Exhaustion and sleep

"Brynne Bennett," I finally said my name.

He let go of my hand. "And now we know each other," he said, pointing first at me and then to himself, "Brynne, Ethan." He motioned with his head toward his Rover. "Now will you let me take you home?" I swallowed again. "Why do you care so much?"

 "Because I don't want anything to happen to you? Because those heels look lovely at the end of your legs but will be hell to walk in? Because it's dangerous for a woman to walk alone at night in the city?" His eyes flicked over me. "Especially one that looks like you." That mouth of his turned up just slightly on the one side again. "So many reasons, Miss Bennett."

"What if you're not safe?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "I still don't know you or anything about you, or if Ethan Blackstone is your real name." Did he just give me a look?

"You have a point in that. And it's one I can rectify easily." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a driver's license with the name Ethan James Blackstone clearly printed on it. He handed me a business card with the same name and Blackstone Security International, Ltd. engraved on the cream card- stock. "You may keep that." He grinned again. "I'm very busy at my job, Miss Bennett. I have absolutely no time for a hobby as a serial killer, I promise you." I laughed at those words. "Good one, Mr. Blackstone." I put his card in my purse. "All right. You can give me a ride. His brow shot up again, and I got the sideways grin again too.

I winced inwardly at the double entendre for ride and tried to focus on how uncomfortable my shoes really would be for walking to the Tube station, and that it was a good idea to let him drive me.

He pressed his hand to the bottom of my back and led me to the curb. "In you go." Ethan got me settled and then walked around to the street side and slid behind the wheel, smooth as a panther. He looked at me and tilted his head.

"And where does Miss Bennett live?" He asked.

"Nelson Square in Southwark." I replied instantly.

He frowned at my answer but then turned his face away and pulled out into traffic. "You are an American." He asked again.

What, he didn't like Americans? 

"I am here on scholarship at the University of London. Graduate program," I tacked on, wondering why I felt the need to tell him anything at all about myself.

"And the modeling?"

The second he asked the question the sexual tension thickened. I paused before answering. I knew exactly what he was doing imagining me in my picture. Naked. And as weird as it felt, I opened my mouth and told him. "Um, I— I posed for my friend, the photographer, Benny Clarkson. He asked me, and it helps pay the bills, you know?"

"Not really, but I love the portrait of you, Miss Bennett." He kept his eyes on the road. I felt myself stiffen at his comment. Who in the hell was he to judge what I do to support myself?

"Well, my own personal international corporation never came through like yours did. Mr. Blackstone. I resorted to modeling. I like sleeping in a bed as opposed to a park bench. And heat. The winters here suck!" The snark in my voice rang out pretty clear even to my ears. 

"In my experience I've found many things here that suck." He turned and gave me an expert blue-eyed stare. How he said "suck" got my blood tingling in a way that left no doubts about my skills in fantasy being sound. I might not get a ton of practical experience between the sheets, but my fantasies don't suffer one iota from lack of use. "Well we agree on something then." I brought my fingers to my forehead and rubbed. The image of Ethan's cock and the word "suck" in the same little space in my brain was a little much at the moment. 

"Headache?" He asked 

"Yeah. How did you know?"

We slowed for a stoplight and he looked over at me, his eyes traveling from my lap back up to my face in a slow, measured pace. "Merely a guess. No dinner, just the champagne you gulped back at the gallery, and now it's late and your body is putting up a protest." He lifted his eyebrow yet again. “How'd I do?"

I swallowed hard, desperately wishing for water. Bingo, Mr. Blackstone. You read me like a cheap comic book. Whoever you are, you're good. "I just need two aspirin and some water and I'll be fine." He shook his head at me. "When did you last eat some food, Brynne?"

"So we're back to first names again?"

He gave me a tolerant look but I could tell he was pissed.

"I had a late breakfast, okay? I'll make something when I get home." I looked out the window. The light must have changed, because we started moving again. The only sounds were of his body shifting as he turned the corner. And it was way too sexy of a sound to keep my eyes averted for long. I chanced a peek. In profile, Ethan had a rather prominent nose, but on him it didn't matter; he was still beautiful.

Ignoring me now, acting as if I wasn't sitting two feet from him, he efficiently drove us. Ethan seemed to know his way around London, because he didn't ask me for directions once. I could still smell him, though, and the scent did things to my head. I really needed to get out of the car.

He made a rude noise and pulled into a strip mall. "Stay here; I'll be just a minute." His voice sounded a little edgy. A lot more than a little, actually. Every thing was edgy with him. And commanding. Like he told you what to do and you didn't dare argue.

The warmth of the car and the coziness of the leather seat felt nice underneath the thin skirt I'd worn tonight. Ethan was right about one thing, I would have died on my walk to the Tube. Here I sat in the car of a virtual stranger, who'd seen me naked, bullied me into taking a ride, and now coming out of the convenience store with a bag in his hand and a grim look on his face. This whole situation was weirder than weird.

"What did you need to get in the store.....-" Just as i started talking, he shoved a bottle of water into my hand and opened a single packet of Nurofen, the equivalent of Advil in the United States. I took both without a word, not caring that he watched me gulp down the pills. The water was gone in under a minute. Then he set a protein bar on my knee.

"Now eat it." His voice had that don't-fuck-with-me tone again. "Please," he added. 

I sighed and opened the white chocolate Power Bar. The crinkle of the wrapper filled the silence in the car as we sat there. I took a bite and chewed slowly. It tasted divine. I had needed what he'd brought me. Desperately.

"Thank you." I whispered, feeling suddenly emotional, the urge to cry bubbling up fiercely. I held it down as best I could. I kept my head down too. "My pleasure," he said softly. "Everyone needs the basics, Brynne. Food, water... a bed." A bed. The sexual tension was back, or maybe it never left. Ethan seemed blessed with the talent to make the most innocent word sound like hot, sweaty, mind-blowing sex you remembered for a long, long time. He sat beside me and didn't back the car out until I'd finished the last of the protein bar. "What's your actual street address?" he asked.

"41 Franklin Crossing."

Ethan took us out of the strip mall lot and headed back onto the street, bringing me closer to my flat with every revolution of the tires. I leaned into the soft leather and closed my eyes. My phone vibrated in my purse. I fished it out and saw there'd been a text from Benny; u home ok?

I shot back a quick yup and closed my eyes again. I could feel my headache begin to slip away. I felt more relaxed than I'd been in hours. Exhaustion won out, I suppose, because I would have never allowed myself the indulgence of falling asleep in Ethan Blackstone's car if I could possibly help it.