For long, agonising moments, Drew didn't do a goddamn thing.
He just watched me.
When he finally moved, all those muscles rippling and flexing—and how the hell did he manage to be so intimidating naked when most people looked all soft and vulnerable—I didn't do a goddamn thing.
My panic had transmuted into a cold, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach, something like despair.
Could I have started the car and tried to make a last-ditch break for it? Yeah. Sure.
And he'd have been able to punch through the window and drag me out before I could even gun the engine.
For all I knew, he could stop the car with his bare hands, or chase it faster than I could drive.
Drew rounded the hood and came to stand right by the door, leaning down to peer in at me through the window.
Our eyes met. And I felt the same way I always did: safe. A burst of relaxing warmth inside me. Even though I knew it was a lie this time.
"I'm not going to—" He stopped and shook his head.
