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His face takes on a hard expression as he crowds my space again, the firmness of his body pressing into me.

“You will never drive in that car again, do you understand?” he rumbles.

“Well, I can’t now that you’ve had it towed,” I fire back, breathing sharpening.

“You don’t have to accept the car. But it’s yours. It’s in your name, and the insurance has been paid for.” His fingers grip my chin, thumb rubbing over my bottom lip. “Though,” he starts, pulling gently on my lip. “If you don’t, I might be your only way of getting home every night.” He grins.

“Thank you,” I falter. Camila from two years ago is turning over in her grave right now for giving in so easily. But I don't want to give Xander the satisfaction of taking me home every night. We both know that no matter my protests, I will still end up in the passenger seat of his car.

“This is too much,” I whisper, though I’m not exactly sure what I’m referring to.

Is it the car or Xander?

“Nothing will ever be too much when it comes to you,” he says, tracing his fingers down my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“We’ve only just met,” I mumble.

“Yet it feels like we already know each other, don’t you think?”

I swallow.

It does.

Every time he’s near, it’s like my body is begging for him. And I think he feels that too.

He leans closer. So close that I can practically taste the mint on his breath, and my entire body thrums in anticipation. His hand wraps around the circumference of my neck, not squeezing.

Never threatening. Always gentle. Possessive.

“You need to go,” I say, and he freezes.

He lets out an almost inaudible growl, but he pulls away and starts walking out of the car park.

Chapter 12

Xander

She caught me. And fuck did it make my stomach twist. But that unmistakable sparkle of intrigue in her eyes flushed a feeling of content throughout me. My little Angel liked being followed home. By me. It physically pained me to walk away from her after. All I wanted to do was bend her over the hood of her brand-new, snow-white Audi and show her just how much time she’s been taking up in my head, how much she consumes me.

Which is why I’m currently in my room, sitting at my desk, smoothing the black gradient with my finger along the paper.

It’s not working. This stick of charcoal is doing nothing to complement her perfect features. I can’t get it right. What’s more, these monochrome colours can’t capture the breathtaking green of her eyes. For the first time in years, I considered buying that one colour. Just for her eyes.

I drag the coal along the paper, shaping the curve of her ass, smudging it with my finger to blend into her hips, trying to create a perfectly round shape. I’ve looked and paid attention to her body enough times to know what it looks like. And for someone who lives in my head all the damn time, it sure isn’t translating onto paper.

The rain splatters gently on the window, causing a swirl of havoc to cloud my mind. There’s noise echoing throughout the house from staff flitting about.

Cleaning.

Security footsteps.

Communication chatter drifting through the closed door.

I growl and slam my sketchbook shut.

I’ll never be able to get her down onto paper. She’s too perfect. Too beautiful.

She’s something that you’d never be able to capture accurately.