Page 7 of Under His Command
FOUR
The black SUV that picked me up stopped in the middle of a blocked and empty road. Graham—the driver—tells me Rowan’s convoy would be here in a few minutes, so he can switch vehicles and we can go to the airport together.
I’m so nervous, I don’t know what to do with myself. Graham eyes me in the rearview mirror every now and then. He’s even asked me if I’m all right. I lied, of course, telling him I’m just tired from work. But exhaustion wouldn’t really make someone shift in her seat every five seconds. Or rub my sweaty palms on my skirt more times than I can count. I would probably care more about what he thinks of my strange behavior if Rowan wasn’t occupying every thought I have.
Just when I look out into the distance again, another black SUV approaches. I suck in a breath, pulse pounding loudly in my ears. I see even more cars behind the SUV that look exactly the same. Rowan could be sitting in any of them.
Fuck. I wonder if he’s as nervous as I am, but it’s hard to picture him losing control of his emotions. The man has gone to war. He has thousands of lives in the palms of his hands every day. His heart skipping a beat for a woman he wants to fuck tonight is most certainly not on his to-do list.
Most of the convoy passes us by, stopping a few feet ahead of us. But a new space between the cars has just been created. Knowing exactly what to do, Graham gets the SUV started again and makes a short U-turn to fit in the gap that’s been left.
Then, for a few moments, time freezes in place.
The wind lashes against the blades of tall, uncut grass along the side of the road, bending them back and forth. But other than that simple, rhythmic motion, no one dares move a muscle.
The silence is deafening, and even I have stopped shifting in my seat. It’s like a predator has just spotted me, and I’ll have the best chances for survival if I just stay still.
The sound of a door opening gets my attention, but it’s just Graham stepping out of the car and heading toward the last SUV in the convoy. He doesn’t get in, but rather waits there, looking straight ahead like he’s supposed to stay away from something. Like he’s supposed to now stay away from me.
I’m all alone in here, and I know what’s coming.
In the next few seconds, Rowan will be sitting next to me, and I’m supposed to pretend it’s just another car ride like any other.
But it’s not, though, is it? Because Rowan will see me. After all these years, he’ll see me. And I’ll see him. And he will touch me. And I will burn, because what other way could my body react to his touch, if not by reducing itself to ashes because of how much he consumes me?
I turn my eyes to the left, where I can concentrate on the waving grass.
The silhouette of a man approaches the car I’m in. I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t even seen him when he was farther away.
I hear the door when it opens. All I see is his torso, and the strong arm that presses down against the seat next to me.
The leather sighs softly under his weight.
The space yields to his presence with a quiet grace.
And then—
“Hello, angel,” he says in a voice so low and endearing that my whole body turns to face him despite my nerves. As if it now decided I’m no longer its master, but Rowan is instead.
“Rowan…”
His eyes meet mine, and I forget everything else around me.
Last time I saw him, he had just turned 27. I looked him up on the Internet a couple of weeks after we met. The five years that passed since then have only made him look more sleek… like fine steel.
Now, at 32, his presence oozes with masculine power and authority. His shoulders are wider, muscles even more defined, and his eyes… fuck, those eyes could silence me with just one quick glance if they wanted to.
“You look beautiful,” he says, drawing a real smile out of me.
I don’t even think about the nine hours of work I put in today. Or about the fact that I had almost zero time to retouch my makeup or even change my clothes.
From the way he looks at me, I know he’s not lying. If he thinks I’m beautiful right now, then that’s what I am. I am whatever he wants me to be.
“I’m really, really nervous,” I blurt out.
He smiles, and it reminds me of the way he did it that day, when he first saw me.
“And I’m really fucking desperate for you. Come here, angel.”
