“It’s dangerous,” I said. Silence filled the car. He ran a thumb across his bottom lip and glanced at me with one hand on the wheel. “Trust me?” The fact that he’d told me not to last night was a loud awareness between us. I swallowed, because the way he’d said it, all soft and rough, burned through my chest and straight to a place I tried to close off from the world. This was him telling me I could. That I should. I had to marry the man. I didn’t have to trust him. Though not everything is about what we have to do, but what we want to.
