Page 20 of When Hearts Surrender

I gasp at the possessiveness in his voice.

Three quiet words. A rough, deep voice, which sounds so familiar and yet unfamiliar, like a voice from a dream a long time ago.

Dragging my eyes away from where his hand is still touching mine, I look at him, finding him staring at me, his turbulent eyes flashing with surprise before darkening into something undecipherable.

“W-What?”

He grips my hand harder; the dominance sending a wave of warmth inside me, chasing away the cold from a moment ago.

“Don’t go. Stay. You said the racers need a passenger in their car.”

“I didn’t say that. The announcer did.”

“Right. I didn’t come with anyone. So stay. Might as well be you.”

I squint, trying to read him, not sure if I should be offended by the phrasing of his words, like I’m his last choice or something. I guess that’s how Taylor felt that day when I called her up at the shelter.

“Well, if you put itthatway.”

His lips twitch, and the almost smile softens his cold, handsome face into something more approachable.

“Where are my manners?” He turns toward me again. This time, a smidgen of warmth appears in his eyes. “Will you do me the honor of sitting next to me for this race so I can be eligible to participate?”

“Are you a good driver? Any traffic tickets or accidents?” More worries occur to me—year of yeses, my ass. “What about alcohol or drugs? Did you drink or consume anything illegal before now?”

He snorts. “Shouldn’t you have thought of that before you got into my car?”

“I wasn’t thinking! I got caught up in my year of yeses and Jamie said if I got into your car, she’d consider giving me her family’s collect—”

I stop myself. There’s no need to tell him the sob story of how I’m begging for design collection opportunities from acquaintances in my circles. Any chance to prove to my horrible boss I have talent, that I deserve my place at McKenzie’s.

It’s the only reason I’m at this event tonight, when I normally avoid hanging out at The Orchid or events hosted by them. I grew up amid therich and the elite, whose social media posts consisted of “look at this new diamond necklace I got” or “we just bought our new vacationcottage,” which turned out to be fifteen-thousand square feet. I don’t plan on hanging out with the stuffy elite…unless I have to.

“Collection? What do you collect?”

“Never mind.”

The sweeping, romantic aria playing in his car fades to silence. “Turandot, huh? I didn’t peg you as an opera patron.”

His eyes sharpen with interest as he regards me. “You know your operas. Why do you think I’m not a patron of the arts?”

“Everyone else here is listening to rap or hip-hop or some top twenty song. And you…” I motion to the vicinity of his muscular torso, straining against the constraints of a thin white T-shirt, his black leather jacket giving him a bad boy edge, especially with the thick lock of hair falling over his forehead. All he’s missing is a pair of aviators and he’d be a dark-haired James Dean.

“My what?”

“You look likethat.” I groan inwardly.If there is a God, you have my permission to kill me now.I feel my face getting hotter.

He smirks. “Look like what?”

“A gentleman would not push when a lady is clearly embarrassed.”

“Who said I was a gentleman?”

“Ugh!” I throw my hands in the air and cross my arms over my chest.

He chuckles, then stops himself and frowns, like he’s surprised to hear his laughter.

A few seconds of silence pass by before the opening strains of a song fromLa Bohèmeplay from the high-quality surround sound speakers, which must’ve cost a fortune, since I feel like I’m sitting right in front of the orchestra and not inside a sports car in a random garage in Lower Manhattan.

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