Page 15 of Blurred Lines

“Yes.”

Cristian bent to pick up my phone and held it out, one arm still firmly around my waist. “Unlock it.”

“Why? I saw enough.”

Silence. Heartbeats, his and mine, with mine beating twice as fast. When his stony gaze didn’t let up, I unlocked the phone. I’d expected him to look at the message, but before he began tapping away at the screen, he took a picture of us.

“What was that for?”

He didn’t answer, and when he was finished, he tucked my phone into the pocket of his shorts.

“You need ice on that ankle.”

“What did you do?”

“Do you want to sit in the juice bar or my office?”

“Give me my phone.”

“Later. It’s past noon—we can have lunch. Did you try the Thai burrito?”

“Not yet.”

“Then that’s what we’ll have.”

“What if I don’t want a burrito?”

In the blink of an eye, he swung me up into his arms, bridal-style, and everyone turned to look when I squealed. Cristian seemed utterly unperturbed.

“Then you can watch me eat a burrito.”

“Put me down!”

“I will. In the juice bar.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m already aware of that. Do you want any sides with your burrito?”

What was the point of arguing? I wasn’t going to win. Cristian strode effortlessly across the gym, ignoring the bemused stares that followed us. By rights, I should have felt anger as he took over, irritation that he refused to listen to a word I said. But secretly, what I felt was relief. Relief that he’d taken charge and I didn’t have to watch my back for the next few minutes at least. Cristian was pushy and controlling, but he also made me feel safe. He wouldn’t hurt me, and with him around, nobody else could hurt me either.

I relaxed and let my head sink against his chest. Might as well enjoy the ride.

My acquiescence was met with a smile that melted away a little of the stress that had built up over the past week. In the juice bar, Cristian deposited me carefully onto a padded bench and then knelt to examine my ankle.

“How much does it hurt? Do you need me to take you to the emergency room?”

“It’s just a sprain.” Plus I had to work tonight, but I didn’t dare to mention that in case Cristian decided to handcuff me to a lounge chair. “I’m fine.”

“It’s swelling. I’ll get you an ice pack—don’t move.”

“What will you do if I disobey your orders? Imprison me in the spa? Massage me into submission?”

He flashed a rare grin. “Maybe.”

Be still my dancing ovaries. I had a boyfriend. True, Theo had abandoned me to go to San Francisco, but he’d kept his word and phoned every morning and evening. Between his calls, Violet’s check-ins, and the messages from Mario, I’d never been so popular. Although whenever a new dick pic arrived, I’d gladly have traded my popularity for a one-way ticket to a desert island, a sandy paradise with a comfy hammock and no cell service.

I could send a message in a bottle and then sit back and wait for a handsome stranger to rescue me. Could Cristian swim? I’d never seen him in the pool here, but he’d certainly look good wearing Speedos. Put that thought out of your dirty mind, Lauren. Knowing my luck, Mario would show up in a dinghy.

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