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‘Maybe you won’t sound quite so disapproving when you’re the parent of a teenager.’ Her smile faded. The idea of Nik with children of any age was quite a depressing thought.
‘Ana’s a great parent,’ he agreed.
Chloe was surprised to hear an unusual tone of humility in his voice, and she was even more surprised when he added, ‘So is Ian.’
‘I’ve never met him.’
‘He’s a nice guy, and they made a great couple. If they couldn’t make it work I really don’t know why anyone tries.’
‘Love, maybe?’
His laugh was hard and cynical...leaving little doubt in her mind about his opinion of love.
For some reason the sound brought back a memory of another laugh, soft instead of harsh, a laugh she’d heard when her tongue had been moving across the hard pebble of his nipple, his fingers tangled in her hair, his body hot as he’d collapsed onto the bed, pulling her on top of him.
Then a minute, an hour, a lifetime later—time had stopped having much meaning—that laugh had come again as he’d rolled her onto her back, pinned her hands above her head with one hand and slid the other between her legs...
‘You should be careful—you almost hit forty miles an hour then.’
His voice jolted her free of the images playing in her head and she drew her bottom lip over her upper one to blot the beads of moisture there. She felt the heat that suffused her body travel up her neck, threatening her with the mother of all blushes, so she dealt with it by choosing to pretend it was happening to someone else and it was this anonymous person who was feeling the shameful ache between her legs, not her.
‘I’m trying to concentrate,’ she snapped, glancing guiltily in the rear-view mirror, relieved when she saw that Eugenie was busy texting on her phone.
He looked at her fingers, which were locked, knuckles bone white, on the wheel. ‘Do have you points on your licence or something?’
‘Or something,’ she said in a flat little voice.
He glanced in the mirror. ‘She’s texting again.’
‘You don’t know many teenagers, do you?’
‘It’s a day for new experiences, it seems. Is there a reason you drive this old thing?’
‘Reliability.’ A very underrated commodity.
‘I have a reliable lawnmower but I don’t go to work on it.’
‘You could always get out and thumb a lift with your friend Fred.’
‘That’s a difficult choice. He has terrible taste in country and western music...anything involving heartbreak and tragic lives and he’s happy. But if I stay with you, I might never walk again.’ He grunted as he attempted to stretch out one leg in the confined space, while beside him she released her death grip on the steering wheel long enough to push a strand of hair behind her ear. Though her hair was almost dry now, the scent of her shampoo still permeated the enclosed space.
Seeing the action out of the corner of her eye, Chloe permitted herself a smirk, which she suddenly doused, feeling ashamed. Maybe she should have allowed him to take Eugenie; after all, he was her uncle.
Had she done the right thing?
The obvious thing would have been to check with Tatiana, but the thought vanished as a sharp pain made her wince and she moved her head to try and ease it. Reluctant to take her eyes off the road, especially as they had just passed a road sign that announced they were approaching a series of tight bends, she twisted her head sharply in the hope that the action would free the earring that had got tangled in her hair, but instead it just tugged harder, bringing tears to her eyes.
‘Let me help...’
‘I’m fine!’ she snapped, unable to keep the note of panic from her voice, but then his long fingers brushed her neck and she flinched, desire clenching like a fist low in her belly.
It was crazy, she knew that, but recognising this fact did not lessen the physical impact, although she didn’t have to embrace it!
‘These things are lethal,’ he said, lifting the weight of her hair to lessen the tug of the earring on her earlobe.
One element of her discomfort eased, Chloe stared straight ahead. Having her earlobe torn or her hair wrenched from her scalp would have been a hell of a lot more comfortable than feeling the warm waft of his breath on her cheek.
‘They’re one-offs, hand forged, the silversmith is a friend...’ She spoke quickly, trying to distract herself.
