Page 111 of Tangled Like Us
But how Thatcher treats me is so catastrophically new from what I’ve experienced. I’ve never felt so appreciated before, during, and after sex.
We’re very careful about being caught, and we have a routine. He mustneverfall asleep in my bed. As soon as the clock strikes 3 a.m., he must go back to security’s townhouse.
I check my side mirrors, not able to smile or daze off for long. I’m incredibly wedged into the right lane by two silver SUVs and a four-door truck, and our extra security vehicles trail far behind us.
The woes of not breaking the law when paparazzi do—they’ve lost an advantage. But as I check my rearview, I see our Range Rovers trying to catch up by driving in the emergency lanes.
I stay fixed on the street and do my best to stand my ground.
“I’m watching your left.” Thatcher eagle-eyes the truck that tries to creep in my lane. “You’re doing good, Jane.”
I risk a glance his way, and our eyes catch for a sweltering beat. He looks deeper in me with a sort of powerful reassurance that makes me feel invincible. And safe.
“Thank you,” I say, more breathless than I intend, and my cheeks heat while I crane my neck. My sight returning to the red Audi’s bumper.Stay with Moffy.
Stay with Moffy.
Stay with my best friend.
I repeat my clear focus. Maximoff and I are en route to a costume shop. Since October is here, my best friend has a license again.
Despite his speeding habit, it’s difficult to deny how skilled he is at offensive and defensive driving. He has maneuvered us through hoards of paparazzi since we left the townhouse, and if I didn’t follow him so closely, I would’ve been stuck long ago.
I tap my brake a little, and an advance copy ofWildfire Heartslides on the dashboard of my car.
Thatcher takes his hand off my thigh and grabs the romance book, slipping it in the glove compartment.
I’ve already devoured the love story between a cocky firefighter and his best friend’s spunky sister. My second read-through, I’ve started taking notes. Just so I’m more prepared before I go in the studio.
Thatcher adjusts his seat forward, bending his knees. “Are you okay with a hand-off in five?” He knows I’ve done them before, but not under these conditions. He adds, “It might be the only way to get off the highway.”
Otherwise, the silver SUVs will continue to block us from the exits. I’ve realized this too. We could wait for police to pull them over, but that’s assuming they will.
“Is a hand-off even possible at this speed?” I wonder.
It involves bodyguards rolling down car windows and paying paparazzi to move out of the way, and if the cameramen are nice, they’ll even block other paparazzi vehicles for us.
Thatcher explains, “Farrow is getting Maximoff to slow down to twenty.”
I take a breath. “Then yes, I’m okay with one.” Sun crests the horizon, a harsh glare piercing the windshield, and I flip my car visor down, barely blocking the light.
Thatcher hands me my cat-eye sunglasses and speaks into comms. “Jane is good to go in five.”
After slipping on my sunglasses, I edge closer to the wheel. The Audi slowly decelerates, and I follow suit.
I squint at another ray of light, and I shield my hand over my eyes. “How dangerously close am I to his bumper?”
“A few inches.” He extends an arm over my seat and assesses our surroundings. “You’re still good, honey.”
My eyes bug and lips part—he called mehoney. So innately and instinctively and with such tenderness. I inhale without exhaling, and I can’t help but turn my head to Thatcher.
His attention is plastered to the street. “Jane,brake.”
“Merde.” I slam on my brake.
Thatcher plants a firm hand on the dashboard. I brake too late, and I crunch into Maximoff’s bumper. Both of our cars jerk forward from the light impact.
My pulse has shot out of my butt, and I am a frozen chunk of ice. “Oh my God.”
