The Runaway Heiress Returns For Revenge

torm and sealing them inside. The silence

d allow. Gage settled in the middle, a formidable presence of cold wool and colder indifference. On hi

oomed in the enclosed space. The scent of cedar and rose was no longer a faint whisper; it was

ing to cut through the suffocating fragrance. She pressed the button to lower

rd and pressed a button on the master control panel. Her window slid shut w

ound to glare at him. "What

housand-dollar leather seats," he said, his eyes

ina's nerves. She ran a perfectly manicured hand down the

ked traffic on the Queensboro Bridge. A fresh w

wasn't looking at the road. He was looking at her reflection, his gaze intense and unwaver

er moved on the climate control panel. He rai

little warm in here," she complained, her fin

aw a flicker of something-annoyance? disgust?-in his eyes. "I was in th

eft shoulder. The dark wool of his coat was soaked through, a stark contrast t

t. "Mr. Evans, shall I drop Miss Brad

," Ferne pouted, her voice a practice

as gone from his voice, replaced by a blade of

her. She opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to think b

was the game. The hot and cold, the push and pull. The class

eca. As Ferne prepared to leave, she leaned in close to Gage, pressing a deliber

act at all. But his eyes, cold

hands twisting together in her lap so

sed, and Fer

grees. The silence was no longer just quiet; it wa

h a look of profound distaste, he wiped the lipstick from his cheek, then t

e dripping with sarcasm. "If you find her so repulsive, wh

ctly at her. His eyes were like dark tunnels, and she felt a terr

e said, his voice a low, rough murmur,

o her head, the other on the seat beside her thigh, trapping her. His body was a wall of heat a

eart, which had been beating a steady, angry rhythm, sud