Twisted (Never After #4)(61)

It’s not surprising, really. His movements are fluid, and his aura is always calm, in control. A smile slowly appears on my face.

“Will you show me something?”

He chuckles and straightens, walking toward me. He doesn’t stop until he’s directly in front of me, his hand reaching out to draw a fingertip down the side of my face.

His touch sends goose bumps down the length of my body. “Maybe later, if you’re a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy.

My stomach flips.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation and ignore the way he’s able to make my body go haywire. “I was starting to forget you even lived here, you’re gone so much.”

“I came home for you,” he says simply.

My stomach jumps, and I fucking hate myself for it. “Why?”

He steps forward, clean linen and spice hitting my nostrils when he gets close. “Because, gattina, I’m going to teach you how to drive.”





Chapter 26





Yasmin





“What do you mean? If I don’t stare at the road, how do I know where to drive?” I cry out, frustrated and half-convinced that he’s fucking with me.

Julian groans, throwing himself back in the passenger seat and running his hand through his inky black hair. “Listen to me,” he grits out. “If you look down at the pavement directly, you’ll crash. Just trust me.”

I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. “Trust you? You can’t be serious.”

“I haven’t given you any reason not to,” he says, picking invisible lint off his shirt.

“Right,” I snort. “Other than practically threatening to hurt Aidan if I don’t behave. Forcing me to marry you and lying to my father, who is dying. And continually making me heel like your bitch to save the people I care about.”

“Sounds to me like I’ve been nothing but honest.” He shrugs.

“I— ” Closing my mouth, I purse my lips.

He’s not wrong, I guess.

“Try again,” he soothes. “Just slowly press down on the gas. No need to get mad at it. She reacts better when you make her purr.” He brushes his hand against the dash.

Rolling my eyes at how sexual he makes his car sound, I take a deep breath, glancing around to make sure the parking lot we’re in is still empty. The last thing I need is for anyone else to see me try and fail at something most people know how to do.

Swallowing down the nerves, I do as he says, keeping my gaze trained in front of me instead of down at the road this time.

“Good,” he says when the car rolls forward.

Pride sparks in my middle. I’m doing it.

I accelerate slowly, very slowly, as in we’re going ten miles per hour tops. I’m going in a straight line and sitting in the driver’s seat, and suddenly, I’ve never felt more independent and powerful in my life. Which in turn makes me feel silly, because it’s such a simple thing.

“Perfect,” he continues. “Now turn to the right. You want the car to follow you, not the other way around.”

My left hand lifts from the wheel, gliding over the top to try to turn it.

The car loses control slightly, and I gasp, panicking and slamming on the brakes. My body jerks forward, the seat belt cutting into my neck.

I groan, frustrated, throwing my head back against the seat, the pride I just felt slipping away like sand through my fingers.

“This is pointless. I’m clearly not made for driving.”

“Do you always do that?” he questions.

“What?” I side-eye him.

“Give up so easily.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, which is good because I don’t have one to give him. Instead, I’m sure his question will just seep into my subconscious and fester there so I can overthink it later and wonder if he’s right.

Leaning over, he reaches out, grasping my hands in his, his touch sending a shock through my system.

Flashes of my vision in the shower, with his rough fingers dragging down the sides of my body, make my skin heat. I rub my thighs together and clear my throat.

Dammit.

“Keep them here.” He places my left hand on the wheel. “And here.” Right hand on the right.

“You should stop touching me,” I say, my voice low.

“Agree to disagree,” he replies, slowly taking his fingers away.

My stomach flips, and it pisses me off because it keeps doing that, and I don’t want to react to him at all. Besides, this is all just a ruse to keep me agreeable, I’m sure of it.

“You really don’t need to try so hard,” I bite out. “No one’s around to see you.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” He smirks. “Trying?”

I slap my hands against the wheel and the horn goes off, making my stomach surge into my throat and my heart skip.

He laughs. “Okay, that’s enough for the day. Let’s switch.”

I don’t argue, even though I really want to keep driving. Even more than that, I want to ask if he’ll bring me back so I can try again. If he’ll teach me more.

He’s the only person who’s seen me lacking and not just handed me whatever I need but given me the chance to learn it myself. It’s different from what I’m used to, and I like the way it feels.