Chapter Six

His smile was dangerous now, as he took her in. She felt her cheeks flush again under his frank perusal, and suddenly, surprisingly, her pussy gave a hard spasm, then a series of small flutters.

Barely suppressing a moan, she shifted her hips on the leather seat, the tiniest of movements, but even that rubbed her thighs together and stroked her pulsing clit. She was seconds away from orgasm, she was horrified to realize. Flustered, panicking, Francine bit her lip, almost afraid of what was happening to her. No man had ever turned her on this much, and Mark had done it without so much as touching her.

He saw her arousal, and she knew it. She had no way to hide it, no way to control it. She was rapidly dissolving into a messy, shuddering puddle of desire right here in front of him, and she felt nothing but confusion and humiliation at that fact. This wasn’t her, this wasn’t her at all.

Mark saw the glitter in her eyes, saw the coiled-up tension in her body practically begging for release. His own body reacted just as helplessly: his cock was painfully hard, his thighs were taut with fighting to stay in control, his breathing was speeding up. Fuck, yeah, she felt what he felt – and it was nothing less than pure, animal attraction. It was undeniable.

She looked freaked out, though, almost to the point of vulnerability, and his heart clenched. He didn’t want that. If there was something between them, he wanted to act on it, see where it might lead. No way that’d happen if Francine was feeling shameful or conflicted about her own desires. He had to get her to relax.

“Hey,” he murmured, low and sultry. “You were saying something?”

“I – I –” She looked away now, struggling for air. “I don’t remember.”

“About me and my thing for wolves?” he prompted her gently.

“Oh. Right.” Was she seriously supposed to hold up her end of a conversation, after that scorching, searing look between them? She might as well try to swim underwater without oxygen, or go skydiving with a blindfold. It was goddamn impossible.

Just then – and thank God! – Francine’s cell phone rang. With palpable relief, she lunged for her purse. But when she saw the number flashing up, any sense of respite dissipated, and she felt nothing but fear. She’d been waiting for this call, she realized now. She’d known it was coming.

“Hey,” Mark said, alarmed as he watched the color drain from her face. All the heat and flirtation were gone from his words now. Protectiveness surged up in their place, hard and strong. “What? What is it?”

She didn’t answer him, didn’t even look at him. She swiped the phone, answered in a terse voice. “Alexandra?”

Mark watched her, saw the pulse in her delicate throat jump.

“Alexandra?” she repeated. “Can you talk to me?”

Silence. Francine strained to hear. Was that breathing?

“Alexandra? Do you need my help? Are you hurt?”

A sudden, stifled sob. More silence. But that was enough for Francine.

She shot to her feet, and Mark followed suit. She ignored him, fumbling with her wallet, her purse, her outdoor things, all the while still holding the phone.

“I’m coming, Alexandra,” she said, keeping her voice level and calm. “You stay on the phone as long as you can, OK?”

“OK.” The word was a shrieking whisper of pain, of terror, of surrender, and everything in Francine recognized it. She’d heard that same tone a thousand times, and every single time, the person who’d used it had barely survived whatever had led up to its utterance. It was bad, whatever it was at the other end of the line, and Francine just hoped that she got to Alexandra in time. “OK.”

“Keep quiet now,” Francine said. “Just breathe. Stay with me.”

More silence, but at least she heard Alexandra’s shaky, rapid breaths. For now, that was about the best that Francine could ask for.

She looked up to see Mark holding her coat for her. She blinked, slid her one arm through the sleeve, then the other. Quickly, he wrapped her scarf around her neck, then held her one mitten out. She extended her hand, he slipped the mitten on, then did it again with her other hand. She looked away as he did up the buttons on her coat, his nearness overpowering, and that was when she saw that he’d left the money for both of their meals on the table. He yanked on his own coat, grabbed her purse and his own briefcase, took her hand, tugged her to the door.

“C’mon,” he said urgently. “I’ll take you.”

She covered the phone mouthpiece. “You don’t have to –”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Mark said, incredulous. “You’re gonna drive in this weather, while holding a cell? Gimme a break, Francine.”

“I – I…” She looked up at the sky, saw the heavy snowfall. “No, you’re right. Thanks.”

He ushered her over to a black SUV, unlocked and opened her door, did up her seatbelt. He slammed her door shut, hurried around to the driver’s side. He started the engine even as he did up his own seatbelt, then he glanced over at Francine.

“Address?” he grated out.

She gave it to him, and he nodded. He hit the gas, spun the wheel hard to the left as he peeled out. Francine gasped, held on, and he looked at her again.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m a trained and former semi-pro race car driver.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, still concentrating on Alexandra’s breathing.

He saw the look, grinned at her. “I raced cars for money when I was in high school and college. I’m all about speed and safety.”

Making a mental note to ask him about that sometime in the near future, Francine relaxed a bit.

“Alexandra?” she said. “We’re coming now. We’re in the car, and we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. You doing OK?”

“OK.” The word was released on the quietest of breaths, so faint that Francine barely heard it.

“Listen, ma douce… are you alone?”

Silence.