure she isn’t seen. It is the middle of the day, and based on my last account of the situation, she’s still technically another man’s woman.
But she’s here in broad daylight, waiting for me to pick her up. Maybe she isn’t so innocent after all. Maybe she is indeed tired of the lifeless existence she’s been living.
I whip the 458 Italica in front of her and roll down the passenger side window. She huddles forward, her books still pushed to her chest, and the tiniest bit of cleavage peeks out through the top of her blouse.
“Very flashy,” she points out without moving.
“What can I say? I like nice things. Get in.”
Siân zips her spine straight and draws in a breath, her shoulders bunching up tight around her ears. I’m about to throw the car into park and join her on the sidewalk, but then she swallows whatever fear she has and takes a step down with one final glance behind her before climbing in next to me. She keeps her head forward, but her eyes dart in my direction every so often. And as I reach out and place my palm over the back of her hand, she gasps and finally gives me her attention.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I say playfully.
A smile paints her lips, and something weird happens in my chest. A warmness spreads through me, and I couldn’t even begin to explain why. I don’t feel things, nothing close to this shit, but with her, I do. It was the same that day on her porch when I held her close to me.
“That’s still up in the air,” she throws back at me, and I notice her already relaxing.
“Trust me, you’re safe with me,” I promise, and shift gears.
“How do I know that?” She smiles again.
I chuckle. “If you weren’t, you’d be dead already.”
She gulps and settles into her seat, her grin quickly turning into a wavering frown. A smile of my own builds across my features, and I press on the gas, peeling away from campus and heading toward the highway.
For the entire ride, Siân relaxes a bit more with each passing minute. Neither of us speaks for the two hours it takes us to reach our destination. The goal is to get her to trust me, to force her to open up and accept that she wants more out of life. The simplest way to do that is to give her an outlet to be free and go a little crazy. Today, I give her a taste of what life is like in my world, a reality where hanging from the edge is often better than any other form of pleasure—well, just as good.
She’s staring out the window as we approach the tall barbed wire fencing. Siân sits up, and with her brows furrowed, she glances at me. “Where are we?” she asks, while looking between me and the scene up ahead.
“Racing strip.” The automatic gate slides open, and I slowly drive past the entrance. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
After pulling over to the side, I exit the car, adjust my slacks at the waist, and stroll over to the ticket counter. A short, stocky Latino man steps out to meet me. I called ahead to be sure the lot was empty, and you better believe it’s costing me. But where Siân is concerned, money matters none.
