Kara It felt like my soul was detached from my body the moment I woke up. I blinked and tried to focus, but my brain wouldn't engage. It kept on chanting coffee, coffee, coffee. Someone beautiful was staring at me. He looked awfully familiar, like I should care about him somehow, but like everything else, he felt unreal. I sat up—slumped, really—and realized I was in my car parked in someone's driveway. I stared at the windshield and watched as rivulets of rain slapped against it. There was something wet on the side of my mouth. Drool, probably. I should wipe it, but it seemed like a lot of work. Besides my arms felt heavy. I heard a deep chuckle coming from somewhere in the car. I moved my head to search for it, and my eyes landed on the mug of coffee in the cupholder. Some sort of yearning sound came out of my throat and I grabbed it possessively, glugging it down like medicine. It was cold, but it was this-shits-gonna-make-me-human-again cold. A few minutes of this and my senses were starting to come back. Suddenly I became conscious of everything around me. The toasty warmth of the car, the soothing pitter patter of the rain, the scent of it—something unpleasant mixed with fresh, cool blue that my nose wanted to inhale. But most of all, I was painfully aware of a compelling presence beside me. My heart, which was beating normally, skipped a beat. "Better?" A deep, masculine voice. A hint of amusement. I jumped. Cameron. When did he become Cameron to me and not my blackmailer or the spawn of Satan? Must be some really magical coffee I just drank. "I can make you a fresh cup." I glued my eyes to the windshield, refusing to look at him, but in my peripheral I saw him gesture to his house. "But you'd have to come inside." Something told me that wasn't a good idea. He sounded like a dark sorcerer who came to offer me the best deal of my life... in exchange for my body. Okay, soul. "Want?" he asked softly. I must not look at him. I must not. "No, thanks," I croaked, feeling warm. "Listen," I started, cranking the window open just a little to cool me down. We needed to discuss important things and right now was the perfect time. The time! "Holy shit. What time is it?" I couldn't help it. My head whipped in his direction. He moved his head slightly, towards the clock on the dash. His hair, as black as crow's wings, was rumpled boyishly as if he'd been sleeping. His clear blue eyes were gleaming with amusement. And the way he sat in the seat... Well, he took over the space. "It's 10:15," he provided. "You've been sleeping for two hours." "I thought you have classes in the morning!" "I did." "Why didn't you wake me up?" "It looked like you needed some sleep." I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't even know how to feel about that. It seemed... sweet. He's not really sweet. Remember what he wants from you. Don't get taken now. You know what happened in that movie because of a pretty face. "Right. I haven't forgotten why I'm here," I said, putting my seatbelt on. "I'm supposed to drive you. I don't want you to come back later and say I didn't hold up my end of the bargain." When I looked at him again, the warmth in his eyes was gone. "Is it just me or are you like this with everyone?" Was he upset? "What do you mean?" "What does it take from you to accept kindness? Or do you just really not trust me?" His voice had turned cold. "Is that it?" Kindness? Had it been kindness he was bestowing upon me all this time? I must have missed the damn memo. "Well, you didn't really do anything to earn it, did you?" Suddenly he moved away as far as he could from me in the confined space of the car, and it dawned on me how close we were leaning toward each other. In defense I mirrored his actions and crossed my arms in front of me. "Seatbelt," he growled. I already have it on, Mr. Grouch. "You should be in the CIA. Your observational skills are so on point." He started the car. I looked outside my window, watching the rain. It was only drizzling now, but the dreary sky promised more of it. "You were already late this morning," he said. "Is that what you meant by holding up your end?" His temper was nasty, but so was mine. I faced him. "Why don't you kiss my grade A fine ass? You're not worth an explanation. Start the damn car and let's go." "Know what," he said, his voice had turned low. Dangerous. "Why don't you drive?" "Why don't I?" I shot back. Kindness? This is why I don't accept your kindness, you stupid, muscular, pig-headed baboon. His black temper pushed him out of the car, slammed the door closed. And while he walked around the front to the passenger side, I locked the door. In a frenzy of movements, I unbuckled my seatbelt, leaped to the driver's seat. Adjusted it so my legs reached the pedals, put the gear in reverse. I waited until he was about to reach for the door. Then I stepped on the gas and reversed. Just a couple of feet away. Just enough to send him a message that he couldn't intimidate me. I would just match his temper with mine. His glower could burn villages. I gave him a smile. The rain was slowly soaking his black hair. It curled under his sharp jaw, his forehead, and dripping rain on his face. We stared at each other for a few seconds—two fighters that wouldn't budge. I could feel my skin prickle with electricity at his challenging stare, at the silent invitation in it. And then he shook his head. He looked down and bit his knuckles, his shoulders shaking. Was he laughing at me? Talk about hot and cold. I blew out a breath. He swaggered the few feet to my car and opened the door. I heard the thump of metal as the lock prevented him from opening it. He rapped two knuckles on the window, leaned down so his face was visible to me. He was smiling. "The accessories I want cost a couple grand," he said through the window opening that I hadn't closed. Goddamn it. I threw him the nastiest glare I could manage and unlocked the door. He got in, a smug look on his irritatingly handsome face. I gritted my teeth, contemplating the cost of paying his insurance company instead, the premiums in Dylan's license, the negatives in his credit. Besides, how bad was it if Dylan spent some time in jail? He could use the time to reflect. The spawn of Satan adjusted his seat to accommodate his tree trunk legs, then closed the window. As if he owned the car, he lowered the back of the seat—lower than I had it before—and relaxed back into it. He closed his eyes. "Like I said the other night," he said lazily. "You drive me f ucking crazy." He didn't sound too bothered by it. "I don't want to drive you anything," I said. The last thing I wanted to remember was that night. "Just to your destination, thank you very f ucking much." His lips twitched. Cool as a cucumber.