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She squares her shoulder. "Of course, not."
"Good, so why don’t you eat one?"
She looks down at the splash of gold in her palm. "Maybe I will."
She pops one into her mouth, slides the rest back into the packet, except one. She drops the pack into her bag, then reaches over and holds it out in front of my mouth.
Without taking my eyes off the road, I open my mouth and she slides it in. I close my lips about her fingers and lick the gummy bear off her digits. The taste of her, more complex than the sweetness of the candy, goes straight to my groin.
I draw in a sharp breath; so does she.
She leans back, and out of the corner of my eye I watch as she brings the fingers to her mouth and sucks on them. A white flash of heat zings through my chest. I tighten my fingers about the steering wheel.
Her chest rises and falls, and I sense a ripple of something pulse through her body. The air between us grows heavy with lust, charged with the kind of lust that could detonate at any second. I knew the chemistry between us was explosive, but this is taking things to another level of combustion.
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything, then she reaches forward and touches the panel on the dash. The haunting strains of Mozart’s “The Queen of the Night” flood the space. Some of the tension eases… Only because I’m going to let this go for now.
"Didn’t take you for someone who listens to classical music," she murmurs.
"My mother loved listening to it. My fondest memories are of her knitting while listening to classical music, while my father worked on his papers in the study."
"That sounds like a very cozy scene."
"She was a home-body. She loved her husband and her sons." At least, until it all went to shite.
"You have a brother?" She turns to look at me.
I nod.
"Is he older than you?"
"Younger."
"I guess he’s not in politics, or I’d have heard of him."
"He’s not. He prefers not to be associated with the Whittingtons. He turned his back on his family and currently lives in Thailand, or at least, that’s where he was when I last heard from him."
"Ah, so he’s the rebel, and you’re the obedient son?"
"Do I look like an obedient son?" I scoff.
"You look like no one can make you do anything you don’t want to do."
"Very astute, Councilor." I shoot her a sideways glance before turning back to the road. "Why did a lawyer decide to get into the big bad world of PR?"
"You mean, the only professions worse than that of a lawyer are being a journalist or a spin-doctor, and I opted for the last?"
"You said it." I smirk.
"I got into law because my parents asked me to choose between becoming a doctor or a lawyer, and I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a doctor, so—" She raises a shoulder.
"And PR?"
"I have the gift of gab and I’ve always been fascinated by media. Besides, I think becoming a lawyer prepared me for the cut-throat world of PR, don’t you think?"
"As a politician, I’ll be the first to admit that I loathe spin doctors while also knowing I can’t do without them."
"You said it," she says lightly.
