Page 75 of Pink Ink

His eyes widen. Maddox clearly can’t believe it either.

“Looks to me like you might be the one taking me to places you shouldn’t,” I add, referencing his comment from last week when I can’t take the silence any longer.

He chuckles. Whatever bolstering confidence I felt evaporates when he rests his arm behind my seat, effectively touching me without laying a hand on me. He’d be breaking our rule with the slightest jolt. There’s nothing sexual about it, but the level of intimacy involved with the mindless act is making the butterflies in my stomach go crazy.

“I’m curious to know where you think I’m taking you.”

I can’t respond. Not when he’s toying with my hair. I doubt he’s aware that he’s doing it. He’s too casual for it to be anything other than a subconscious action. He’s making it seem like showing me any level of affection is second nature to him.

“Reyna?”

Reyna.

I’m in trouble.

I like the sound of that a little too much.

“I do hope you aren’t bringing me to your house, Mr. Shaw,” I whisper so the driver doesn’t hear.

“I’m a respectable man, Miss Sinaga. I would never dare do something so…” The fingers playing with my hair crawl closer to my roots, rendering me frozen when he tugs on it.“Depraved.”

This cab isn’t big enough for the both of us. Without breaking our no-touching rule, his fingers ghost over the back of my neck. Desire ripples through my bones. If he doesn’t move his hand soon, I’m going to say fuck the rules.

“I expect you to do far worse than that,” I respond, voice breathy.

A grin splits across his lips, and he leans closer, inches away from my ear. “You don’t know the half of it, love.”

I couldn’t be more grateful when the taxi comes to a stop. I’m out of the car and on the footpath before I dare take another breath. I probably shouldn’t have left Maddox to cover the bill, but I’ll be damned if I spend another second in there breathing in his scent.

Maddox strides out of the taxi, buttoning his cashmere coat. Without missing a beat, my satchel is off my shoulder and on his. He plays deaf to my protest, offering me an amused, grumpy side-eye that sets me in a daze.

It only gets worse when he places his hand on my lower back to steer me away from the road and around the corner. If it weren’t for the trench coat, I might be able to feel the heat radiating from him, and honestly, I’ve never loathed fabric more.

I hate how disappointed I become when the hand falls away as we start walking down a street I don’t recognize. Potentially to my certain death. We’re still in the city, although an neighborhood that’s a little quieter.

My pepper spray is now with him, so it’s not like I have much in the way of protection. Coincidentally, I forgot my camera in his office. Somehow, I think the ass intentionally made me forget.

He keeps a healthy distance between us—the amount I’d expect any normal professor and student to walk. A pang hits my chest at that thought.

“If your intention is to murder me, do you mind doing that next week? I have a pizza voucher I really want to use before then,” I say to distract myself.

“No one needs to turn you into art.” He chuckles, referring to the Shadow’s victims.

I roll my eyes, annoyance rising. “Why? Because I’m unworthy?”

“Because you already are.”

New rule. No flirting. Whatsoever. My ovaries can’t take it. Maybe he should go back to being horrible toward me. That way he’s just an asshole with a pretty face.

“Even a child’s scribble is still art.” I grimace at how my killer might convey that type of messaging. It’d take dismemberment to a new level, I’m sure.

“That was truly moving, Miss Sinaga. Really inspiring.” He mock-claps.

My glower falls when I make out the sign of the building in front of us. “You’re taking me to an art museum?”Holy shit?

“What gave it away? The sign or the art?” He points to the sculptures behind the windows.

I don’t have a comeback for that. This is an actual date.