Page 14 of Release Me
I watch him through the darkness.
Course there isn’t. I finger the charm bracelet on my wrist and sigh. ‘Nothing here feels like home.’
With his eyes firmly focused on the road ahead, I’m free to perve on—I mean study—his razor sharp jawline and chiselled cheekbones with no danger of being busted.
I sigh.
He really is fucking beautiful, and it’s not the alcohol clouding my vision. His full lips part like he’s about to speak, then his mouth closes again.
‘What?’ I probe.
His head twists towards me for a split second as his eyes search my face. ‘I could make you pancakes, I suppose.’
‘You can cook?’
He scoffs. ‘How hard can it be?’
God, this man makes me laugh! ‘That wasn’t a yes. Do you even have the right ingredients?’ I really would like some pancakes right now.
‘We might not do pasta on pizza, sweetheart,’ my stomach flips at the term of endearment, ‘but I’m pretty sure every house in Ireland has eggs and flour,’ he says wryly.
‘Ah ha!’ I lurch forward in my seat. ‘But do you have the main ingredient?’
‘Which is?’
‘Maple Syrup, of course!’ I slap his leg before I can stop myself. The sensation of his thick muscular quad beneath my palm sends shockwaves charging through every inch of my body. I snatch my hand back like I’ve been scalded.
A heavy silence falls between us. This attraction between us is nothing new… but somehow, tonight, it’s different. Maybe because we both know my husband’s in Paris with his latest floozy. Rian looked so guilty when the girls mentioned Paris it was as if he was the one cheating on me.
After several long beats, I reach out to turn the radio on. Weirdly enough, he seems to have the same idea at the exact same second. Our fingers collide in front of the sound system, and once again, my hand is on fire. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble awkwardly.
‘Me too,’ Rian says. For some reason, I get the feeling he’s not referring to our fingers touching, but something else entirely.
‘Maybe I should just go straight home.’ I don’t want to. The thought of spending another lonely night padding around the penthouse is doing absolutely nothing for me. But going home with Rian isn't my smartest move.
And it’s not him I don’t trust.
It’s me.
Every time he’s near me, heat creeps into my skin, slides beneath it and swirls through my sad little soul. It’s not just the physical attraction. He has this innate way of making me smile, even when I don’t want to. I feel… happier when he’s making one of his suggestive jokes.
‘You’re not going home until you’ve eaten something, whether it’s pancakes, pizza, or the fries,’ he says in a voice that I don’t feel like arguing with.
‘Fine.’ I rest my head back against the headrest and allow my eyelids to flutter closed. I’m so tired. So very tired.
I jolt awake to find we’re in the underground car park of Rian’s apartment block. His hand is clasped around mine. Has he been watching me sleep?
If it was anyone but him, it would be creepy rather than cute, but I don’t have time to overthink it. The urge to be sick is rising rapidly in my stomach. I yank the door handle and hop out as quickly as my heels permit, and manage to drag myself out of his sight before I vomit into the nearest gutter.
Classy, right?
Could I be anymore disgusting?
Rian hovers behind me, the sound of his pacing footsteps echoing off the concrete. I reach into my handbag for a tissue and dab my mouth. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I finally say, spinning slowly to face him.
Instead of disgust on his face, his expression is one of concern. ‘Don’t be sorry. You think I’ve never been sick before? Never overshot the runway? Happens to the best of us, sweetheart.’
That word—sweetheart. It sets my soul on fire.
