Page 2 of Wretched Soul
The driver’s expression is unreadable as he turns his head to me. My gaze remains fixed on the mirror and his reflection, and the stupid part of my brain that isn’t consumed by unbridled fury decides now would be a good time to admire his profile. He looks to be in his late twenties, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, but my gaze is drawn to the tantalizing hint of a tattoo hidden beneath the crisp white collar of his shirt. Not an office slob then. The guy had only looked bulky because he’s so goddamn ripped.
The wind picks up and my hair whips across my face. As I’m tucking loose locks behind my ears, I notice him appraising me too, his gaze trailing up and down my body shamelessly. I’m wearing grey slacks and a silk blouse, or I was until I felt myselfbeing mentally undressed. I tell myself it’s just the cold that’s turned my nipples into hardened bullets.
Screw him. I fold my arms and turn to face my latest nemesis head on. “You couldn’t wait for two damn minutes for your lane to move on? Do you have to bethatguy? In case you hadn’t noticed, none of us are going anywhere fast!” When he simply stares back, I’m forced to continue my verbal assault. “We all want to get off this godforsaken expressway, so show some fucking courtesy to your fellow drivers, and we might all get home in one piece!”
As he drums his fingers against his steering wheel, common sense starts to kick in. His brooding silence is a loud warning, and I should go back to my car and forget this jerk. But damn it, I need some kind of response from him. An apology would be nice but, judging by his cold eyes, unlikely.
“Have you ever thought of upgrading your car to one that has blinkers? I hear most cars have them now,” I continue. My voice has an unexpected scratch, and I make up for the tell that I’m weakening by throwing in an expletive. “Asshole.”
He leaves an excruciating pause as he analyzes every detail of my face. “You can see with your eyes closed?” he asks. His voice is smooth, but has an edge that’s razor sharp. He’d seen me enjoying the sweetness of the chocolate that’s now a distant memory on my tongue.
I jut out a hip. “I saw you cut me off clear enough. I almost went into the back of you.”
“Your vehicle was stationary when I maneuvered. You should pay better attention,” he says, tipping his head to where our lane has started clearing. “Now, for fuck’s sake, stop holding up traffic and get back in your car.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going,” I huff, but I hesitate, caught in his stare. I swallow hard. “Just keep out of my way, or you’ll regret it.”
I turn on my heels, and don’t look back as I retreat to my Audi. I’d left the driver’s door wide open and I have to close it to avoid stepping into the neighboring lane of moving traffic. I can hear curses from the car behind. The driver jabs a finger through the open window and yells something at me. When I glare at him, his hand quickly retreats and the cursing stops. I’m briefly pleased with myself until a shadow falls across my shoulder.
When I spin around, I’m eye level with a broad chest hidden beneath a white button-down and a dark blue suit jacket. I tip my head and stare up into deep green eyes.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he growls. “You do not get out of your car to start an argument with a complete fucking stranger. Not in the middle of the expressway, or anywhere else for that matter. I could have pulled a gun on you, or just dragged you into my car. Do you have any idea how many psychos are driving around Chicago?”
I have to unstick my tongue from the roof of my suddenly dry mouth, but once again, good sense evades me. “I’m guessing one less since you got out of your car.”
His jaw twitches and he leans in so we’re almost nose to nose. “Exactly.”
Oh, shit. That comment didn’t land how I expected.
“Lily! Are you there? What’s happening?”
The psycho’s gaze flicks briefly to where my friend’s anxious voice floats from the car. “Lily,” he repeats, his breath soft against my skin. “Keep those pretty lips closed and get back into your car.”
He called me pretty.
When the pad of his finger strokes the side of my mouth, I’m too stunned to react. His warning plays on my mind as he takes a second swipe at my lip before pulling away. He smells of cedar and musk, but there’s another scent in the air. Ghirardellichocolate. Shit. I had a smudge of chocolate around my mouth the whole time I was screaming at him. Ground eat me up.
I want to tell him to go to hell, if only to save face, but he opens his mouth at the same time I do. It’s another warning. He told me to be quiet so I roll my eyes before turning my back on him. I’m holding my breath, and it’s only when I hear his footsteps receding that I turn to watch his retreating form.
My psycho has the kind of physique that would intimidate anyone, including the driver who’d just been shouting at me. A twenty-eight-year-old woman of average height and build wouldn’t stand a chance against him. I should have stayed in my car. And I would have done if I hadn’t assumed I was confronting some gross office jerk.
I should get back in the Audi, but I’m entranced by the sight of the man in the sharp suit. He doesn’t look surprised when he turns to catch me staring. And not just staring. Practically drooling. He holds my gaze as he puts his finger in his mouth and slowly sucks clean the smudge of chocolate he’d wiped from my lips.
Muscles tighten in my core, and I let out a groan. “Oh, fuck.”
“Lily! Answer me now, or I’m calling the cops!” Kaitlyn screeches.
I’m still staring at my psycho, and I swear I can see the beginnings of a grin on the motherfucker’s face. This is the man who had the audacity to silence me, and now I’m panting like some mad, horny bitch. Which I’m not. Absolutely not.
I hate not having the last word, so I correct the situation immediately. “Asshole!”
His head drops so I can’t see his expression as he opens his car door. As he’s about to slip behind the wheel, he pulls his suit jacket to the side, giving me a glimpse of the gun holstered at his hip. He doesn’t look back to check my reaction, but the reveal was clearly for me.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter as I climb into my car, slam the door and hit the locks.
“Lily, is that you?” Kaitlyn asks. “Are you OK?”
I press a hand to my chest to take some of the strain my thumping heart is placing on my ribs. “I’m good,” I croak out. “Just give me a minute.”
