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“It was different earlier.”
“Why? Because you hadn’t shown up yet?”
“No,” I replied coolly. “And that doesn’t even make any sense. It’s because you hadn’t drunk two bottles of Pinot Grigio four hours ago.”
“Whatever.” She turned to face the window, dismissing me again.
I pulled out of the lot. Half an hour. It was late. No traffic. I could survive a half an hour this close to her. But with this attitude, would she?
“When did you start drinking so much?”
She never used to drink. One glass of wine would last her all evening. I always liked that about her. She had control over herself. Over who she was. Tonight, some of that control unraveled. The damn thing was, I liked that about her, too. I rattled her. I got under her skin tonight and I hadn’t even said a word to her.
“When did you start to care?” she sneered.
I stopped at a red light and didn’t turn my head at her sarcasm. “I don’t.”
The lack of emotion in my voice must have convinced her. She gasped, clutched her stomach like it hurt, and didn’t say anything else.
“Don’t throw up in my car,” I growled.
“I’m not going to throw up,” she denied. “Just... stop talking to me, all right? Take me home, but ... leave me alone.”
I kept my eyes on the road as I advanced from the light.
“Tell me,” I questioned as I approached the highway exit. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her lower her head. “Did they teach you that in England?”
“What?” she asked in a defeated tone.
I waited a few seconds before I answered. Streetlights illuminated the dash. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her fidget with her clutch. Satisfied at the reaction I was getting, I answered her.
“How to act like a frigid bitch.”
I stopped her hand in the air before it could connect with my face. I grasped it tightly, twisting it. Not too hard, certainly not as hard as I could have, but I know it wasn’t comfortable for her. I held her like that until I could pull over safely to the side of the road. I threw the Lincoln into park then shoved her hand away from me.
Noemi fell away, rubbing her hand and sliding back against her seat. I undid my seatbelt and loomed over her, excitement building within me.
This.
I shouldn’t have liked intimidating her like this, but I did. What I liked even more was her reaction to my words.
“I fight back, baby girl.” I ran my finger along her cheekbone. “Don’t ever try to hit me again.”
Slow, measured words. No anger. No threats. Just the cold, hard truth. I wanted so much more at that moment, but I didn’t know how much alcohol she could handle. Was she only slightly inebriated or was she too drunk to remember any of this in the morning? I wanted her to remember every word.
Her head lowered and her lashes swept her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. It... it won’t happen again.”
Her immediate submission to my display of dominance was fucking beautiful. My cock twitched. I had to get this woman home and out of my sight.
Good.” I settled back into my seat and prepared to pull back onto the highway.
“I may be a virgin, but I’m not frigid.”
She spoke so lightly that I’m sure she thought she was talking to herself. It’s not easy to shock me, but her admission did. The car swerved and I quickly corrected it, gripping the wheel so tightly I could have snapped it.
Noemi shifted in her seat but gave no indication that she was aware that she’d spoken the words out loud or knew that I’d heard them. I broke out in a sweat. My calm exterior was just a facade at that point. Gripping the steering wheel as if my life depended on it, I drove us home.
Noemi slipped further down into her seat, her head angled, leaning against the car window. I listened, waiting for the tell-tale even breathing that signaled she had fallen asleep.
My hearing was impeccable, better than most. It was one of the traits that made me good at my chosen career. But hearing her say that she had reached the age of twenty-six and was still a virgin...
How the fuck did that happen? She was a goddess in that dress she wore tonight. Hell, she was a goddess in anything if my memory served me. I hadn’t forgotten a thing about her. England had done well by her physically, even if it had made her a drunken bitch. The beautiful girl who had boarded that plane five years ago was now a siren. I thought I had resisted her call all through the party, but I fell right into her trap. When she went outside, I made the choice to follow her, drawn as much by her presence, her breathtaking beauty, as I was by the possibility of danger.
Although, I’m sure she didn’t see it that way. To her, I was heavy-handed and arrogant. Fine. I am. I’m good with that. That I even bothered to check on her at all should have told her that I cared about what happened to her and the realization that I cared even a little pissed me off even more.
She couldn’t be here right now. I didn’t need or want her in my life. It’s been one night, a few fucking hours since she’d come home, and I’d already compromised my purpose. I ordered the car so I could leave early, not drive her the fuck home.
I stole another look at her as she slept. Her brow puckered, as if even in her sleep, I still irritated her. Perverse motherfucker that I am, the idea that I angered her, even in her dreams, satisfied the monster in me.
