My cuticles don't stand a chance.
I pick at the left thumb first, then the right, then circle back to the left because there's a hangnail that absolutely needs my full attention right now. Not the man beside me. Not the silence expanding between us like a held breath.
Caine drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh, and he looks... relaxed. Content, even. Just another day on the road, certainly not a situation where he declared he'd mark me tonight, agreed to discuss it on the way like a seductive promise, and then proceeded to discuss exactly nothing.
Zip.
Zilch.
Not a single word.
No; that's a lie. He did ask considerately if I was cold when I shivered a bit ago.
Am not, in fact, cold. Just still turned on and a little wiggly, thank you.
But the silence has gone a long way in cooling me down… kind of.
I glance at him.
He watches the road.
I glance again.
Same road… and same silence.
