Page 18 of Unbind

He releases me, thank fuck, though my back feels instantly colder when he removes his arm, and twists, opening the Snickers bar and handing it to me. I accept it wordlessly and take a bite, chomping down on the delicious mix of chocolate and caramel and salty peanuts.

Sooo good.

It gives me the confidence to glance to my left, where Gen sits, her face stricken and her hands clasped on her knees. I can’t muster a smile, but I give her a little nod, and she presses her lips together in a gesture of sympathy before asking, ‘Are you alright, sweetie?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ I nod again and take another mouthful of my bar, focusing on masticating thoroughly so I can absorb its sugar as quickly as possible. I’m well aware she’s never seen me like this. I’m always immaculately turned out andimmaculately behaved, remembering everyone’s name and greeting her members politely.Professionally.

She’s never seen me crying—last night excepted—and God knows what else: probably fitting and slurring and drooling. Dear God. I have no idea how on earth I’ll find the strength to pull myself together for my shift. I’ll have to redo my makeup. I must look an absolute state.

On my other side, Adam reaches behind me and rubs my back in circles. I’m stuck in the weirdest place between knowing intellectually that I hate him—fearhim—and liking the sensation of having a competent adult’s hands on me.

It must be primal. Right now, my nervous system knows I’m at far greater risk of being hospitalised with inadequate glucose than I am of having him beat the crap out of me or gouge my eye out in front of Gen.

And, loath as I am to admit it, I understand from my confused memories and from the disgusting mixture of glycogel and orange juice lingering in my mouth that I have him to thank for rescuing me from a worse crash. One where I might have had a full-on seizure or lost consciousness.

How could I be so fucking irresponsible? That’s not me. A key subset of my Little Miss Perfect persona is Little Miss Responsible. I blame my nerves over having to sit down with this arsehole.

I risk a glance to my right to see his gaze still trained on my Freestyle Libre app. He may have taken care ofmytears and eye makeup and snot and drool, but his face is still tear-stained, and those pale blue eyes I was begrudgingly admiring a few minutes ago are reddened.

He looks in far worse shape than Gen. He looks as though I scared the living daylights out of him. I wouldnothave pegged Adam Wright, coward and bully and violent thug, for a crier. He looks up, and our eyes meet. His palm is still doing circles of my back, the heat of it warming me through my dress.

‘You’re getting there,’ he says, flashing my phone at me.

‘Thank you,’ I manage. I’m not sure if it sounds ungracious or simply garbled given my mouthful of chocolate and my compromised motor skills.

‘No thanks needed,’ he says stiffly. It’s too awkward to hold his gaze. My skin should be crawling at this proximity to him, but I feel a different kind of discomfort. Less fear than excruciation at having shared a moment of intense vulnerability with such a monster. My eyes drop instead to his lapel.

‘Brioni,’ I mumble. Clearly my usual, carefully honed filters have left the building and failed to return.

He gives a low chuckle. ‘You’ve got a good eye. I think she’s getting there,’ he says to Gen, and I roll my eyes before slumping back against the cushions and letting them drift closed.

‘Stay like that, sweetie,’ Gen says in a low, gentle voice. ‘Just rest. You’ve been through a lot. When you’re ready, Adam would like to take you back to his place so he can get his doctor to look you over.’

No fucking way. Hell would have to freeze over first. I open my eyes and sit bolt upright, but Adam eases me back with a firm hand on my shoulder.

‘Lie back and close your eyes,’ he says. ‘Justlisten, okay?’

‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ I mutter.

‘Natalie.’ His voice is stern, but it’s also low and melodic. I bet he fools all sorts of people with that voice. ‘Listen to me. I know you’ve just had a very rough quarter of an hour, so I’m not trying to give you a hard time here. But the truthis, you had a nasty crash, and you scared the shit out of me and Gen, and I for one won’t be able to relax until you’ve got the all-clear from a doctor, okay?

‘Sending you back to Seven Sisters isn’t an option. You need to get checked out now, and you need some rest and a balanced dinner. I’m only a couple of miles away.’ He pauses. The fact that I’m too exhausted to bite his head off mid-speech is working in his favour.

‘I live right behind Kensington Palace,’ he continues, ‘and I have a car outside right now. Please believe me when I say I’m well aware there’s no one you’d rather get in a car with less than me. I know that. But I’m here, and you need to let me help you.’

I roll my head to one side and open my eyes. He’s staring down at me with a blistering intensity that makes my face heat.

‘I don’t need to let you help me,’ I whisper, because it’s true. I can take the pain of a taxi fare back home, heinous though it’ll be. Maybe Gen will let me relax here for another few minutes. Maybe?—

‘You don’t need to, but you should,’ Gen says gently. ‘I’ll vouch for Adam. He’s promised me you’ll be in safe hands. And there’ll be other people around. Right, Adam?’

‘Right,’ he says hurriedly. ‘My butler, at least two maids, my chef, the doctor…’ He trails off. ‘My PA too, possibly.’

Jesus. Sounds like a circus. Or Downton Abbey.

‘My point is,’ he says, ‘you won’t be alone with me at all. You’ll be perfectly safe and well cared for. I just want to get you checked over, maybe get some bloods taken.’ He pauses again. ‘It’s really the very least I can do for you.’

I stare at him. It’s the most ridiculous, farcical proposal ever, and there is literally no one on the face of the earth who’s less welcome and less entitled to see me like this thanhim.I just wish my brain and mouth would hurry up and work together to formulate a coherent argument to that point.

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