The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(4)

Shit!

I said something then. It was loud, but it was lame.

And what it was was, “Ben!”

He didn’t even look at me. He turned to Cindy and said, “I’ll take that now.” She must have given my bag to him because he immediately went on. “Thanks, beautiful. You’ve been great. Got it from here.”

After delivering that, he turned and started walking to his SUV.

I glared around his shoulder at Cindy.

Cindy stood with hands on the handles of the wheelchair and grinned at me.

“I’m canceling that big bouquet of flowers and three-layers-deep box of Fannie May I ordered for the nurse’s station!” I yelled.

She pulled her phone out of her scrubs, lifted it, and I knew she took a picture while Benny opened the back door to his SUV in order to toss my bag in, because she called, “That’s okay. I’ll share this shot with the girls.” She looked from her phone to me. “This’ll be all the thanks we need.”

I had more to say to my now-ex-nurse Cindy, but I lost sight of her and couldn’t retort when Benny deposited me (gently, God!) into the front passenger seat.

I turned my glare to him.

“You aren’t taking me home,” I declared.

“You’re right. I’m not,” he replied, attention on the seatbelt.

He wasn’t?

“I am in your truck, Ben,” I pointed out.

His eyes came to mine, and I was glad he had his shades on because he had beautiful eyes. Amazing. A rich dark brown that could dance with laughter and warm with feeling, both having the capacity to melt your heart.

Unfortunately, his eyes also looked good hidden behind his silver wire-rimmed shades.

“I’m not takin’ you home. I’m takin’ you to my home,” he clarified.

I blinked. I stared. I totally forgot about how cool his sunglasses looked.

Then I lost my mind.

“I’m not goin’ to your house!” I shouted.

“Yeah, you are,” he replied, attention back to the seatbelt he was pulling around me, shoulder strap yanked way out to clear my head.

This was thoughtful. I didn’t need that strap pressing against my body. It would kill.

I ignored his thoughtfulness and declared, “I’m goin’ to my house.”

“Nope. You aren’t.”

“I ordered a taxi,” I told him.

“Found him. Gave him a twenty. Sent him on his way.”

He was leaning in to latch the seatbelt, and since he was that close, I got a good whiff of his aftershave. I also got a good view of the back of his head with his thick, black, wavy hair.

It was hair you’d run your fingers through just because. Any occasion granted you, you’d take it.

If you were standing close and talking.

If you were lying around, tangled up together, watching TV.

If you were kissing.

I closed my eyes.

God really, really hated me.

I opened my eyes. “You can’t send the taxi away. I gave them my credit card. They’re gonna charge me anyway.”

I heard the belt click and he adjusted his position so he was facing me. He was still leaning into the cab of the truck. He was still close. And I could still smell his aftershave.

It was spicy.

Yes, God hated me.

“I’ll reimburse you,” he said.

“Benny, this is not cool,” I snapped. “I’ve just been shot. I don’t need this.”

“You were shot a week and a half ago, babe. And if you felt shit, you wouldn’t be able to mouth off.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

Ben grinned.

My cl*t pulsed.

Yes. God so totally hated me. He was punishing me. Doing it on earth before He sent me to the fiery depths of hell.

Ben moved out of the cab and slammed my door.

It was at this point that I could make a break for it. Then again, I didn’t think the awkward, painful strolls I’d been taking around the hospital corridors had prepared me to make a desperate dash from lean, fit Benito Bianchi. Hell, if I was in perfect shape, I still couldn’t execute a desperate dash from Benny Bianchi.

So I didn’t make a desperate dash. I glared at him through the windshield as he rounded the hood of his Explorer, and I kept glaring at him as he pulled his long body into the driver’s seat. Committed to this act, I continued to do it as he switched on the ignition and guided the truck away from the curb.

It was then I noticed he didn’t put on his seatbelt.

“It’s law to wear your seatbelt in Illinois, Benny,” I shared snippily.

He didn’t glance at me, kept negotiating the rounding drive out of the hospital, but reached for his seatbelt and clicked it in place.

Well, hell. He took direction. Even snippy direction.

I didn’t need to know that either.

He pulled out onto the street.

“Can you explain why you’re kidnapping me?” I requested to know.

“Kidnapping you?” he asked the road.

“I am in your truck against my volition,” I pointed out.

“Right.” He grinned. I saw it and my mouth went dry. “Then I guess I’m kidnapping you,” he finished good-naturedly.

It was unfortunate that it was highly likely I’d rip my gunshot wound open if I attempted to scratch his eyes out. Furthermore, I didn’t want to survive genuinely getting kidnapped by a madman, running through a forest, ending up shot, only to get in a car accident mere minutes after being released from the hospital.