23: Into the Fire

Quincy St. Martin

In the end, Cat tells me that she’ll finish cleaning up for me and practically pushes me to get my stuff at the back then toward Caspian, who is still waiting after almost three hours.

He steers me toward a flashy red Porsche. I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. How typical. The car fits him. He’s probably one of those spoiled trust fund kids.

“What?” he asks me.

“Nothing,” I answer quickly. He opens the door for me while eyeing me suspiciously.

“I can feel you judging me, princess,” he says as I climb in.

I’ve never been in one of these cars, and I have to admit I’m quite curious despite my outward show of disdain. The smell of leather, but mostly him, fills my nose as soon as I get in. The seat is low to the ground, and the soft upholstery conforms to my body.

I become conscious of how intimate it feels in the close proximity of his car as soon as he gets in and closes the door. The air feels heavy around us. He places one hand on the gearshift and another on the steering wheel. I notice how elegant his long fingers are. His nails are perfect.

Does he get manicures? He probably does. Manicures and pedicures and maybe the whole works. It takes a while for me to realize that we’re not moving. I look up at his glittering eyes, studying me. Watching me watching him. Our eyes meet, and my breath becomes choppy.

“What now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Again, I can feel you judging me, princess.” His voice sounds huskier and sexy, but playful.

From the intense look in his eyes, I know he can feel this energy that hums between us. The crackles of electricity in the air pull us like two powerful opposite magnets.

I’m glad he’s trying to keep it light.

“I’m not judging you,” I quickly deny. Yes, I am. I tug at my ponytail, trying not to scratch my head. His hand drifts up to touch my hair, but then he quickly drops it down then curls it into a fist around the gearshift and tears his gaze away.

“What?” I ask breathlessly. I feel like I’m in a daze, staring at his profile now.

He takes a deep breath and laughs. “Nothing.”

“Really? Nothing?” I ask him. I can’t believe he’s throwing my word back at me.

He sighs, resigned, before he mutters reluctantly, “I only have so much self-control, princess. If I touch you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

Then, without warning, he starts the car and accelerates so fast that I’m thrust back in my seat. God help me.

He drives like a racetrack driver. Fast.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a restaurant.”

“At this hour?” It’s already after 11:00 p.m.

“Yeah.” He’s not even looking at me.

He’s totally focused on the road after that. Not speaking. His expression grim. He looks furious even. His hands are gripping the steering wheel. What now?

We stop at a small parking lot not long after, and he jumps out like he’s on fire as soon as he cuts the engine. What? Now he can’t get away from me fast enough?

I get out of the car before he gets around to open the door for me. I think I slam the door of his expensive car a little too loudly.

“What is your problem?” I yell at him.

I don’t know what it is about him that makes me feel…more. More than I regularly feel with other people. More hurt when he leaves me alone or more annoyed when he opens his mouth, a wreck when I’m not near him, crazy giddy when I see him.

Insanely jealous when he’s around other girls, and I’m not a jealous person. My stupid heart pounds so fast it almost hurts, my tummy swarms with crazy butterflies, and electricity crackles in the air in his presence.

Now I’m more pissed off when he seems pissed off, and I don’t even know why. My feelings are all over the place. Everything is just…more.

He rounds the car and saunters toward me like he’s stalking prey. “You! You are my problem,” he says.

I fold my arms over my chest. Well, that hurts.

“You came to me, not the other way around, buddy! Nobody forced you to take me out if you didn’t want to be near me, you know?”

“You think I don’t want to be near you?” he asks me.

He towers over me now. His intense green eyes are focused on me.

“This thing between us is too strong already. Too much to handle when we’re alone in the car. All I could smell was you. I was about to lose it. Any longer in there and you’d be wearing more than just my temporary hickey.”

“What does ~that~ mean?” I ask.

“Oh, you know what it means, princess,” he says.

His lips curl up into a sneer. His smile almost seems cruel.

“Let’s go into the restaurant where there are people around so that I’m not too tempted to…”

To what? He leaves the sentence hanging as he takes off. I’m half tempted to leave. Just run off and be miserable again. He’s waiting for me at the door, so I know he’ll catch me if I try to run anyway.

Maybe I do know what he means. but my brain is in denial.

It’s a Russian restaurant in West Hollywood. Surprisingly, it’s quite busy with a few patrons despite it being late. The walls are painted black, but there are mirrors and lights everywhere.

It’s not over-the-top posh but classy enough that I feel underdressed in my old jeans, plain gray T-shirt, and sneakers. I probably smell like coffee too.

Caspian whispers something to the host, who respectfully nods then leads us to a table. I sneak a glance at the people around me as we walk past. I’m not too sure if they’re all humans. Most of them are rather stylish. Some are even dressed in all leather.

Quite a few of them are eyeing me with a strange gleam in their eyes. As if sensing my unease, Caspian places his hand at the small of my back. His touch seems possessive, as if he’s staking a claim. The feel of his large hand firm on my back also calms me and makes me feel safer. I instinctively move closer to him.

The corner of his lips curls up slightly into a smile at my move, even though he’s staring ahead, his gaze following our host. We are taken to the very back of the room. It’s a booth with a clear glass partition that separates us from others.

The host slides the glass door closed and leaves after Caspian gives him a few orders in a foreign language, I’m guessing Russian.

I can still see other patrons on the other side of the glass partition. It gives us a little privacy even though we’re not alone.

“Now nobody can hear us,” he says as he slides into the seat next to me. His thigh and knee are touching mine.

One hand slides to the back of the seat behind me and another on top of the table in front of me, caging me in as I’m pressed against the padded wall on the other side of me.

A wicked, sexy smile appears on his lips. “Now are you ready to be devoured, my love?”