Clare Connelly: The Debt / Cross My Hart

Annoyed and trying to ignore it, I got out of the car and hurried around the side to open the door, pasting on my usual smile.

The woman was tall and lovely, her dress beautiful, her make-up perfect. Just the kind of woman men liked. At least, she was definitely a woman my brothers would have liked.

She didn’t look at me as she got in and I was expecting Mr Evans to ignore me the way she had, but he didn’t. As I stood there holding the door, he glanced at me and those electric-blue eyes pinned me to the spot.

An intense, hot satisfaction glowed there and it was so at odds with the cold lightning that had been in them before that I could only stare, my breath catching.

But it was only a moment. The next second, he’d got into the car leaving me standing there staring into space, my heart beating unreasonably fast.

God, what was wrong with me? He was just a man. A rich man, yes, and powerful, but a man all the same. And I knew all about men. They were either stoic like my dad and my middle brother, Dev. Or they were cheeky and fun like my two older brothers, Jase and Justin. Or quiet like George, my youngest brother.

Or pretending to be nice and ending up a sleaze like Mark.

But Mr Evans didn’t fit into any of those categories. There was something burning inside him that none of the men I knew had, something that sparked and crackled like an arc welder melting metal.

I had no idea why that fascinated me or why I’d ended up standing there staring into space because he’d glanced at me…

It’s not static, remember?

But the thought was an uncomfortable one, so I pushed it away before it could settle, shutting the door and going around to the driver’s side, getting back behind the wheel.

I reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of the pair of them as I did so.

Mr Evans’s dark head was bent and he was whispering in the woman’s ear. She was sitting very close, half turned towards him, her hand spread on the broad expanse of his chest, and she gave a soft giggle.

Ugh. Were they going to carry on like that the whole way? Not that it was any of my business what they did and not that I was at all bothered by it. I’d seen worse over the years I’d been driving.

Ignoring my strangely hot cheeks, I jerked my gaze away from the mirror and stared out of the front windscreen instead.

‘Back to your hotel, Mr Evans?’ I tried to sound cheerful and professional and completely relaxed about what was happening behind me.

‘Yes,’ Mr Evans said.

His voice had gone even deeper and grittier, a thread of heat curling through it, and, despite myself, I glanced into the mirror again, drawn inexplicably by the sound.

He was watching me, a hot blue flame glowing in the depths of his eyes.

My mouth dried and my heart kicked in my chest, which was totally ridiculous, because him looking at me shouldn’t affect me like that. Not after Mark and the way he used to stare at me from behind his computer in the workshop. Making me feel as if I’d had a bath in a tub full of grease.

So there shouldn’t have been any reason why I felt restless and hot. Why the expression in Mr Evans’s eyes connected to something hungry inside me. Something he saw that I hadn’t realised was there.

Something I didn’t understand.

I looked away before I could stop myself and then felt instantly annoyed. As if I’d retreated somehow, which was a mistake when dealing with a guy like him.

Get it together, Little. You shouldn’t be playing games anyway.

I definitely shouldn’t, not that I was a game player anyway. But there was a reason I’d managed to manoeuvre my way into driving for him and it wasn’t because he’d turned out to be hot shit on a stick.

I had a mission and I had to keep that in mind.

Determined not to look again, I started the limo and pulled away from the kerb, concentrating squarely on driving and not on the man behind me.

Except I found the low rumble of his voice distracting. There was a velvety texture to it, a kind of huskiness that made me feel shivery.

The engines of the Pythons sounded like that. A deep purr, like a giant cat. I loved the sound of those engines, loved those cars, sleek and dangerous and powerful.

Taking one of them for a spin around the track was a huge rush, an adrenaline hit I’d craved right from the first moment I’d sat behind the wheel and the engine had turned over, throbbing like a giant heartbeat.

The rush of speed had been the perfect way to deal with all the messy teenage emotions I hadn’t known how to handle, the emotions that Dad hadn’t known how to handle either, and so I’d taken to the track to drive whenever I was feeling upset or needing an emotional release.

Speed was better than crying and there was nothing like hitting the gas hard and throwing a powerful car around a few corners.

Ever since then, the revving purr of a V8 engine had made me feel good. Made me feel reckless and powerful. And listening to Mr Evans talk, his voice thrumming through me like one of those engines, a deep vibrating rumble that I could feel in my chest and lower, in my sex, made me feel that same way.

What would it be like to drive him?

What a stupid thought. He wasn’t a car. He was a man and probably wouldn’t appreciate being driven anywhere.

Yet try as I might to concentrate on the road ahead of me, the thought wouldn’t go away.

He was muscular and powerful, just like one of the Pythons. Would he take me on a wild ride if I put my hand on him? He probably wouldn’t be as easy to drive, but he’d certainly be as hot. And he’d be hard, too, and the rumble of his engine…

There was a throb between my legs, a hot, raw feeling that I wasn’t sure how to handle. I’d never felt this before, not for anyone, not even for my one lone high-school boyfriend.

Still think it’s static?

Okay, no. It wasn’t static. It was attraction. But that didn’t make things any easier, because I still didn’t know what to do about it.

Sex is what people usually do about it.

I glared out of the front windscreen as I manoeuvred the giant car through the narrow Parisian streets.

Sex was not happening. I’d had it a couple of times with that one single boyfriend and it had been nice but forgettable. Certainly not worth trying it with Mr Evans, even if he had been interested, which I was sure he wasn’t. Not given the woman he was with now.

Anyway, he was clearly a man who was used to being in charge and, after Mark and his handsy ways, I wasn’t keen on letting any guy take charge of me.

Apart from anything else, I was supposed to be asking him for more time on the Australis investment, not…anything else.

The lights were red at the intersection ahead of me so I stopped, irritatingly conscious of Mr Evans’s voice rumbling again, followed by more feminine laughter and then a soft gasp.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

I wasn’t going to look. I wasn’t curious. I didn’t need to see what was happening behind me.

Of course I looked.

And the way the rear-view mirror was positioned gave me the perfect view of one of his large hands cupping her breast over the fabric of her dress, his thumb moving lazily back and forth over her nipple.

I blinked, a weird flashback hitting me. Of how Mark had grabbed me from behind, squeezing me and pinching me, and how it had hurt. He’d been rough and I’d been taken by surprise, unable to jerk away until it was too late.

Yet the woman didn’t seem to find what Mr Evans was doing to her unpleasant. She was arching into his hand as if wanting more. And…it seemed as if he was holding her carefully, his thumb moving gently, lightly…