The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(26)

I wanted to make him say please, but as my gaze coasted to his, the dark storm that looked back at me changed my mind real quick. I walked past him and got in his stupid car.

My frustration mixed with turmoil. What would he do with the information about Tyler? I didn’t think Papà would care so much about a stage kiss, but with his arm around me, asking me out . . . my stomach turned. That could sound bad.

I was resenting Nicolas Russo so much right now that I tried to ignore the warm, masculine scent filling the car. Sandalwood, clean skin, and a certain danger that made my pulse drift between my legs. I tried to ignore the way it invaded my senses and made the corners of my mind fuzzy. It hit me like a shot of liquor, and I distracted myself with buckling my seatbelt.

When he sat in the driver’s seat and shut the door, the car felt infinitely smaller. Quiet enough I could hear my heartbeat and warm enough the heater had to be on. Was it his body putting out that much heat?

Mist hit the windshield, running down the glass and blurring the outside world. I was alone with him in such a small space. The fact resounded in my mind, playing havoc on my nervous system.

Without a word to me, Nicolas typed out a text. Probably to my papà. I could only imagine it read something like: Package picked up safely.

My fingernails dug into my palms.

How did I even address him? I’d never found it so difficult to speak with someone before, but all rational thoughts flew away when he was near.

“Nicolas.” I hesitated. “Maybe we started off on the wrong foot . . . at church last weekend. I didn’t mean to glare at you, truly.”

His gaze flicked to me. A hint of amusement played in it, though it wasn’t normal amusement. This man did everything a little dark.

My cheeks warmed. “And I wanted to say I apologize. I was uncertain about the marriage in the beginning, but now . . . I think you and Adriana will be . . . good together.” I forced my sweetest smile.

It didn’t get me the reaction I wanted.

He let out a sardonic breath and tossed his phone in the center console. “Glad to hear it, but I’m still telling your papà about your romance with the dancer.”

My smile and stomach fell.

He put the key in the ignition and started the car. A metal song played quietly on the radio. I couldn’t help but notice it was the same station Adriana listened to sometimes.

“Wait,” I rushed out, putting one hand on the gearshift as if I could stop him. He glanced at it and then back at me, his gaze conveying he would remove it if I didn’t. “I’m telling you, there is nothing going on with Tyler. It wasn’t even a kiss! I was merely . . . taking his life away. It was completely platonic.”

He didn’t say anything, but his stillness made me believe he was wavering.

I swallowed. “Nicolas, please . . .”

His eyes sparked. “What’s my name?”

I paused, opened my mouth but then closed it. I didn’t want to say it. Nicolas Russo had a reputation. Nicolas Russo was a stranger. Nicolas was distant. I didn’t want to call him Nico. It would flow too easily off my lips. Sound too good on my tongue.

We sat in tense silence for a moment, before he gave his head a shake. “Usually, when someone wants something, they appease the one they’re trying to persuade. A basis of negotiating.” He told me this like I was stupid, and I flushed in irritation.

“There’s no negotiating with a cheat.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

He ran a hand across his face, wiping off a hint of amusement. “Touché.” Glancing at me sideways, he gave me an appraisal, maybe impressed I had the guts to say what I did. Licking his lips, his deep, serious voice rushed over me. “So prove it to me.”

My brows knitted. “Prove what?”

“That it was platonic.”

“How am I supposed to—?” My stomach erupted with butterflies when it dawned on me. The shock of what he wanted me to do settled in the space like an elephant in the room. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

It was this moment right here that his reputation became clear to me. His cousin’s death hadn’t done it. The articles of his pursuits hadn’t done it, but his cool, indifferent expression as he laid this trap for me did.

He was waiting for me to say it would be inappropriate. Then my “it was platonic” excuse would crash and burn before my eyes.

I didn’t know why he cared so much about Tyler, but I was betting he’d gain a little male satisfaction from keeping his future sister-in-law away from non-Italian men. Benito always stayed in the damn car—why couldn’t he have picked me up today?

I wasn’t going to fall into his trap. That meant I could only call Nicolas Russo’s bluff.

“Okay.” My calm response filled the small space, like even the air hadn’t expected it.

The tiniest flicker passed through Nicolas’s gaze. He scraped his teeth across his bottom lip, maybe in surprise I hadn’t walked into the hole he dug for me. The action only made me stare at his mouth. Warmth filled my stomach.

“Okay,” he finally responded, his eyes darkening around the edges.

What.

He thought I was bluffing. I wasn’t bluffing—he was supposed to be. Nicolas was playing with me. He wanted to see me squirm—I could see that leaking through his cool expression. It sent the burn of frustration through me.