Beneath the coat, my body shows signs of excitement, the wool chafing my sensitive nipples and turning my thighs restless inside the stockings.
“Where are you staying, Claire?” Draven asks me now, dragging me out of the fantasy.
“The Dixie Motel.”
His head turns slowly, disbelief etched into his masculine features. “Excuse me?”
“The Dixie Motel,” I say, digging into the pocket of my coat for the key and presenting it to him. “That’s the name.”
“That motel is a dive,” he blusters. “It rents by the hour.”
I raise a challenging eyebrow. “How do you know?”
He gives me a slightly withering look. “It’s common knowledge, Claire. Believe me, I’ve never experienced the Dixie firsthand.”
“It’s not that bad,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve only been propositioned twice.”
“What?” he shouts, the car swerving a tad on the road.
“Only kidding.” I maintain my cheeky smile until he glances over at me, a vein beginning to show in his temple. Ticking, ticking.
“You’re checking out of there tonight and never going back,” he growls. “Men prowl that place looking for one thing and if they get a look at you, it’s over.”
There is a part of me that knows Draven is right. The Dixie is not the safest place to stay. I’ve only been living there for two nights, but some of the sounds coming through the walls are interesting, to say the least. Furthermore, I saw what looked to be an exchange of drugs right outside my window this morning. “The plan was to be there temporarily,” I say. “Until I can afford better. But…”
“But now you have me.”
Trepidation flutters in my stomach. “You don’t think we’re moving too fast—”
“No, little girl. I don’t.”
“Oh.” My nerves settle down again and I turn in my seat, helpless to do anything but moon over his handsome profile. The capability of his hands on the steering wheel. “Are people going to think it’s strange that you suddenly have a live-in girlfriend?”
“You’ve worked in my kitchen. Do you think I give a fuck what people think?”
I giggle. “No.”
He taps a row of fingers against the steering wheel. “Call yourself my girlfriend again.”
“I’m your girlfriend,” I whisper, reaching out to feel his bicep, my sex spasming when that muscle pops against my palm.
“Damn right you are.” He looks over at me in the near darkness, his features stern. “And that means I need to know what you’re running away from.”
I retract my touch from his arm, hugging myself reflexively in the seat. “How do you know I’m running away from something?”
“Eighteen-year-old girl turns up in a strange town, taking whatever jobs she can get, whether they’re appropriate or safe? Living in some flea bag motel?” The steering wheel creaksbeneath his grip. Is he mad on my behalf? “You’re running from something.” We stop at a traffic light, and Draven reaches across the console to cup my jaw firmly. “Tell Daddy what it is.”
Wowsers.
Does he know how much that authoritative tone affects me?
He must.
He’s watching me squirm in the seat with knowing eyes.
As if he’s well-aware that the title I’ve bestowed on him makes me warm and wet.
“After my parents divorced, I lived with my father and stepmother. She came with a lot of kids and…she really didn’t like having me there. I’m a reminder of my mother, and they’d grown up together. Always fighting over my father, which I never understood. He’s nothing but a lazy, bitter, chimney smoking jerk.”