Chapter 6

The back window of the Maybach slowly rolled down. The streetlights illuminated Conrad's sharp, statuesque profile in the dark.

Conrad's deep eyes swept over Clara's purple lips and her thin, shivering frame. She had been stranded on the freezing shoulder for nearly two hours. Her legs were completely numb, her exposed skin was pale with the early, dangerous signs of hypothermia, and her vision was starting to blur from the agonizing, biting wind. His brow furrowed deeply. "Get in."

Clara's first instinct was to run. She was terrified of this man. But a brutal gust of freezing wind hit her, making her teeth chatter violently.

She weighed her options, gritted her teeth, and pulled the heavy door open. She slid into the backseat, pressing herself against the door, trying to put as much distance between her and Conrad as possible.

"Drive," Conrad ordered his driver, Marcus. He reached out and cranked the car's heater to the maximum.

The cabin was dead silent except for the blowing air. Clara's frozen limbs slowly thawed, but her nerves were stretched tight by the suffocating pressure radiating from the man beside her.

"Where is Julian?" Conrad suddenly asked. His deep voice vibrated in the enclosed space. It sounded like an interrogation.

Clara's chest tightened. She lied to save her last shred of dignity. "He had an emergency at work and went back. I... I wanted to take a walk."

Conrad let out a low, dark scoff. He saw right through her pathetic lie. "Taking a walk on a highway with a 65 mph speed limit?"

Clara's face burned with humiliation. She looked down, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt until her knuckles turned white.

Conrad stared at her stubborn, miserable profile. A strange irritation flared in his chest. He reached up and loosened his tie.

Suddenly, a massive white-tailed deer leaped out of the dark woods directly into the middle of the road.

"Boss, hold on!" Marcus yelled. He slammed his foot on the brakes. The tires screamed against the pavement.

The violent momentum threw Clara forward. She was about to smash her face into the back of the front seat.

In a split second, Conrad's long arm shot out. His massive hand wrapped around her waist and yanked her backward with terrifying force.

Clara crashed hard against Conrad's solid chest. He let out a muffled grunt, and she gasped in shock.

The violent pulling force was too much for her thin silk shirt. Two buttons on her chest popped off with a sharp snap and flew across the car.

The car jerked to a complete stop. Clara found herself straddling Conrad's lap, her hands instinctively gripping his broad shoulders.

She panted heavily in shock. Her shirt was ripped open, exposing the pale skin of her chest and the deep curve of her cleavage.

Worse, the violent movement had ripped her shirt open and completely wiped away whatever remained of the makeup on her neck, completely exposing the dark purple hickey resting just below her collarbone. It was glaringly visible.

Conrad's eyes inevitably dropped to her exposed skin and the violent bruise. His pupils dilated into pitch-black voids. His breathing instantly grew heavy.

The freezing scent of cedarwood wrapped around Clara. She realized the extremely compromising position she was in. She scrambled off his lap like she had been burned.

"I-I'm sorry..." Clara stammered, frantically clutching her torn shirt together. Her face was burning red. She wanted to disappear into the floorboards.

Conrad's Adam's apple bobbed hard. He immediately ripped his gaze away and stared out the window. His voice was incredibly hoarse. "Marcus, keep driving."

He shrugged off his dark grey suit jacket-still holding his body heat-and threw it silently over Clara's head.

Clara clumsily pulled the oversized jacket around her shoulders. The overwhelming scent of his cologne made her heart pound so hard it hurt.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride. The air inside the car felt thick, heavy, and dangerously combustible.

Thirty minutes later, the Maybach pulled up to the gates of the Vance Estate in Long Island.

Clara whispered a quick "Thank you," pushed the door open, and ran toward the house, completely forgetting to return his jacket.

She rushed through the front gates and froze. Julian's car had just parked. Julian stood by the door, his eyes locked onto the oversized men's suit jacket draped over her shoulders. His gaze was venomous.