Page 48 of Worth Every Penny
Nico’s eyebrow slides upwards, disapproval pulsing off him, and his words from last night crash into my mind.
Stop. Keep your fucking clothes on.
My memories might be blurry, but I definitely remember the fury in his eyes when he said that. In all the time I’ve known Nico Hawkston, I’ve never seen him look so angry.
I give an involuntary shudder and decide I don’t want to piss him off, so when he opens the passenger door for me, I get in without comment. Nico walks round to the driver’s side and takes his seat.
With the doors closed, the car feels too small. Nico’s energy spills out everywhere, and even though he’s not looking at me, let alone touching me, somehow it feels like he is. Invisible fingers stroke my skin, raising tiny hairs and sending shivers down the back of my neck. Even my toes tingle.
I feel himeverywhere.
Nico keeps his eyes on the road and we say nothing as he drives too fast through London’s narrow residential streets, but I don’t feel unsafe for a second. His unwavering focus has an allure I wasn’t expecting, and each time he shifts the gear stick, the movement is so natural, so smooth, sopowerful, that it kindles heat between my legs.
His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, and I get the bizarre urge to run my fingers down the veins on his arms, following their path over the back of his hands and between his knuckles. There’s no sign that he hit someone last night. He must know exactly how to throw a punch.
Butterflies dance in my stomach at the thought.
I’m so fucked.
Closing my eyes, I let my head fall against the headrest. No point denying it. I’m just as attracted to him now as I was when I was a teenager, and in the interim, my desires have taken on a far more libidinous edge.
A thick silence falls between us, and for a while, I watch the streets outside flash by. Finally, I summon the courage to address the issue that’s been bothering me. “I can’t believe you hit Michael Drayton.”
Nico glances at me. “Is there a question in there?”
My heart is thumping uncomfortably. “Why did you do it?”
I scan Nico’s face, but there’s no sign he’s remotely unsettled by this line of interrogation.
“He was assaulting you.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Hmm. My mistake,” he says casually, like hitting an A-list celebrity is no big deal, but his fingers clench a little harder around the steering wheel.
“And taking me to the penthouse?”
He shifts gear, not taking his eyes off the road as we slip onto the motorway. He slides through traffic to the fast lane. “You fell asleep. I couldn’t ask you where you lived.”
“You could have called Jack.”
He nods without looking at me. “Next time I’ll do that. Or—” He pauses so long that a nasty feeling bubbles up in the pit of my stomach. If we weren’t travelling eighty miles an hour down the motorway, I’d be tempted to open my door and roll out of the car. “You could have told me your address.”
My chest is tight and hot all at once; there’s no way I can take a breath because my lungs have solidified.
“Couldn’t remember it,” I mumble, so quietly that I barely hear myself.
“Kate,” Nico purrs, and the sound of my name on his tongue makes me ache. When was the last time he used my nickname? I miss the intimacy.Little Kwas his, and Kate is everyone’s. “No one forgets their address. Even when you’re so drunk you can’t remember your own fucking name, you always get home.”
I could sit here and die of embarrassment, like I’ve been doing every second of the day since I woke up, or I can address this head on. Maybe I’m still drunk, because I pick the latter option. “What exactly are you implying? That I deliberately pretended not to remember where I lived so that we had to share a hotel room?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he taps the steering wheel with his index finger.
Shit. I don’t know why raising this seemed like a good idea.
“Yes,” Nico says.
The word condenses behind my breastbone. I guess we’re not messing around anymore.