Page 56 of Driving Him Wild

‘Is she a good person?’

A shaky sensation filled my chest. Aunt Flo was as close to love as I could manage, considering my

issues. ‘She’s the best,’ I said, my voice strangely tight.

Jensen smiled. ‘She’s your emotional compass. You go to her when you need centring. That means

you hurt when someone causes you pain. You act spoilt when it suits you, but it’s just that, anact. It means you may take life by the balls, but you’ll never break them. Am I right?’

I set the glass down with a sharp click. ‘What the hell is this?’

He shrugged, setting down his own glass to walk past me to the stove. ‘Simply getting to know you,

min elskerinde.’

He lifted the lid on the sauce, bent forward to stir it. As he did, thick strands of his hair parted at his nape. The glimpse of ink drew me to him.

‘What is this?’ I asked, parting his hair to reveal a dark blue tattoo etched into the skin between his shoulder blades.

Given our conversation just now, I gasped at the sight of an elaborate compass. It wasn’t a common

one. For starters, the lettering that should’ve clearly indicated correct points were different. Instead of N, S, E and W there was A where south should’ve been, D for east, M for west and the space for

north left blank.

He stirred the pots for another few minutes before setting down the ladle. Then he faced me. ‘We

all have our ways for centring ourselves. This is mine.’

‘What does the lettering stand for?’

‘Family, for the most part,’ he said a little tightly, reiterating my suspicion that things weren’t warm and cosy on the family front for him either.

Nevertheless, his family seemed to be his guiding light. A compass guiding him when he needed it.

I couldn’t help the searing jealousy that lit through me before the curious burst of joy that immediately followed.

Even more confused by my jarring emotions, I let his hair fall back into place. ‘Are we done with

the interrogation? I’m hungry.’ I was aware that my voice was several shades cooler, but couldn’t

seem to help myself.

The glance he sent me over his shoulder held empathy I didn’t want.

‘I don’t want to risk being ordered to shut up so, yes,min elskerinde, we’re done. And the food is ready.’ His voice was even, bordering on gentle, which absurdly riled me up even further.

Feeling out of sorts, I busied myself gathering plates, cutlery, and setting the table. In silence, we dished out the food, took stools on opposite sides at the far end of the island that doubled up as a dining area.

I poured more wine while Jensen spooned mouth-watering fettuccine, sauce and lashings of grated

cheese.

He stared, not touching his food, as I took the first mouthful. Grateful that we’d moved on from

emotional subjects, I happily gave my verdict. ‘This is good. Really good.’

He smiled, picking up his cutlery to dig into his own food. By mutual agreement, we stayed on safe

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