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“S'all right.” He shrugs with one shoulder, still holding my headrest. “You can ask me a question if you want to.” He pauses, then leans a little closer and whispers down my spine, “I won't tell Maksim.”
I hold his stare for as long as I can, but then I have to center my attention on the road, on the cars.
“Why are you asking me these questions?” my voice is soft but demanding. “What's with the whole Spanish Inquisition?”
“The Spanish Inquisition, huh?” A wide grin spreads across his face. “I'm curious about you, Blaire,” he says. “Even more so now.”
I glance at him, puzzled, and he elaborates, “You don't wear a leash. You live outside of Maksim's house. You can apparently put up a good fight. You're educated...” the list of compliments is endless.
Why the fuck is he curious about me? And how the hell has he accumulated that much information about me in under an hour?
I don't ask why he's curious. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of my own curiosity.
“It seems Maksim wasn't lying when he told me you've got a bad attitude,” Charlie says, chuckling to himself. His voice is so deep when he laughs like that. It's almost mesmerizing. Almost.
“I'm not gonna get anything outa you yet, am I?”
Yet?What makes him think he'll ever get anything out of me?
“No,” I say. “You're not.”
He doesn't say much more now, just wants to know if I like living on my own, that kind of thing. I shake, nod, and shrug a few times, but I don't actually answer his questions.
“Where would you like me to drop you off?” I ask, driving past my apartment building, curb crawling The River Thames.
“Here will do.” He unbuckles his seatbelt.
I pull over with a sharp stop, desperate to get him out of my car.He doesn't seem to be in a rush to leave. He gives my body the once over, his eyes hooded and full of zest. “Maybe I'll stop by your apartment over the next two weeks to say hi.”
“I wouldn't bother,” I narrow my eyes at him, pushing my car in gear, “I won't answer the door to you.”
He flicks up his eyebrows. “Sure you won't.”
I snort with affront. Bar Maksim, I don't think I've ever met anyone so fucking smug.
He gets out of the car and leans down to look at me, causing that death black hair to fall around his handsome face, enhancing those diamond blue eyes. I feel trapped in a moment of visual connection with him, my chest constricting with unease.
Neither of us speak—I couldn’t even if I wanted to. So I just hold his gaze.
I think he's contemplating something about me. I can't figure out why I come to that assumption. It's just that thoughtful expression on his face...
“I thought you said you had to leave? 'Times getting on', isn't it?” I try to rush him along when I find my voice, using his own words against him.
“I've always got time for a pretty girl,” his tone lowers as he says that.
My stomach ties up in knots. I can't stand the way he talks to me, or the way he looks at me, as if he's mentally taking off my clothes. It's so personal.
“I'll see you very soon, Blaire,” he says eventually, like it’s a promise, breaking what can only be described as a spell.
In a fluster, I glance away, my chest so heavy that I can hardly breathe. He shuts the door and disappears into the city, one hand in his jeans pocket. I can't help watching him in quiet muse. He walks with purpose, his tall body sauntering at a relaxed pace like he has all the time in the world to get to his destination.
As soon as he's out of sight, I sag in my seat, the tension draining out of my body.
And I thought Maksim was intense.
———
When I can gather my wits after enduring Charlie, I steer into the underground car park of my apartment building. My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. Pulling it out, I see it’s James calling.
