Maisie
I sighed inwardly and stole a glance at Quinlan. He had switched his suit for a gray silk shirt that looked like he had plucked it out of a woman's closet, but on his broad, muscular frame, it only looked elegant. He left on his tailored black pants and boots, though.
He swung the wheel hard, taking a sharp hair-pin turn on two wheels and I gripped the sides of the chair hard, wondering if he was trying to get us killed.
No. He was angry, I noted as he punched a button a little harder than necessary and the windows came rolling down.
His nostrils flared like I stunk and I fought the urge to sniff under my armpits. I knew I smelled fine.
I opened my mouth to ask what his problem was, but the look he tossed me made my mouth clamp shut. The blue of his eyes were almost completely swallowed by black.
Okay. No talking, then.
