can smell her sweet, intoxicating scent in the confined space. It’s distracting. I have the urge to reach out and drag her into my arms.
I look out the window, unable to look at her while I answer. “So you’ll stop lying to the people around you for once. At least now she knows the truth.”
That wasn’t why I did it. I did it for her. Even though I don’t want to, I care about her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her flinch, my words hitting their intended mark. I want to reach out to her and soothe the ache my words have surely caused, but I can’t do that. That would show too much of my hand to her, and this time around, I need the upper hand. So instead of doing what feels right, I curl my hands into fists and keep my gaze fixed out the window, until we arrive at our destination.
I climb out, holding out my hand for her to take. When she does, I feel the tremor that works its way through her body. Or was that mine? I can no longer tell. Hand in hand, we walk through the entrance, shocked faces and conversations halting, as they pause to stare at us, recognizing us both immediately.
I feel Mackenzie stiffen next to me, obviously uncomfortable with all the attention. The whispers start immediately, and I can practically feel her shrink in on herself, so I squeeze her hand in mine, the only form of support I’m willing to give her at this point. It seems to help. She releases a deep breath and straightens her spine.
We bypass the long line of people waiting to be seated. When we’re shown to our table, she doesn’t waste any time. Obviously, the meek feelings she encountered earlier are over and done with, and in its place is the old Mackenzie I remember from all those months ago, the one who puts on a brave face.
A façade.
“Say what you came here for, so we can go our separate ways.”
I smile at her. I’m sure to everyone else it looks awfully romantic, the way I’m smiling and reaching across the table to take her hand in mine. But to her, she sees it for exactly what it is. A cold smile with no real warmth behind it.
“You’re coming back to Los Angeles with me, and you’ll be staying with me.”
“No, the hell I am!”
“If you want this to work, I need you close.”
“I’ll come back to LA, but you’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m staying with you.”
I shrug. “I guess I can remove Mia from her quarters, and you can stay there instead. She can come stay with me—”
“Fine!” she snaps a little too eagerly. “What other ridiculous rules do you have now?”
“I have another upcoming gala. You’ll need to attend all the events to keep up appearances. I’ve already released statements. Things should already be calming down on the article front of things.”
The tension in her shoulders loosens. “I can do that. What else?”
“You’ll be at my beck and call at all hours, of course.” I lean forward, enjoying the way her eyes light with a fire that’s stoked from deep within. “Whenever I want to fuck you, you come.”
Her lips part, and she works a swallow. After some time, she clamps her mouth shut and grits her teeth together, her jaw grinding back and forth. The slender muscles there and in her neck jump with the movement, taunting me, begging for my mouth on her skin.
“Now, if you’re finished, I have some rules of my own. If we do this, if I give you access to my body, then I have a say in what happens to it. And I say no kissing.”
I throw my head back and laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion. Patrons in the restaurant all turn and look our way with curious expressions on their faces, likely wondering what the hell we can be laughing at when, in the media, it’s been portrayed that she hates my guts. And I guess they’re not one hundred percent wrong.
No kissing? That’s just not going to work for me, and I know exactly why she suggested it. The kiss the other night stirred up old feelings, and she’s suddenly afraid.
“No.” I shake my head, taking a sip from the tumbler.
She tenses, her face growing stormy, at my obvious dismissal of her suggestion. “This is my one request. If