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A quick glance, and he catches me staring; smirks at me. My heart almost jumps out of my chest but I save face by telling him, “Put on your seatbelt and then we can go.”
He does, pulls it across his chest and plugs it in. I shift in gear to reverse out of the car park and head down the bumpy country lane. The car is easy to drive, even over all the potholes, the steering smooth and light. It's the best thing I've ever bought myself.
Though Charlie is blatantly watching me, he doesn't speak for about ten minutes. So I flick on the radio to drown out our silence and check the rear-view mirror. I notice twin SUV's on our shadow then with blinding headlights. They look suspicious; heavily tinted windows, both going at the same speed. I maintain my eyes on them, driving carefully as not to draw attention to us, but as I turn off to hit the clear motorway, they follow us.
Keeping one hand near my gun in my inside jacket pocket, my other hand on the wheel, I press down on the throttle to boot it out of Dartford, the force pressing me back into my seat.
“What's wrong, Blaire?”
“I think we're being followed,” I say, reaching one-hundred miles per hour, dodging what cars are on the road. “Have you got a gun?”
“Have I got a gun?” Charlie laughs at me again, and when I look at him, he smiles. It's an utterly seductive, sly smile that makes me feel warm all over. “Relax,” he says, “it's just my men. No need for guns.”
“What?” I drop a gear to slow the pace. “If you have men with cars, why did you ask me for a lift?”
He doesn't answer my question, which I don't like. He diverts with, “How long have you known Maksim?”
Maksim-Markov!It really bothers me that he addresses my master like this.
“That's none of your business,” I say. My voice comes out surprisingly calm.
“Well, I'm making it my business. How long?”
I try not to react to his cool, dominant approach, though it's hard. I want to punch his lights out because he's so fucking conceited.
“I cannot comment without his permission,” I say in a flat tone.
He laughs at me again, though in a more mocking fashion. “You know, in all the years I've known your boss, you're the first of his girl's I've seen off a leash.” Reaching over, he grabs my seat headrest, forcing intimacy.
I shift over in my seat, a little uncomfortable. I can feel the warmth of his large body at my side.
“Maksim must really trust you,” he whispers, checking me out with obvious lust.
I don't say anything in response. Of course Maksim trusts me. I'm his most trusted devotee.
We fall silent again.
I glance at him a few times, sensing he's still staring at me with stark concentration. He is. I wish he'd stop. I'm already on guard and he's making the whole ordeal ten times worse with that penetrating gaze.
As a distraction, I turn up the radio.
“What are you allowed to say?” he breaks the silence, turning the radio down.
I shrug, steering off the motorway for London.
“Okay... How fast does your car go?”
Silence.
“You can answer me that, surely?” He sounds like he's being sarcastic. “Maksim said you can speak to me.”
“Naught to sixty in five and a half seconds,” I say, just to shut him up.
“And the color, did you pick it?”
Though his questions might seem ordinary, they're not. I know what he's doing. He's trying to get me talking by luring me into a false sense of security. I scowl to warn him off but he isn't bothered. He repeats his question.
“What is with you?” I snap my eyebrows together. “Why are you asking me these stupid, mundane questions?” My heart stutters with panic—Maksim said to be polite. “Sorry. I... I didn't mean to-”
