CHAPTER 17
LACHLAN
Driving Sabrina the last few miles to my place convinces me that whatever Sabrina does when she gets out of this car, I better not be there to see it.
It's impossible to look at her without knowing that wanting her will only get worse.
The snow's coming down harder now, and the roads have already twisted, turning into sheets of black ice.
Maybe I should have slowed down, but I didn't.
My instincts tell me that—for tonight at least—she needs to feel protected. She needs to feel protected, safe and secure.
She hasn't made a move to look in my direction or even tightened her seatbelt.
She's barely noticed that I'm off the FDR, pulled over to a side street in an attempt to make it easier to get her inside.
Her face is still pale. Her eyes are still full of hurt. And
