Page 56 of Vicious Temptation

“Normal for a billionaire,” Bella shoots back, laughing. Her gaze sweeps over the line of vehicles again, and I chuckle.

“What, are you telling me Masseo doesn’t have nice cars? He’s got plenty of his own money.”

“That’s true,” Bella admits. “It’s not like I didn’t grow up comfortably, you’re right. But remember, I told you he doesn’t really care about them. So it was always just the standard black Cadillac SUV, or a town car—whatever suited a mafia man rich enough to have a driver. These are—” She looks around the garage again. “These are different. Stylish. Pretty. My father’s cars are—” She searches for the right word, and shrugs. “Boring.”

“I’m glad you think my choices aren’t boring.” I lead her to a dark blue Mercedes and watch Bella’s eyes shine as she opens the door and takes in the smooth wood-grain trim on the dash and the pristine cream leather. “You like cars, don’t you?”

“I—” She cocks her head, as if slightly confused. “Maybe? I’ve never thought about it until right now. But I think I might.”

Every part of my body tightens for a brief second, as I think about what else she might like, about what else she could discover with me, all of the things I could show her, that we could explore. I can feel the blood thrumming in my temples, thankfully still there and not below my hips, and I do my best to keep it that way.

I’m supposed to be teaching her to drive, and I can’t do that if I’m fighting off a hard-on the whole way.

“I’ll drive us out to the spot I have picked out,” I tell her. “And then we’ll swap, and work on your driving.”

Bella nods, her hands smoothing over the butter-soft leather as she slides into the passenger’s side. “This is beautiful,” she says softly. “I feel spoiled just sitting in it.”

I press the ignition, the car purring to life. “I’m happy to spoil you for as long as you’re staying here,” I tell her, before I can really think the statement through, and I see her mouth turn up at the corners. She’s smiled more in the last fifteen minutes than I think I’ve ever seen her smile steadily, and my heart trips in my chest as I ease the car up and out of the garage, out into the sunlight.

I shouldn’t have said that. Our conversation, the light banter, is more like a conversation between lovers than a boss and his employee, and I know that. And I can’t deny the other truth that is staring me right in the face, and has been for days now—if the circumstances were different, we would be lovers.

They’re not, I remind myself, as I pull out onto the road and watch Bella sigh happily out of the corner of my eye, her hands still rubbing over the seat as she reaches up to turn the radio on. The circumstances are not different. And I can’t let myself imagine what it would be like if they were, because that’s nothing other than a one-way ticket to trouble for us both.

To my surprise, she goes past the pop station, to something more folksy. “I like this,” she says, catching the look on my face. “Clara is more the Top-40 type. I always liked something softer. Maybe a little rock mixed in, depending on the day.”

She’s surprising me again. She surprises me more than anyone ever has, but I don’t know why, exactly. There’s nothing silly or vapid about Bella, and I like that about her, that there’s a gravity to her that I suspect she had even before her life took such a terrible turn. I just wish it hadn’t been underlined by something so awful.

I wish I’d known her four months ago. Six months ago. I wish I’d known her before the Bratva shredded her spirit and tore apart whatever hopes she might have had for her life. Which couldn’t have been much, because her father wouldn’t let her cultivate any. Wouldn’t find her a husband who would let her flourish and have her own life.

I can’t give her what I want. But I’m determined to give her a chance to have what she wants for herself.

We drive out to a big, secluded parking lot, the sounds of Lord Huron filling the car, and I put the Mercedes in park, turning off the radio so Bella can hear me without distractions. “Alright, let’s switch,” I tell her, taking off my seatbelt, and I see the flicker of nerves in her face.

“Okay.” She swallows hard, sliding out of the car. I can see that nervousness grow as she comes around to slide into the driver’s seat, her fingers tapping nervously against her thighs. “What if I’m bad at it?” she blurts out as I sit next to her, her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“Everyone’s bad at it at first. You get better with practice.” I say it without thinking, like so many other things around her, and the moment the words come out, I want to take them back. Her blue eyes meet mine, a sudden hitch in her breath, and I can feel the tension thickening in the air.

This was a bad idea. We’re alone together, in a deserted parking lot in my car, and a dozen thoughts flood my mind all at once, none of them appropriate for what we’re supposed to be doing here. All of the things I could teach her to be good at, all of the things I could show her, all of the things we could practice together—I have to hold back the floodgates with effort, because Bella is looking at me with wide eyes, her teeth still nibbling at her lower lip, and every fantasy that I’ve ever had about her soft mouth is threatening to crash over me and undo my self-control.

She doesn’t like being touched. I repeat it, over and over in my head, to remind myself that if I can’t so much as touch her hand, kissing her the way I want to right now is an impossibility. That if I reached for her and pressed my mouth against hers the way I’m imagining, she wouldn’t kiss me back. She’d have a panic attack, and neither of us wants that.

“Alright. We’re going to take this nice and slow. This is an automatic transmission, so all you have to do is put it in drive. And then just ease down on the gas. A little at a time?—”

Bella follows my instructions, placing her hands on the wheel where I point, putting the car into drive and then immediately clamping both hands back down onto the steering wheel. I force myself to direct her from my side of the car, rather than leaning in like I want to, because getting closer to her will help neither of us. Instead, I encourage her to press down on the gas, stifling a laugh when the car jerks forward and she gasps, immediately slamming on the brake hard enough to jolt us both backward.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaims, and I shake my head.

“You’re fine. Trust me, it’s always like this at first. Easy does it. Soon enough, you’ll get a feel for the car. One day, it’ll be second nature, and it’ll feel crazy to you that this was ever difficult.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that,” Bella admits, licking her lower lip nervously, but she presses down on the gas again, with the same result.

I can tell she’s frustrated, after the first few tries. She looks over at me, and I shrug. “We can practice as many times as you need to. We’ll have as many lessons as it takes. There’s no rush, Bella. You’ll get there when you do, and until then—” I smile reassuringly at her. “There’s no time limit. No expectations.”

She hesitates, as if the concept is foreign to her. But then again, why wouldn’t it be? Her father had no patience for her. No patience for her recovery, no patience for her to be ready to consider an engagement. I have a feeling that my patience with how long it’s going to take for her to learn how to drive is the first time she’s ever experienced that.

It only adds to my guilt over how much I want her. I can’t call her innocent or naive, not after what she’s been through. Still, there’s a fragility about her that makes me feel like I’m taking advantage for even imagining some of the things that have passed through my mind. And at the same time?—

She has a core of steel, that’s for sure, to have survived what she did. To have come out of it still functioning at all, to have been able to make the move to my house, start working for me when she’s never held a job before, to have adjusted to any of this. That dichotomy is part of what makes her so fascinating, part of what makes it so hard not to want her.

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