Page 94 of These White Lies
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
Elizabeth shifts in her seat, just enough to betray her hesitation before she masks it. “Not exactly. It’s just… You’re about to get a front-row seat to my family circus. And with all the stuff between us…” She exhales through her nose. “Sometimes it’s disorienting.”
I glance over. “Disorienting how?”
She folds her arms across her chest protectively. “You know everything about me, Brady. My grades. My exes. My prescriptions. My mother’s maiden name. That’s not how a new relationship is supposed to start. The way we met—both times—wasn’t exactly normal. If this was a regular beginning, I’d be asking you questions, too. But right now, it feels very one-sided.”
I hear her. But my brain sticks on one word. “We’re in a relationship?”
Her eyes widen. “I thought… I mean… not like arelationshiprelationship.” Her face flames so fast it spreads to the tops of her ears.
I grin and catch her hand before she can retreat, pulling it free from her chest. She tries to tug back, but I bring it to rest on my thigh and keep it there. “This is absolutely arelationshiprelationship.”
Elizabeth tries to play it off with a blithe, “We’re having fun. But we’ve known each other less than a week.”
She’s scared—afraid to trust, afraid to need someone again after what her ex did to her. I get it. This isn’t exactly familiar ground for me either.
I hold her gaze long enough for her to see I’m not joking. “I told you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again. That includes me.” I lift her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles before focusing back on the road. “So, when your family asks… We are in arelationshiprelationship. No misunderstandings.”
Checking my mirrors, I ease the SUV onto the wide shoulder of the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. I keep my voice steady because, if I let it show how much she already matters to me, she’ll retreat.
“There’s something between us,” I say firmly, with no room for her to mistake my meaning. “There has been from the beginning. I know it scares you. Don’t even try to deny it,” I add, when her fingers tense in mine.
She wants to argue. I can see in her eyes the need to throw up walls as clearly as if she were laying the bricks in front of me. I hold her gaze, and finally her shoulders drop, and her eyes soften.
“When this is over,” I continue, “we’re going to figure out exactly what it is. This isn’t about that night, and it’s not something I say lightly. I don’t know what will happen, and I’m sure I will fuck up a lot. But you’re worth fighting for, Firefly.”
A shuddery breath escapes her. “In that case?—”
But I’m not giving her the chance to offer a smart-ass response. Cupping my hand around the back of her neck, I pull her closer and crush her lips under mine. She gasps and her body melts, her tongue sweeping hot against mine. The sound she makes when I suck her bottom lip between my teeth cuts straight through me.
Much as I want to pull her into my lap and hold her soft curves against me until she’s ready to give in to the inevitable, out here—exposed on this road—isn’t safe. I force myself to pull back.
Her lips are rosy and swollen, her blue eyes hazy.
One hand still holding her captive, I lift my other hand to brush my thumb over her bottom lip. “Understand?” My tone makes it clear that there is only one acceptable answer. Because whether or not Elizabeth is ready to admit it, I will batter down whatever wall she tries to throw between us.
She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to my mouth before saying in the sexiest, breathiest voice I’ve ever heard. “Understood.”
Pulling back onto the road, I flip to my road trip playlist. “And because I will never be anywhere close to as good with words as Taylor…”
I press play and seconds later, the unmistakable opening notes of Taylor Swift’sLoverthread through the speakers. On the last line of the chorus—"have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years”—I glance at her, and squeeze her hand tightly.
Her mouth forms a perfect O. “You’re a secret softie, aren’t you, Mr. Big Bad Bodyguard?”
I don’t bother answering, and when the song fades, I lower the volume. “You’re right. I know more about your life than you know about mine, and I can see how it would make you uneasy.” I force the next words out, because I’ve never offered someone an open view into my life. “What do you want to know?”
She arches a brow. “Favorite color?”
I can’t help but grin. “You already have a list?”
“I like to be prepared,” she shoots back.
“Black,” I answer.
She mutters something like ‘should have known.’
“Dog or cat?”
