Chapter 83:
Christina blinked, surprised. “Dylan is waiting for me?”
“Yes,” the driver replied.
Her curiosity got the better of her. “How long has he been waiting?”
“Roughly four hours,” the driver replied, his tone honest and composed.
“Four hours?” Christina’s eyes widened. “We need to hurry!” Shocked by the revelation, she wasted no time and followed the driver with quickening steps.
Earlier, Dylan had messaged her, offering to pick her up. She’d declined, busy with other matters, assuming he’d simply move on. She never imagined he would wait—and for that long.
When they reached the sleek black Maybach, the driver stepped forward and opened the rear door with practiced precision. “Miss Jones, please.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft but earnest, as she stepped inside.
Dylan sat waiting, dressed in a sharp black suit tailored to perfection. His long fingers were loosely laced over his knees, his posture relaxed yet commanding. There was a magnetism to him—an almost disarming calm that cloaked a presence impossible to ignore.
“Done with work?” Dylan’s voice broke the silence as he turned toward Christina, his tone even, stripped of its usual sharpness. Tonight, his eyes held a calmer sheen—still unreadable, but no longer cold.
Christina gave a quiet nod. “Yes. You didn’t have to wait. It’s a hassle—I could’ve found my own way back.”
“Chloe wouldn’t hear of it,” Dylan replied, his expression smooth as glass. “She insisted I bring you home and said she wouldn’t sleep otherwise.”
“In that case… thank you,” Christina said softly.
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“It’s nothing,” he replied, as if brushing off a speck of dust.
A faint smile tugged at Christina’s lips, but the exchange withered there.
They weren’t exactly friends—barely more than acquaintances. The silence that followed felt stiff, like a wall neither knew how to climb. Christina shifted her gaze to the window, letting the passing lights of the city pull her attention away. To her relief, Dylan didn’t question her about what had kept her at the hospital. She didn’t have the energy to lie—or the desire to explain.
The car glided along the nighttime streets, its interior hushed like a sanctuary. The glow of passing neon signs painted fleeting patterns on the glass as Christina drifted into her thoughts.
Suddenly, Dylan’s voice pierced the quiet. “Has King reached out to you?”
Christina blinked, drawn back from her reverie. “Hm? No…”
She turned to him, a flicker of confusion knitting her brow. But before she could finish her sentence, the driver yanked the steering wheel.
The sudden jolt sent Dylan off balance—he instinctively reached out, one hand gripping the seat, the other sliding around Christina’s waist just in time to keep her from crashing forward.
In the scramble, his lips grazed her forehead.
The light, accidental contact stunned Christina. A cool sensation bloomed where his lips had brushed, freezing her in place as a wave of inexplicable energy surged through her. Her breath hitched. Her mind went blank. A shiver of awareness zipped down her spine, leaving her numb, dazed, and breathless.
The car was eerily silent, save for the hum of the tires and the thunder of two racing hearts.
Then, another lurch. This time, Christina fell completely into Dylan’s arms. Her lips met the fabric of his shirt—soft cotton and the sharp, unmistakable scent of him. When she pulled back slightly, a vivid red imprint of her lipstick remained, stark against the pure white like a scarlet blossom in snow.
Leaning against him, Christina couldn’t ignore the warmth of his body, the clean, intoxicating scent that wrapped around her, growing richer with each inhale. She could feel his heart under her palm—strong, rhythmic, grounding. And it was speeding up.
As if pulled by an invisible force, Christina found herself drawing closer, her senses narrowing until all she could hear was the beat of his heart.
Dylan looked down at her, his gaze sharpening as he watched her inch nearer. His heart—steady and composed just moments ago—now raced uncontrollably. It didn’t make sense. He had never lost his composure over a woman’s touch. Now, his pulse was thundering in his ears, and he couldn’t look away. What was this feeling?
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