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“Take me home.” I look away from him then. So many dark, complicated feelings swirl low in me, down deep, where I can’t get at them.
“We’ll go to my place.” He says this like he’s discussing we take in a game.
“No.” I suck in a breath. “Maybe we shouldn’t hang out.”
I sound like I’m fourteen.
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Here’s the thing, Avah.” The air grows thick and taut. “I made a deal.”
“I knew it. When I saw your gun, I knew you worked for my dad.” The bitterness bites through the thickness or adds to it. I don’t know. All I’m sure of are those horrible swirling emotions sucking at me and the fact it seems Dad’s hijacked my life yet again.
And Nicolo, a man I want with desperation, a man who can make me melt, works for him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t work for your fucking father. But it’s up to you if you want to ‘hang out’ as you put it.”
“Good—”
“I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
The way he says it makes me swing a suspicious look his way. Nicolo says it like he’s just placating me and has every intention of doing his version of hanging out, which sounds a lot like his hands all over me.
It should make me mad.
It sends shivers of unwanted delight rippling through me.
“But I made a deal back there”—tap, tap, tap go his fingers in a sharp and irritated staccato— “so you’re not getting rid of me.”
I try and breathe in slow and calm, but I can’t because my head spins. I don’t even know which way is up and whether I should be hurt, thrilled, angry, or all of the above.
“A deal, Nicolo?”
He laughs. He actually laughs. “Yeah. With your friend back there. I’m protecting you, keeping an eye on you.”
“No.” I don’t want protection. I want him. Hell, I’m lusting hard and out of control for a man I barely know, one I feel like I’ve glimpsed into his sinew. I want him to want me, not as a protection gig.
“Sweet thing, it’s either me or your father’s man. Up to you. But I’m just gonna fucking say you’ll have a hell of a lot more fun with me.”
Okay . . . I drag in a sharp gulp of air. That definitely holds all kinds of dark, erotic promises and call me weak, but my anger is slipping.
After all, what do I know about security or the type he does? Dad hires security for events. And okay, those events are for his legit business, but still . . .
Dan or Nicolo? There’s absolutely zero competition. “Fine,” I snap, “you’ll do. For now.”
I turn and stare out the window. But I’m watching his ghost of a reflection in my window. And though he’s watching the road as he moves through traffic, I’m positive he’s focused on me too.
“Actually, Avah, maybe it’s best we go to your place.”
The slow slide into thrill stops abruptly.
“That way,” he says, “we can get your things together. You’re gonna come stay with me.”
“No. I’m not a project.”
“But you are, Avah. A fucking delicious project.”
“You’re not being honest.”
