Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(20)

I don’t know this man well, but I know that “no regrets” means not holding back. With another inhaled breath, I press my hand to his arm and try to turn the tables on him. “I could offer to get out of the car—”

He turns to me and my hand falls away, his expression a hard mask no amount of shadows can disguise. “No more back and forth. I need you in or out.”

“I was going to say, but I won’t offer. I won’t get out of the car. Whoever that was—”

“My brother. That was my brother.”

I hear betrayal in his voice and I understand in ways I can never share. And I don’t think that’s what he needs from me anyway. He needs something without complications and that’s me. “Well then,” I dare to say. “Your brother, your father, and the rest of the world, can’t have you tonight. Because just as you said I am yours, you’re mine.”

Those gray eyes of his sharpen, slicing through the darkness like hot ice and the impact of this man’s full attention is hard to describe. I have this uncanny sense of him seeing hidden pieces of me that I shelter with care and that he shouldn’t see. And then suddenly, his fingers tunnel into my hair and he drags me closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he says, and a moment later his mouth slants over mine, his tongue pressing into my mouth, stroking deeply, and I swear I feel it in the most intimate part of me. But more than anything I taste that harshness of turmoil in him that has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with why he’s here with me tonight. And now I know why it has to be me and no one else. Because we are the same in ways that needs no words to be understood.

He deepens the kiss, kissing me like I have never been kissed. Like I am his next breath and I have never been anyone’s next breath. I moan and he responds by tearing his mouth from mine, his breath a warm whisper against my cheek as he lingers and promises, “You will do that many more times tonight.” He releases me and settles back in his seat, and this time he places the car in gear, and us in motion. Only we’ve been in motion since the moment I reached for a cup of coffee that wasn’t mine, but I think it was always meant for me. It’s a silly, fantastical idea for a woman who, at any other time, wants to believe stealing the power of the universe is as simple as Shane directed. Simply not giving it the power.

He stops us at the edge of the garage, waiting for traffic to pass before we exit and my gaze lands on the Bentley emblem, a “B” framed by wings. I reach out, touching it, a multitude of emotions rushing over me. I want this car. I want the life I was supposed to have, and it hits me that in the last few months I’ve become a victim, not because of what has happened to me, but rather, how I’m dealing with it.

“Have you ever driven one?” Shane asks, his voice snapping me out of my reverie.

“Not the Continental GT Speed Convertible.” I run my hand over the tan leather on the door, glancing up at him. “With a custom color package inside and out.”

“So the dream car isn’t just a Bentley,” he says, turning us onto the main road where we’re immediately delayed by a red light. “It’s this Bentley.”

“Yes. This Bentley, which I know has an obscene price tag, but a girl has to set big goals.” I sigh. “Preferably while employed.”

“I have no doubt you’ll get a job quickly.” The light turns green and he reaches for my hand, placing it over the silver stick between us, placing us in gear, and accelerating. “Now you’ve driven your dream car.”

I laugh, squeezing the stick as he shifts yet again. “This is not driving it but I still like it.”

He cuts me a look, a bit of his dark energy at bay now. “We can change that, you know? I can pull over—”

“No,” I object quickly, shocked at the offer. “I’m not driving it.”

“Why?”

“I could wreck it.”

“I have insurance,” he says, cutting us into the driveway of the Four Seasons hotel.

“No,” I say, as two doormen hurry to our sides who he waves away.

“I have insurance,” he repeats.

“I don’t want to drive, but thank you. You drive. Please. Let’s get out of here.”

He does the opposite, placing the car in park. “I live here.”

“You … live in a hotel?”

He turns to face me. “The top floors are residential, which means we have the added benefit of room service if we so choose.” He reaches up and brushes hair from my eyes, his fingers grazing my skin and sending a shiver down my spine. “You can drive the car.”

“No. But thank you. Besides. I thought you wanted us to…”

“Should I use my highly creative imagination and fill in the blank?”

“No,” I say quickly. “Or yes. But don’t voice where that leads us or I might chicken out and never get out of this car.”

“Too late to escape.” He lifts his hand toward my window and the door opens instantly. “See you on the other side.” He turns away and exits the car.

Nerves rush over me, and I am jittery inside and out. For the first time in my life, I’m going to have sex with a stranger, only he doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore, and somehow that is both better and worse. It’s a thought I can’t begin to make sense of at this moment. Inhaling, I step out of the car and murmur my appreciation to the Asian bellman I guess to be around fifty. “Welcome, miss,” he greets me, his eyes lighting with a mix of surprise and interest, and I suddenly wonder if I’m outside Shane’s normal box. And how many women are in that box. “I’m Tai,” he adds, as I try to shake off that it isn’t important. This is one night. “And,” he continues, “I’m a regular around here, and at your service. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”