Page 30 of Touch

She staples her tongue to the roof of her mouth. As tempting as it is to share the particulars with Andrew, he’s not getting this information out of her.

“Hey.” Ulrik emerges from his dungeon and passes the deck on his way through the house. “Are we going or what?”

After the relative has slithered out of view, Andrew explains, “Ulrik left his car at work. He needs a lift on my way to the bookstore.”

Love nods. “Very well. I’ll join you.”

“On one condition.” He reaches out and rattles the arrows in her quiver. “Keep these to yourself around him.”

“Very well,” she lies.

10

Despite the truck’s lavish features, it reeks of stale feelings and exhaust with Ulrik nearby. The engine rumbles to life, the noise causing Love to bristle. Humans have invented many impressive things, however they rarely stop to consider the way those things sound, which is an affront to the inventions themselves.

Andrew scrapes frost off the windshield and smirks at her grimace. Noticing his mirth, Ulrik pauses in the act of opening his door. He frowns across the shining hulk of black metal, then purses his lips and climbs inside without a word.

The vehicle seats only two people, and Love doesn’t like being confined, so she springs into the rear bed. As she lands upright, Andrew’s long coat flaps around her legs. She whips open the oversized panels to adjust the hem of her dress, which has ridden up to within a millimeter of her ass.

Hyperawareness brushes down her spine like silk. She pauses in the act of shimmying and glances sideways, her attention stumbling across a set of pewter irises. Andrew’s smirk has burned to cinders. In defiance of the frigid temperature, his pupils glow like coals, that feverish stare compromising her virtue. Beneath Love’s skirt, the intimate walls of her cunt dampen, threatening to make this a rather slippery trip.

“Do you plan on driving or standing there?” Ulrik complains from the passenger seat.

Andrew ignores him, flares his nostrils, and mouths,Get. Down.

The demand entices Love. With a coy grin, she bats her lashes and mouths back,Make. Me.

Ah, another game. Who will yield first?

They watch each other. Although no one else can see her, Andrew’s dark gaze couldn’t care less. And although her agility is superior, that doesn’t faze him either. His command might be due to her immodesty, her safety, or both.

For a moment, he looks ready to snatch Love, flop her over his shoulder, and fling her into the narrow trench of space behind the interior seats. Yet in the midst of their staring contest, Andrew presses his tongue against the inner flesh of his cheek, the edge of his mouth crooking. If she can jump from a tree multiple stories aboveground and land on her feet, attack mortal men five times her size, and move at reptilian speed, this human author is astute enough to conclude that riding in the back of a truck won’t harm her.

Nevertheless, the expression Andrew throws Love before turning away promises she’ll pay later for baiting him. Spinning a set of keys around his index finger, the mortal walks backward, then stalks toward the driver’s side.

Love bites her lip. Smart man. As for her dress, he didn’t see anything this time, but she must rectify the issue of undergarments soon.

As the truck rolls onto the street, the wind skates across her cheeks, devoid of that mystery calledcold. Although he has grasped that she can handle the elements and isn’t made of porcelain, Andrew drives below the speed limit, his excessive caution endearing to her and offensive to Ulrik, who barks loudly enough from his seat that immortal hearing isn’t necessary.

Love perches on the hood, her bare legs dangling over the rear window, in Andrew’s line of sight. Apparently, she’s feeling contradictory today. At one point, she slides down a few inches, exposing the upper half of her thighs.

The truck swerves into the opposite lane before veering back. Love mashes her lips together. That was naughty and uncivil.

Andrew drives through the main square and past the gazebo. Many times, the latter has been a practical spot for matchmaking.

The truck pulls into a garage parking lot where workers drill power tools into vehicles propped on suspensions. Ulrik gets out, leans into the passenger window, and gripes, “What’s with you lately? The road is straight. Get your shit together.”

He disappears into the garage without a backward glance, and Andrew leaves without hesitation. Anticipation flutters in Love’s chest. The rest of the trip is quick, the conveyance swinging into a lot behind the bookstore.

The instant Andrew yanks on the parking brake, his door flies open. He’s out of the truck just as swiftly as Love. Bounding from the rear bed, she lands in front of him—then gasps when he throws his weight toward her, the archery clattering against her vertebrae as Andrew backs Love against the vehicle’s metal frame.

Planting his hands on the car, at either side of her waist, Andrew fences Love in without making physical contact. Smoke puffs from his mouth, which tilts at a wicked angle. His mussed hair grazes the collar of his jacket as he tips his face down to hers.

“Those distractions will cost you, Selfish Little Myth,” he murmurs, his breath stalking across her lips. “That stunt you pulled could have gotten us killed.”

“Which stunt?” she utters, their exhalations touching in a way the rest of their bodies cannot. “The arrow through your back door, my legs in your rearview mirror, or the skirt? Because each one of those lessons should teach you never to let your gaze wander.”

“In other words, you won’t take responsibility for your actions.”

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