Page 42 of Sweet Temptation

“You really think that’s necessary?” Summer pressed. She seemed to be turning it over in her head, but at least she sounded concerned now, like she was taking this conversation seriously.

“You don’t have much control over what happens to him in the system if they charge him with, what, attempted break and enter? He didn’t have a weapon on him or verbally threaten to harm you. Right?”

“Right,” she said quietly.

“So, a restraining order can do more for you than some minor charges that could get dropped, especially if he can swing a good lawyer.”

“You think he’ll show up at my house again?”

“If he does, and you’ve got the restraining order, the police will arrest him again and this time he’ll be charged in criminal court.”

Or maybe I’ll accidentally stab him.

“And in the meantime… your plan is to just move in with me?” She was looking at me again. She seemed to be paying more attention to me than the road. “You’re gonna bring your jammies over and everything?”

I nodded toward the front of the car. “Summer.” She hit the brakes as someone cut her off. We were jammed up in traffic on West Georgia, pretty bumper-to-bumper. “Keep your eyes on the road. Do you want to turn the music down?”

“No, I don’t.” She turned it up a bit.

Fuck. Electricity.

My dick actually throbbed when she defied me like that.

What the fuck was going on here?

I tried to tell myself it was the dress pants. They were just too damn tight.

“I don’t wear jammies,” I muttered.

“What?” She looked at me and the car swerved a little; she just about sideswiped another car. I reached and grabbed the wheel.

“Park,” I ordered.

She brought us to the curb, actually listening to me for once, and I released the steering wheel. She’d parked us in a no-stopping zone, so I told her, “Put your hazards on.”

She flicked them on and looked at me, her pale-blue eyes alert and charged like electric sockets.

I looked away. “You shouldn’t drive when you’re distracted,” I told her, pretending to watch traffic.

“I’m not distracted,” she insisted. “I’m not scared of Blair Sanchuk.”

That was a lie. She was scared, and she had reason to be.

I met her eyes again. “That’s not the distraction I meant,” I added bluntly.

Her sexy lips parted as her mouth drifted open.

Yeah. So now she knew that I knew she was getting flustered—over me—and it was affecting her driving. And yes, I was calling her on it.

Maybe I’d be flustered too, if I wasn’t so dead inside.

But flirting with her wasn’t my objective. I was here to insure her safety. I didn’t need any distractions.

Her face and her ass were distractions enough.

“From where I’m sitting,” she said, collecting herself, “you’ve already put me in more danger than you’ve saved me from. I’ve never been that close to a car accident in my life.”

She stared at me, and I stared right back.

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