Page 25 of Risky Obsession

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Don’t want you to think I’m weak.”

That explained why she took the pills on the plane.

I chuckled. “I definitely don’t think you’re weak. You’re driving with broken fingers.”

She raised her hand as if examining the blue splint. “Dislocated fingers. Besides, they don’t even hurt anymore. Just annoying.”

“I’ve never broken a bone, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Lucky you. So, you figured out where we’re going yet?”

“Yep,” I said, but didn’t elaborate.

“Where?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

She giggled, and the sound was so sweet, it was like she’d let a chink in her armor down.

Out the window, the vibrant colors of graffiti-covered walls contrasted with the gray facades of historic buildings. People rushed along the sidewalks with their faces hidden behind scarves and hats to shield themselves from the cold.

Despite the distractions outside, my focus drifted back to Tory. Even though she was driving on the opposite side of the road to Australia, she drove with confidence, navigating the unfamiliar streets with ease.

“What countries in Europe have you been to?”

“This is my first.” She fiddled with the dial on the heater again. “Can you turn that thing up? My fingers are going to drop off from frostbite.”

“Exaggerator,” I said as I adjusted the dial. “It’s at maximum.”

I tugged the scarf from around my neck.

“Here.” I slipped it across the back of her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” She flicked my hand away.

“Just getting you warm before you crash the car.” I pulled the scarf around to the front and adjusted it to cover the fine curve of her neck. “Better?”

She plumped the knitted wool at her throat. “Yes. Thanks.”

Her reaction swept my mind back to my earlier thought that someone had hurt her. I clenched my fists.

“Let me know if we need to turn off this highway.” She fiddled with my scarf, positioning it over her chest.

I could offer another way to warm her boobs . . .

I nearly burst out laughing. Tory would probably kick me in the balls.

“We stay on this road, the A10,” I said. “For a hundred and ten kilometers.”

“We may need to stop though.”

“That’s right . . . you had to pee?”

She gave me the side eye like I’d caught her out in that lie.

We left the city behind us, and the urban landscape gradually morphed into lush countryside dotted with quaint villages and rolling hills. The earlymorning sunlight cast a golden hue over the landscape, painting everything in its warm glow.