Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(30)

He shifted his leg wider, pressing a knee against mine.

Turned on beyond reason, the near-shock of the contact jolted an electric current outward. Upward. The sensation sizzled up the inside of my thigh until it reached right between my legs. My pulse throbbed there. Hot. Heavy.

I stared at the seemingly innocent spot where knee touched knee. Then I swallowed hard and sucked in a shaky breath.

Only after a slow, long exhale did I dare speak. “Is your skin prickling?”

He’d been a marble statue for the last few minutes, inches away, yet only moving his hands on the wheel to make slight driving corrections.

But at my comment, his low chuckle boomed out. Then nothing.

I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile. Because it wasn’t funny. Even though it was. “It’s like the air in here has supercharged.”

“The air in here.” His deep voice spoke the words slow and flat. Like he pondered each word, searching for hidden meaning.

I moved closer, pressing my entire thigh along his, making him adjust left for the intrusion. “Maybe it’s not the air.”

“Probably not.” He stole a glance at me.

Even in the dim light, I caught it. Hard to miss. In that brief moment, with the supercharged air—that wasn’t really the air—a spark ignited. White hot and glowing. Even if neither of us could see it, in spite of the fact that we didn’t want to admit it, we both felt it.

A connection pulled taut between us. Always there, but undeniable and growing stronger.

Just like it had when we’d almost kissed.

His right hand released its grip from the wheel and lowered toward me.

On instinct, I reached toward him, wanting to grasp his hand.

Enough with the elusive thing we’d been dancing around, too afraid to embrace. Alcohol had dulled my senses. And I was tired. And lonely.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with him. Maybe he wasn’t like other guys.

A buzz stuttered into the tense silence.

His hand froze in midair a mere inch from mine. He shot a quick glance at the road, then down at the carpeted floorboard. His phone screen glowed in soft blue up at us.

He leaned forward and scooped up the phone, pressing the side button to light it back up. “Fuck.” He spat out the word on a sharp exhale.

Without warning, he simultaneously spun the wheel hard and grabbed my forearm to prevent me from jerking toward my door.

“Gotta make a quick stop.” His brows pinched together.

I straightened, sobering instantly.

The formerly heat-charged air? Iced over.

Lines etched into his forehead as he gripped the top of the steering wheel, wringing the leather-covered metal so hard it looked ready to bend under the crushing pressure. His chest expanded slowly, froze when he held his breath for a beat, then collapsed with a hard whoosh.

I frowned. “Is everything okay?”

Clearly it wasn’t. I’d never seen him like this. Anger emanated from him. And something more. Something unidentifiable.

“No. But it will be. Has to be.” The last three words were barely audible.

Unsure what to do to ease his distress, I put a hand on his knee and squeezed. Wasn’t much. But when his next breath exhaled a little calmer, I was glad I’d made the effort.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

I shouldn’t have taken the curt word to heart. His rejection wasn’t personal. I got that. But we’d been so close only seconds ago. Now it felt like we were a million miles apart.

The moment the truck jolted to a stop alongside an old redbrick apartment building, he flung open his door and jumped out.

When I opened my door too, he popped his head back into the cab. He gave me a pleading look on a heavy exhale. “I’m sorry about the detour. But I need you to stay here.”

I shot him a deadpan look. “You’re kidding.” I glanced out the windshield at the sketchy neighborhood. Trash clumped the gutters. A couple of vagrants wandered the streets.

“Please.” As he stared at me, he started breathing heavy. And bouncing. Like his legs wanted to sprint toward his undisclosed destination, but he couldn’t race off until I fired the starting gun.

“Go.” I couldn’t stand to see his tortured expression. Not if I caused any part of it.

He pressed the automatic door lock and a loud click sounded before he slammed his door shut and ran off.

Inhale. Exhale.

My legs began to bounce too as nervous energy spun tighter and tighter inside me. I needed to tear off after him. I could convince myself he wasn’t in his right mind and didn’t realize that even with the doors locked, I wasn’t safe against some thug with a gun or a baseball bat. But really, a need to somehow protect him from an unknown threat, and an overriding curiosity about the man who shared very little about his life, won out.

I jumped out, relocked the doors before shoving mine shut, then ran after him into the lobby. The elevator doors were just closing. I watched as each floor number momentarily lit up until the one farthest right stayed illuminated: 5.

Searching around the corner, I found the stairwell.

“Piece of cake,” I muttered under my breath as I leapt onto the first step, then jogged upward. “Like a metal mountain.”

Echoes bounced off the walls from my footfalls.

My thighs began burning between the third and fourth floors. On my way up to the fifth, my pace slowed.