Page 13 of Release Me
‘Bye.’ Ivy offers my cheek a slobbery kiss.
‘See you tomorrow,’ Scarlett calls. I’m still not convinced about that, but my brain is too foggy to argue.
‘Watch out for Baby Beckett,’ Avery warns me as she slides into the back of the Bentley. ‘He’s got quite the reputation with the ladies.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ I murmur, more sharply than I intended.
Rian stiffens beside me. ‘It’s not my fault all the good ones are taken.’ His hand squeezes my waist for a split second before he guides me towards his Porsche and opens the passenger door for me.
‘How come you don’t have a driver?’ I ask when he rounds the vehicle and slides into the seat beside me. The scent of his woodsy cologne mingles with the scent of leather. It’s a battle not to lean into his neck and snort it up like a drug.
‘I do, but I like driving.’ His dark eyes flick sidewards and electricity thrums between us.
I’d like him to drive me.
And I’m not talking about in his car.
Fuck.
I’m drunk.
Drunk and horny.
Not a good combination, but an inevitable one when my husband hasn’t touched me for well over a year and I don’t have the time, energy or inclination to get myself off.
‘What about a bodyguard then? Don’t you have one of them?’
‘Do I need one?’ His tone is overtly flirtatious.
‘DoI?’ I ask quietly, as his eyes drift to mine again.
He lifts his hand from the steering wheel, and I think he’s going to drop it on my thigh, but instead, he grabs the gear stick, then turns to fully face me over the console. ‘I would never hurt you.’
There’s something so sincere, so honest, so wholesome in his tone that I believe him. We both know what he’s referring to, and it isn’t physical danger. He knows what his friend is like. He knows, and he’s assuring me that I’m safe with him.
Tears spring to my eyes.
I tear my gaze away and stare out at the moonlit sky.
‘Are you hungry?’ He asks, seeming to sense my need for distraction.
‘Starving,’ I confess.
‘What would you like?’
I don’t hesitate. ‘A bagel slathered with butter and a full fat Coke.’
‘Hmm.’ He pulls out into the traffic, glancing around. ‘Would you settle for some garlic cheese fries?’
‘Yuck.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘What about thin sliced pizza?I’d smash a Penne alla vodkaright now. Or even a baked ziti pizza.’
It’s his turn to wrinkle his nose. ‘Only Americans would put carbs on carbs.’ He shakes his head.
‘Don’t knock it until you try it.’ My stomach gurgles. I’m praying it’s the thought of food and not because I’m about to taste Dirty Martinis again for all the wrong reasons.
‘Don’t suppose there’s any late night diners around here that I don’t know about? I’d settle for some pancakes.’
‘No diners.’
