Page 24 of Scorching Sienna

“No one will do anything to your plants. If they do, they answer to me. Okay?” I nod slowly but remember that he hasn’t answered the rest of my questions, the ‘hey’ I voice lost as he slams the car door.

I swivel in my seat to face him as he climbs in.

“And the rest?” He doesn’t answer, just leans over and pulls on my seatbelt, his presence invading my space, his face inches from mine.

Our eyes lock as he slowly pulls the seatbelt across my chest. Forest and spice torment my nostrils, and I can’t help my eyes from dipping down, touching lips pulled into a hard line.

“If you continue looking at me like that, we won't make it to our appointment.”

His thumb touches my bottom lip, pulling it down slowly to graze the pad of skin. It shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. But just that touch makes my clit pulse and my vagina clench involuntarily. Sweet geezus. Could I come from this? Could I?

He grunts and pulls back, air whooshing in and cool breath rushing into my nostrils and mouth.

The engine starts, and I breathe in and out, willing my racing heart to relax.

He pulls away, and I take one last look at the house I’ve lived in before it disappears from sight behind two moving vans.

“Where—”

He cuts me off, handing me a key.

“Your new place. It’s not far from the club. All your clothes, plants, and pictures will be there. Everything else will be put in a storage unit for now.”

The key glints in the sun, hanging from a keychain. I blink twice and then look at Damon, his face expressionless. My eyes meet with the keychain again. A rainbow. Our safe word.

I sit dumbstruck, trying to process everything that has just happened.

“Why are you punishing your lip?” My head whips up as I release the side of my bottom lip I have been chewing on. He isn’t even looking at me. How does he do that?

“Why are you doing this?” Yes, let's start with that question. Of the million I have.

“You need somewhere to live. I have somewhere for you to live. It makes sense. Next.” His answer is a very Damon answer, yet my heart still dips with disappointment.

No. I don’t look at that too closely, preferring instead to move on.

“How much is the rent?” This time, dark chocolate eyes meet mine.

“You have money. I have money. It’s not about the money. Next.”

A hoot behind us has Damon's eyebrows dipping ever so slightly, as they do when he is agitated. His eyes flick up to the rearview mirror before he pulls off, the green light no doubt prompting the impatient person behind us to break our moment.

“Where are we going?” Seeing as he is answering, I use that term loosely, my questions, I continue.

“Yvonne's.”

“Yvonne's,” I repeat, my eyes widening as I shift in my seat to face him. I’ve heard about this place, but surely it’s not one and the same.

A franchise boutique owned by Yvonne Myers, amodel and fashion designer, recently launched her new makeup brand and is currently working on her debut film role with renowned director Lucas Revald, who has two Oscar awards under his belt.

“Yes. Yvonne's. We are attending a masquerade ball tonight, and you need a dress.”

Before I can ask him to elaborate, we pull up in front of Yvonne's.

Her face is splashed across the inside of the boutique window, with a smile that won her first place in Miss America in 2015 and Smile of the Year 2016. Oh, did I forget to mention these small accomplishments? I tsk to myself internally. At this point, I’m just waiting for her to cure cancer.

Damon opens my door, holding his hand out to help me. We are not even at the entrance of the boutique when the door bursts open, and none other than Yvonne herself comes sashaying out of the door.

“Damon!” she squeals. Squeals. And it’s adorable. I look up at Damon, who wears his usual emotionless expression, as she throws her arms around his neck.

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