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“Sad?”
“You can only thrive by threatening and offering ultimatums. It must be so sad to be you.”
“On the contrary, holding power over the herd is euphoric.” His provocatively gorgeous smile remains in place as he juts his chin forward. “Get in the car.”
“I don’t want to.”
“And I don’t give a fuck. Must be sosadto be you,” he repeats my words with that damn smile that I’m itching to punch off his face.
He pushes me forward with a palm on my shoulder.
I slide in with a grumble and a shove against him so he’ll remove his hand. The psycho’s only reaction is a grin and a shake of his head.
It’s like I’m amusement material and he’s enjoying every minute of pushing my buttons.
“Where are we going?” I ask once he’s behind the steering wheel.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He hits the engine and it groans loudly.
I instinctively hold on to my seat belt. What? I prefer smooth-sailing cars that don’t make enough noise to wake the dead.
Sports cars and mayhem suit Landon to perfection, though.
As the car rolls down the road, his large hand falls on my pale thigh, touching the bare space between the hem of my dress and my knees.
His fingers squeeze the flesh. “Relax. I promise not to devour you. Yet.”
I push at his hand, needing to get rid of the sudden attack of tingles and goosebumps. Now that I think about it, a variation of this foreign sensation happened the last time he touched me, too.
It must be a manifestation of my disgust. Nothing more.
“Let me go,” I sign.
“What was that?” He feigns innocence. “Come closer? I know I’m irresistible, but I’m also driving, so you need to keep it in your pants for a bit.”
I flash him the middle finger, to which he chuckles. “As I said, I’m open to fucking you, but not at the moment.”
“You and I will never happen.”
“Never say never.” He tightens his grip on my thigh as if to cement his words.
I try and fail to remove his hand. It’s like he’s attached to me by an invisible string.
“Speaking of never, how come you’ve never replied to my text or followed me back on Instagram?”
He followed me on Instagram? I didn’t notice that. Then again, I haven’t been in the right frame of mind since yesterday. I’m also still sleep-deprived because even though Maya allowed me to share her bed, I couldn’t relax enough to sleep after those damn texts and the images of his hand on my throat.
“Ever thought that maybe, just maybe, I don’t like you?”
“Small detail that can be changed.”
“Not even if you turn into a saint.”
“Why would I do something so dull? Besides, you might fool the whole world, yourself included, but I’m well aware that you’re not into saints. Not even a little. Not even close.”
I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, my little muse. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. Well, not identical cloth, but it’s similar enough. And if I have to prove it, so be it.”
