Page 2 of Scars of Silk

If she’s uncomfortable under my gaze, she’s not letting it show. Considering I’m six-foot-four and covered in tats, I’ll give her some credit for that.

“Those bruises look painful?” Her gaze falls to where the remnants of my fight last weekend still cast a multicoloured shadow over my skin.

“Nah.” I hoist my bag up. “Don’t suppose you know where the nearest tube is?” I need to get out of this awful city. I’ve always hated London; dreaded it when the lads planned a night away up in the smoke. Now, I hate it even more.

Now it’s just grim and dark, like the bruises mixed with the ink on my skin.

“Do you need a lift?” She brushes at that fringe again and then jangles her keys towards a small, silver Mercedes.

“Nice car.” I grunt.

“Thanks. So, do you want a lift?” She watches me expectantly.

“To the tube station?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Her gaze sweeps over me, derisive and astute. “You aren’t looking that great. Weren’t you in hospital a few days ago?”

I scowl so hard my face hurts. Yeah, I was in hospital; wish I’d never come out. I couldn’t even get that right.

“There’s no need to be rude about my handsome looks.” I snort to myself. I haven‘t looked in a mirror since I woke from the coma, but I’m gonna guess I've scaled my rugged good looks back a notch. Oh, how the girls will cry. “But, yeah, I was.”

“So, I'll ask again. Do you want a lift?”

“To Brighton?” I chance my luck with a cocky smile that makes my damaged lips sting.

“I was thinking more the tube station, but…” She lifts her shoulders, which are incredibly slender, and then drops them again, “I could take you.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’d drive me to Brighton?”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

She must have? Shopping? Hairdressers…? Although her hair is dark and glossy and doesn’t look like it needs urgent attention. Why the fuck am I looking at her hair? “You want to drive me to Brighton?” I ask again; just to make sure that is what whats-her-name meant, and also to make sure I look like a total tool.

She shrugs again. “I don’t have to; forget it.” She turns and walks away, her slender hips swinging.

“And His Lordship didn’t put you up to it?” I call after her, slowing her down. I don’t want anything from him. Ever.

“Nope.” She turns and glances at me over her shoulder. “Want the lift or not?”

Well. She’s a damn sight more attractive than I could look at on the train. I pull my bag higher up my shoulder—even though it hurts like a bitch—and chase after her.

“No smoking in my car.” She beeps the lock.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And I’m only doing this because I’m bored.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I open the passenger door.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t be that guy.

I do it all the same. I turn back to Faith’s giant London house and search the windows, just checking to see if she’s watching me leave. There isn’t a sign of her. This Sienna chick is watching me from behind her glossy fringe; her dark gaze impenetrable until her lips curve into a smirk. “Come on, lover boy, if you want to miss the traffic.”

I get in and ignore the need to check the windows of the house again. Let it go, Dan. Just let it go.