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"I drive. End of discussion." Noah's jaw tightens, that muscle in his cheek twitching the way it does when he's made up his mind.
"You're being a stubborn child." I watch him slide into the driver's seat, wincing as the movement pulls at his stitches."What exactly do you think will happen if I drive? Your testicles will shrink?"
Noah gives me a dark look. "Get in the car, Evelyn."
I stand my ground on the sidewalk outside the clinic. "I know how to drive. I've been driving since I was sixteen."
"I'm not questioning your ability to drive." He grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. "I'm telling you I'm driving."
"Because you're what—afraid to give up control for five seconds?" I walk around to the passenger side, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. "Heaven forbid the big bad enforcer lets someone take care of him."
"Are you getting in or are we going to argue in the parking lot all day?"
I slide into the seat, slamming the door. "This is absurd. You're being absurd."
Noah starts the engine, his movements stiff and careful. I watch the way his face tightens with pain when he reaches for the gear shift, and something twists in my chest—anger and attraction warring for dominance.
It's infuriating how his stubbornness makes me want to simultaneously strangle him and tear his clothes off. The way he refuses to show weakness, even now, sends a rush of heat through me that I immediately resent.
"If you tear your stitches I won’t feel remotely sorry for you," I mutter, staring out the window as we pull away.
Noah's low chuckle only makes the heat inside me burn hotter. "Yes you will."
I watch Noah's profile as he drives, the sharp line of his jaw clenched in concentration. His stubborn refusal to show weakness only makes me more determined to fight him on it.
"You realize this is ridiculous, right? You were shot three days ago. You shouldn't even be out of the hospital."
"I heal fast." His eyes remain fixed on the road.
"Is that what you tell yourself when you're bleeding internally?"
Noah's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Your concern is touching."
"It's not concern. It's common sense." I shift in my seat, trying to ignore how good he looks even when in pain. "Most people don't check themselves out of hospital after major surgery."
"I'm not most people."
"Clearly. Most people have functioning brain cells."
Noah glances at me, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "You weren't complaining about my brain cells when I had you spread across my kitchen counter."
My breath catches in my throat. The memory of his hands on my skin, his mouth between my legs has heat rushing through me instantly.
"That's…that's not relevant to this conversation," I stammer, hating how my voice betrays me.
"No?" His voice drops lower. "Because I'm thinking about how wet you get when I tell you exactly what I'm going to do to you."
My thighs press together involuntarily. "Stop it."
"Stop what?" He reaches over, his hand landing on my knee. "Stop telling you how I'm going to bend you over as soon as we get home? Even with a bullet hole in my chest?"
"You're impossible." My words come out breathy rather than angry.
"And you're soaked right now, aren't you?" His fingers inch higher on my thigh.
I swat his hand away. "Keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel."
But the damage is done. My body is humming with need, my skin flushed and sensitive. I hate how easily he does this to me—how quickly he can turn my anger into desperate want with just a few filthy promises.