“I could’ve just left you there in that motel room. My uncle would know just what to do with you,” he says, smirking like an idiot.
Damn, I really wanna bash his face into the windshield right now, but that would probably be my end too, and I don’t intend on dying yet. Not when I’ve just escaped death. But boy, does he love rubbing it in.
“Like you haven’t already made me pay for saving me,” I spit. “What else do you want me to do?”
“Be a little less bitchy maybe?” he says, cocking his head.
I narrow my eyes and pause for a second, trying not to explode. “Sorry, not possible.”
I’m honestly trying not to sound sarcastic as fuck, but I can’t help myself. Brandon Locklear brings out the worst in me.
“Figured,” he says.
My nails are digging into my skin right now. “You just want me to hate you, don’t you?”
“Why do you ask?” He raises his brow at me in such an infuriating way. With that chiseled chin and neatly trimmed stubble on that goddamn face, he is so fucking distracting I can’t even think straight.
“Well … because. You’re constantly trying to get under my skin,” I reply, shaking it off.
“Your skin or your clothes? Big difference. And I already partially got there,” he says, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips while he’s looking straight at me. “And I’m only interested in the latter … to make you pay, of course. Since you decided to ruin my life as well.”
I swallow and reach for the button that turns on the air conditioning. It’s so fucking hot in here all of a sudden.
But the moment I touch the button, so does he. Our fingers collide, and we both jerk back instantly. His eyes widen, and then he turns his head away from me, so I do the same to him.
Jesus, I can’t stand to look at those dark chocolatey eyes that demand attention wherever they set their gaze on.
After briefly closing my eyes, I suck in a breath and tell myself not to let him distract me again. Talking with the devil will do me no good. I gotta focus on getting away. That’s it. He’s nothing to me. Brandon has no place in my memories nor in my present or future plans. I have to eradicate him from my mind, my life … and from this planet.
And once I do, I’ll go after his uncle because we have unfinished business, and I’m not letting it go.
One glance at Brandon’s hand is all it takes to make him tighten his grip on his gun. He keeps it on the left side of the steering wheel so I can’t snatch it away from him without crashing the car.
He’s smart like that. But I know I can be just as smart, if not smarter. I just gotta think of a solution to this trouble I’m in. Obviously, throwing my body and my looks into the fight didn’t work as intended. He used me for his own pleasure, and it got me nowhere. So I gotta change my strategy a bit. Maybe push his buttons a different way …
After all, a man’s got more than only his dick to manipulate.
There’s a heart too, somewhere, shriveled up in that muscular chest of his. If he still has one, that is. But how do I find a way inside when he hates me the way he does? I gotta think about this.
I gaze out the window and sigh while the car begins to slow down as we near a diner.
I frown and look his way. “What are you doing?”
His uncle’s men could still be on our heels.
“Gee, I don’t know. What does it look like I’m doing?” he says with a coy face.
“No, no,” I say. “We can’t stop. What if we’re still being followed?” I try grabbing the wheel, but he slaps my hand away.
“Hands off. I’m the one driving,” he says. “We haven’t been followed for ages. It’s safe to take a fucking break.”
“Maybe they’re there,” I say, leaning back when he huffs. “How do you even know you’re safe? You don’t.”
“I don’t care.” He rolls his eyes. “We’re stopping, sugar, whether you like it or not.”
I purse my lips in annoyance. “Don’t call me that.”
I’m not fucking sweet, and he knows it.
With a smile that would make all the girls fawn, he looks my way, and says, “What’s that, pumpkin?”
I cringe. “Pumpkin?”
Anything but that. Anything. I’d settle for bitch at this point as long as he doesn’t call me pumpkin. What is this, the fifties? God, this makes me wanna ram my head into the dashboard.
“Pie?” He nods his head, and I don’t get where he’s going at all.
“What do you want from me?” I ask with a raised voice.
A dark, delish laugh rolls off his tongue, one that makes me want to punch him in the throat.
“Nothing right now, cupcake,” he muses, grabbing my cheeks to squeeze them.
I swat him away, but my skin still prickles where he touched me. Goddammit, I don’t wanna feel this way around him. Anyone but him.
Goddamn him and his annoying nicknames.
“Maybe later, when I feel like roughing you up again …” He winks, and it’s one of those that instantly makes your heart flutter. Fuck.
“But for now, I think you could use some of that.” With that devilish smile, he directs my attention toward a billboard hanging high above the diner that says “Darla’s Delicious Pumpkin Pie!” and my mouth begins to water.
So that’s what he meant.
I stare at it for a second before realizing he’s still watching me instead of the billboard, probably trying to gauge my reaction.
“Hungry?” he asks, lifting a brow.
I clear my throat, and say, “No, we don’t have time for that—”
He takes an instant left turn, and if it wasn’t for this seat belt, I would have flown out of my seat. With screeching tires, we come to a stop on the parking lot. My hair is a mess and so is my heart rate. On his face is an even bigger grin.
“I’ll decide what we have time for,” he says with a smug face as he takes the keys from the ignition. “Time for food.”
He grabs the pants and puts them on. My eyes barely close on time before he pulls off the towel and buttons up. Before I know it, he’s already tucked the gun back into his pocket. There goes my chance at stealing it. Again.
I sigh, as he fishes in his pockets and takes out his Zippo only to tuck it back in again. I guess he wanted to confirm it was still there. He’s lucky I brought his damn pants.