Page 18 of Tempt Me
“You weren’t. I did what I did because I wanted to. I am the one who should apologize; what I did was wrong.”
Shaking my head, I contradict him. “No, it was so right.”
“I took you without your consent.”
“You were right that I consented last night and today and with every action when I was coming on to you.”
“Not the same.”
He doesn’t seem to be in a place where I can convince him, so I stop trying for the time being and instead start the dreaded conversation.
“You are right.”
“About what?”
“Not being able to pursue this.”
He hunkers down even lower in his seat, his gorgeous, rugged face a deep scowl.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted.”
“No need to apologize.”
“This arranged marriage will go ahead, but it’s a means to an end for me.”
He shrugs.
“I need you to know that.”
“Aren’t all arranged marriages a means to an end for someone?”
That gives me pause. He has a point.
“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know, Rue. So we don’t have to have this conversation. What we do need to talk about is Rutledge and McFarlane and what their connection is.”
Frowning, I turn to him. “You think there’s a connection?”
“It seems highly suspicious that McFarlane escapes from prison the same day that another psycho is roaming loose up here on the exact same day you are here. Now, I know no one could’ve predicted that we would stop at that hotel, but I’ve also lived long enough to know that coincidences are rare occurrences.”
“You think a mole told Wayne I was going to the mountains today?”
“I think he’s been following you for some time. This was too planned. Too precise. Too much of a show to be a spur of the moment.”
“Hmm.” It makes sense thinking about it the way he’s laid it out. “So what is his connection to McFarlane.”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Nodding as we careen through a huge puddle, I grip the handrail above the door when we aquaplane, and the car turns to the side as we skid through the water.
Isaac regains control on the other side and puts his foot on the gas. Bouncing through a pothole and over a massive bump, I suddenly shout out.
“Look out!”
“Fuck.”
Thump!
“Ahh!” My hand goes to my throat as the person we just hit flies up and lands on the hood with a sickening crunch, his face plastered against the glass.
