Page 93 of Snowed In
“Your brother had a word with me tonight.”
I fight back a wince. “Was it to tell you how handsome you looked?”
“More along the lines of ‘get your hands off her.’”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
I fidget in my seat, embarrassed, but also…
“You’re happy about this?” Christian asks, catching my expression.
“I just…” I spread my hands out in awhat do you wantfrom megesture. “He’s my younger brother. It’s cute. He thinks he’s looking out for me.”
“Which would be fine, except I’m not the one he needs to look out for.” He sits back, one finger tapping against his knee as he gazes out the window and I realize what happened.
“You saw Isaac,” I guess.
“I saw Isaac.” And then: “I didn’t know he was coming.”
“Neither did I,” I admit, and Christian grunts. The tapping stops, his hand just resting on his leg now, and I have a sudden flashback to the first time we were in this car together, and it was on mine. He’d been teasing then. I couldn’t imagine him teasing now.
“I don’t like you upset,” he continues, and doesn’t that just make my heart melt a little?
“I’m not.”
“You were.”
“And now I’m with you, so I’m not,” I say, the truth tumbling out before I know what to do with it.
“You want to talk?”
“About?” I ask, and he gives me a look.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Lie to me,” he says, and undoes his bow tie with a few swift tugs of his fingers. “You can’t do that if this is going to work. You were fine when I left you and then you spend five minutes with the guy, and you suddenly can’t wait to get out of the place. Why was he even there?”
“His parents are still friends with my mother. She must have invited them.”
“Even though she knew you were coming.”
“I didn’t tell her not to. I’m okay with them.”
“But not with him. So why the hell did he show up?”
I frown at his obvious frustration. “Do you thinkIinvited him?”
“No, I just—” He knocks his head back against the seat, not finishing as he undoes the top button of his shirt. I allow myself to study the hint of skin on show there for precisely two seconds before forcing my eyes back up. “I don’t get it,” he says finally. “You and him. Any of it.” His gaze lands on me, dark and steady and demanding my attention. “Why did you run?”
A lock of hair falls free from whatever gel he’d put in tonight, curling slightly around his ear. He brushes it back with an impatient gesture, but it just messes the rest of it up, his slick style vanishing in an instant.
“Christian…”
“Never mind.” He sits up, suddenly all business. Like he’s snapped back into a role. “It’s nothing to do with me.”
