Page 92 of Ignite

He leans in, green eyes wildfire hot.

“Should I be scared of you?” I whisper. “Everyone makes it out like I should be. Like I’ll end up dead with you.”

He doesn’t answer. Just grabs my throat and pins me against the door.

My breath stops.

His eyes darken.

“Are you scared of me?” he growls. “Or scared of what you feel for me? Because you know damn well I’d never hurt you. Does it matter who they think I am? The only version of me that matters, is the one I am with you.”

His grip loosens. My lips part on a shaky breath.

God help me, I believe him.

“I-I didn’t say I’m scared of you. I asked if I should be.”

He lets go, and I miss his touch instantly.

“Get in the car, trouble.”

He grabs my ass and helps lift me into the seat.

I don’t know what this thing is between us. But I know one thing—being just friends isn’t going to cut it.

We ride home in a comfortable silence, with his hand on my thigh the entire time.

“Are you coming in?” I ask when we pull up at mine.

The McLaren’s already there. The twins waiting beside it like statues.

“I can’t, trouble. I gotta get those assholes home. But your Shelby’ll be ready tomorrow. I’ll see you then?”

A lump lodges in my throat. Disappointment swallows me whole. Something has shifted between us.

“Okay. Fine. Thanks for the ride home.”

As I reach for the handle, his hand clamps around my shoulder.

“What’s the attitude for, darlin’?”

“Nothing.”

“You going to lie to me? Hmm?”

“No. I’m just tired, let’s leave it at that.”

I shrug him off and step out.

Maybe I read too much into this. Maybe I’m just a hormonal mess disappointed he doesn’t want to rail me.

“Night, trouble.” He blows me a kiss.

“Night, Conan.”

Inside, I barely make it three steps before I hear footsteps behind me again.

“Hey, you need the key.”

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