Page 28 of Defending You
But a small, stupid part of him twisted at the thought. Cici wasn’t the spoiled princess he’d pegged her for. Her kindness was chipping away at his old image of her. The girl he’d thought of as prom queen for a decade had built her own business. She wasn’t just some rich girl coasting on Daddy’s dime.
No. She was the type of girl to date guys with private jets.
The thought was acid in his stomach.
She shifted beside him, her purse with that necklace clutched in her lap. “We should get on the Mass Pike. We’d make better time.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “No.” He heard the hardness in the word and knew he should temper it. Wasn’t her fault he was jealous.
“Why?” Her tone sharpened. “It’s faster. These winding roads are taking forever.”
“Cameras.” He clipped the word, not looking at her. “Toll roads, traffic cams. They’d catch our faces and the license plate. I’m not risking it.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “I figured you’d want to get rid of me as soon as possible. And anyway, it’s my life on the line here. Shouldn’t my opinion count?”
“I’m in charge.”
She twisted in her seat. “Excuse me? I’m the one responsible for the necklace, not you. I decide what happens with it.”
“I’m responsible for both you and the necklace. My job is to keep you alive, and I say we stay off the interstate.”
She laughed, though the sound held zero humor. “Look, I get that you’re better than I am in dangerous situations, but that doesn’t make me stupid. My opinion counts. I’m not your soldier or your lackey.”
His grip tightened on the wheel, irritation flaring hot. There it was—the rich-girl attitude he’d expected all along, slipping out when she got riled.
“Just because I was poor doesn’t mean I’m incompetent,” he snapped, the words spilling before he could stop them. “I’ve gotten us this far, haven’t I?” He stopped at a red light, shooting her a look to punctuate his words.
She blinked, recoiling like he’d slapped her. “What are you talking about? What does money have to do with anything?”
“You think you’re better than me—always have.” He snatched his phone from the console to get directions to the private airfield north of Boston. “I don’t need your ego telling me how to do my job.”
“Wow.” Her voice dropped, cold and cutting. “You’ve got some chip on your shoulder. I’m just asking you to consider my opinion. You’re the one refusing to trust me—as if I’m some clueless idiot who can’t think for herself.”
“If this were a jewelry emergency, I’d give you the wheel.” He regretted the remark the second it left his mouth.
The light turned green, and he accelerated through the intersection, not taking it back. He wasn’t changing his mind, and if that made her unhappy, then so be it.
One minute, she was cooking him breakfast, humble and kind, the next she was throwing her independence in his face like he was some grunt beneath her. He’d proven himself, and still she pushed back. What did she want from him?
The tension in the SUV was an unwelcome change, a far cry from the easy conversation they’d enjoyed over breakfast.
He shouldn’t care. This was a job. Cici wasn’t his friend, his girl, his anything. Just a client. A paycheck.
She was a means to an end.
But she didn’t feel likejusta client. Not with an ember of the torch he’d carried for her burning into his brain.
The memory of the kiss the night before. How she’d felt in his arms. Her initial shock had softened, as had her lips.
Kissing Cici had felt natural, like waking up in his childhood bedroom on a sunny summer morning.
And it had felt like fireworks and symphonies and a thousand stupid metaphors that still didn’t come close.
Which was why he’d been trying very hard not to think about it.
She just stared out her window, arms crossed. The argument hung between them, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe it would be better if they kept a barrier between them.
She’d rejected him once, and the humiliation still burned. He didn’t need to live through that again, thank you very much.
