Chapter 99 Vignette 89
The bass from the party still throbbed in her ears when the car door clicked shut. She slumped into the passenger seat, her cheeks flushed, the smell of smoke and spilt liquor clinging faintly to her hair.
The single sleeve of her party dress was already falling down her shoulders, exposing her cleavage. But she didn't mind. Was too drunk for that.
He noticed. But tried not to stare for too long.
“Seatbelt,” he said, voice low and clipped, eyes on the dark road ahead.
She fumbled with the buckle, laughing softly at her own clumsy fingers. “Relax. I’m fine.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m tipsy,” she corrected, leaning back with a smile. The streetlights flashed over her face in intervals, her eyes catching his profile, sharper than usual in the glow. He gripped the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him.
The silence stretched. She hummed under her breath, swaying in her seat, then shifted…just a little closer. Her knee brushed his arm on the console. He stiffened.
“Sit properly,” he muttered.
“Why? You nervous?” she teased, her voice a whisper drowned in the hum of the engine. Her head tipped toward him, the scent of cheap vodka and vanilla body spray rolling off her skin. “Don’t worry. I trust you.”
The way she said it…slow, soft, daring…made his jaw tighten.
“Behave,” he warned, but his voice didn’t sound convinced.
She shifted again, her thigh brushing his, this time lingering. Her lips curved as if she’d discovered a secret only she was brave enough to say aloud.
“Funny,” she murmured, tracing an invisible line down her own arm before letting her hand fall, grazing his wrist on the gear shift. “You drive so tense, like you’re afraid of me.”
He pulled his hand back, jaw working. “I’m afraid of wrecking this car with you distracting me.”
She laughed, low and husky. “That’s not what I meant.”
Her fingers wandered again, feather-light across his arm this time, just enough to make him twitch. The engine’s steady hum filled the silence between them, but her touch was louder, insistent.
“Stop,” he said, but the word sounded more like a plea than a command.
She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Or what?”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles went white. Every instinct screamed at him to shut her down, to keep control, to stay the man he was supposed to be. But the scent of her…sweet, reckless, teasing, innocent…wrapped around him like smoke, impossible to ignore.
“You don’t play fair,” he muttered.
Her giggle was soft, triumphant. She dragged her nails down his forearm, slow enough that his breath hitched despite himself. “Then don’t play. Just take.”
For a moment, the only sound was the rush of the tires over asphalt. Then his hand snapped from the wheel, gripping her wrist mid-touch, holding her still. His eyes flicked toward her, dark and sharp, before returning to the road.
“You’re going to make me do something I can’t take back,” he warned, voice rougher now.
And the way she smiled told him she already knew that was exactly what she wanted.